The feeling of a shift in gravitational pull is something Onii’kvi will never fully get over. Stepping out of his pod, feeling his body and organs shift, readjust to the new redistribution the atmosphere is forcing upon him, he nearly stumbles. Taking a look around for his bearings doesn’t work either because even the immediate vicinity around the ship, the ground beneath Onii’kvi’s boots, it’s all virtually desolate. Black. Empty. Of course, it isn’t actually but it definitely feels that way. The density of the air, the foliage around him, and the planet’s actual distance from any type of sun or star means that nights on the surface compare to the empty voids of black holes. [How am I supposed to navigate the ground if I can’t even use my flashlight, ‘cap?] Onii leans against the ship and looks down at the gauntlet on his arm, trying to activate the lights on his suit, a headlamp, something to give him the advantage of sight. [I’m basically Kaskan food if I don’t have some kind of light.] {Ninety clicks to the signal ping, Oni.} Sai’urn’s voice comes through on the communications channel. {Use the radar, it’s the strongest light source you’re going to get. Besides, Kaskan hunt in the mountains, we’re about fifty-thousand clicks from their normal hunting grounds. Just walk towards the ping on radar, I’m meeting you there.}

For the first fifteen or so minutes of walking in complete darkness, staring at his radar hoping and praying nothing sees him at a snack, Oni faintly wishes Sai’urn were beside him already. At least then he wouldn’t be navigating this void of a jungle alone and underpreppared. After those fifteen minutes pass, and Oni begins tripping over small things–a tree root popping up from the ground, a large flower, a rock–he’s suddenly grateful for the silent, lonely treck. Gods know the Captain wouldn’t ever let him live it down if he’d have seen it happen.

After another ten minutes, the sound of his own thoughts begins to gnaw away at Oni’s sanity. [Cap, you there?] {Mmm-hm. Something wrong?} [Erm, not really… can I ask, how long have you been stationed on IRIS?] {Longer than you’ve been a pilot, or in school for it, I can promise you that.} [So… longer than six years?] {I’ve been stationed with IRIS for about ten years. Before that I jumped ship pretty often, working on some of the most physically-demanding stations we have in the GDC doing either odd-jobs or acting as extra muscle for assignments.} [Gods… Wait, so you went to Caelestis, then went into freelance work?] {Exactly. I was trying to figure out if I’d rather be stationed somewhere, or if I was ready to take on the throne, work with the Council on more civic matters, attend meetings and such.} [And?] {Well, obviously I didn’t fit in with the Council staff quite yet, nor did I think a good use of my time was to be in court settling trade agreements. I was your age, I’d just turned twenty-three, there was no way I’d sit in a court for the rest of my life, only seeing the galaxy for Royal Court business. It just… it’s not me, yet.} [I think I can understand that… not the royal council stuff but, wanting to see the galaxy on your own terms. Before I moved to Holarus everyone kept telling me it wouldn’t work out, that there was no way I’d survive the school, graduate, become any kind of a pilot or even a technician.] {Well, I think it’s safe to say that the people in your home world don’t know what they’re talking about. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met a graduate more eager to get out and help in every sense of the word than you, Oni. You’re just so genuine in your interest in the technology, the way things work on the ship and in the world… honestly I admire it.} [Sheesh, that… really means a lot, Sai, thank you.] A comfortable silence envelopes the pair as they walk their respective paths. It honestly felt like neither one could stand to break up their peaceful moment. Eventually, though… [I’m coming up on the ship, Cap’. Three clicks out.] {Four for me, I’m walking south now, be with you in a sec.} As they come upon the ship on radar, barely visible blinking lights shine in the pitch blackness suffocating them. Oni draws his gun instinctively, catching a shimmering glare of Sai’s rifle out of the corner of his eye as the pair begin their approach. [It’s just a personal pod?] Onii’kvi observes, circling the foreign ship and the feeling of its impact on the ground, muted by his thick boot but identifiable nonetheless. [Scratch that, it’s… bigger. Lighter. ‘Left a crater in the ground on impact. Even a crash landing would’ve tore a personal pod to shreds with Ac’ai’s force of gravity.] Oni can just barely see an outline of Sai’s suit as he circles the pod the opposite direction, and lowers his rifle slightly. On the opposite side of the ship he reaches out, brushes a gloved hand over an insignia on the outside, something Oni almost recognizes. Looks… familiar, but not enough to strike a response out of him. Sai looks like he’s seen a ghost, though.

[Cap…?] No response. Oni lowers his gun completely and waves his hand in front of Sai, then turns on his flashlight to wave that instead upon reaslizing his hand wouldn’t be seen from that distance. Sai doesn’t even look up. [Captain Ne’la’c? What is it?] {Get ahold of IRIS. Now. } “That’s all he said? He didn’t give you any other information? Did you recognise the insignia he was looking at or anything at all?” Nox all but flails his arms in frustration, walking beside Oni through IRIS’s halls.

Oni throws his hands up and shrugs exaggeratedly. “Yup! That’s all I got! Nothing! First he stands there-” The pair freeze as a higher ranked officer walks by in a group of three, looking like they’re rushing towards something. It was always something. Oni quiets down before continuing with the recap. “ First he stands there like he’s seen a ghost or a note telling him the world is going to end if he gives me any information, and then he’s telling me to get ahold of IRIS, get back to my pod. ” Nox grabs Oni by the collar of his hoodie and yanks him into an empty study room nearby. “And you did it ? No questions asked?! What the fuck, Oni!” The other boy hisses, slapping his arm in offense. “Listen it wasn’t like I was going to flat-out ignore a direct order , Nox!” Oni peeks his head out to look both ways and make sure they weren’t spotted and/or followed by another crew member or worse—an officer. “I wanted him to give me answers too, hell I was the only one he brought with him to even check it out! I deserved to know! I still deserve to know, but I wasn’t about to disobey him directly. I hauled ass to my pod, contacted IRIS, and the next thing I know they’re telling me that this stays between Cap’ and I and to stay on IRIS for the next few days. No BLIPs to visit my dad, no breathing a word about ever being on Ac’ai in the first place!” Oni exhales deeply, like a weight is lifted off his chest. He all but collapses against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor against it, his knees pulled to his chest. Nox copies him, sitting beside him with his head on the other’s shoulder. The both sigh in unison. “So… what are you going to do? If they told you no BLIP’s, don’t breathe a word… shit, that has to be some heavy stuff, right? You got pulled into some serious shit… and you had the Captain right there with you.” Nox reaches for Oni’s hand, interlacing their fingers together and offering a gentle squeeze. Oni shrugs, resting his head against Nox’s in return. “I… have no idea what I’m going to do, or what’s going to happen. I saw them taking a body to medical, or a body bag at least, and the ship was going downstairs to labs.” “They’re probably running tests. Maybe the Captain saw it was a biohazard or something, wanted to get it tested as soon as possible?” Oni snorts softly, “If it was just a biohazard, they would have told me that. We’ve dealt with a hundred of those since we got stationed, Nox… This just felt different. Heavier.” For a few minutes the pair sit against the wall in the dark room, hiding from the thoughts of what could come of this assignment, what possibly could have scared their fearless leader so badly to immediately get them out of the area and essentially lock Onii’kvi on board the space station.

Footsteps approach from the South Wing hallway, the officers’ barracks. Oni and Nox quickly open the door a bit more and flick on the light, taking a seat at one of the tables so that they’d be seen casually ‘talking’ instead of sitting weirdly in the dark as they had been. Nox buries his nose in a magazine left on the table: The Art of Mecha-Link and BLIPs – Is Holarus The Answer? Thankfully for Nox he’s read the article fifty times and picks the longest page to skim. Oni pulls out his phone and props it up with a video against one of the potted plants in the middle of the table. A quick glance at the officers as they pass is all Onii’kvi needs. Sai’urn, Cayde, and Nal’eid. Shit. Oni clears his throat and stands, stuffing his phone in his hoodie pocket. “Hey, I’m going to head to the showers, try and clear my head a little bit… you’ll swing by later, right?” His eyes flick to the door, then back to Nox not-so-subtly faking his magazine interest.

Nox glances up and nods, tucking the reading material back into the rack he hastily yanked it from. “‘Course, I’ll be ‘round in a few hours. Text me and I’ll head down, okay?” He tries to clean the room up a little bit to look busy as Oni leaves, staggering their exits to look less suspicious for any passers-by.

With Nox out of the equation for the moment, Oni glances down either hallway and heads up the North Wing, towards the communications room where he saw the officers heading a few minutes earlier. With enough luck he sees Cayde’s grey tail enter the room before the door shuts. At least with it being so late in the night, there aren’t many people roaming the halls, most of them confined to their own rooms for the night or in the common areas on another floor. The only things on this floor besides the officer’s barracks and the comms rooms were a few bathrooms and some restricted-access rooms for the higher-ranking pilots to use for training.

 	With the space around him checked out and clear, Onii’kvi stands outside the locked door for a moment, trying to listen through it and see if it was about their mystery distress call they’d intercepted. After a few minutes of unintelligible mumblings through the metal door, Oni pulls out the custom-made amplifier Tick designed for him in their Academy days. He pushes the device into his ear gently and presses his head against the panel of the door once more as the voices begin to make sense.

“What do you suggest we do then, Lieutenant? Just let the corpse sit in the medical bay until he walks in and finds it?” That sounds like Cayde, ever the challenger in a serious conversation between officers.

“I’m not suggesting we leave the corpse in the med-bay, Cayde, OR tell him the truth, Sai’urn. The boy wouldn’t be able to handle something of this… caliber. I’m not sure any of us could handle it in his position.” Were they talking about Onii’kvi? They had to be, right? And what did Sai mean by ‘telling him the truth?’ What did Sai find that Oni was connected to but couldn’t know about? Sai’urn’s loud, defiant groan filters through the door. “Yes, Captain Ne’la’c? Would you like to add something to this conversation besides your inane suggestions to tell the boy everything?” “Why are you two afraid of him knowing the truth? He’s MY responsibility, you’ve already said so before. I’ve vouched for his abilities on assignments despite your doubts and I’m the one that authorized his medical treatment while he’s on board IRIS and living on Holarus when not on the station. I’m aware this is not my jurisdiction as it is not my solar system we’re residing in, but I do still hold some pull in situations like this. He deserves to know the truth and you don’t deserve to pass judgement on whether or not he’s able to handle something.” Sai groans. “You care for the boy, clearly, but this isn’t entirely your decision either. This is a matter of GDC security and to be frank the personal ties here are none of the agency’s concern, and they shouldn’t be your concern either. Care for the pilots and crew, yes, but don’t stick your neck out for them when it is not your issue to begin with. Know where to draw the line with the people in your care, Sai’urn.” Harsh, but that sounds pretty accurate for Nal’eid. The Rules above anything personal, the Code upheld. Sums up his entire personality.

Sai’urn goes silent for a few minutes while Cayde and Nal’eid conference call other officials from a few different stations. One of them being Kepni, Onii’kvi’s home planet, from before he attended Caelestis Academy, before he became a pilot, before he was diagnosed. The group of officers talk about the incident, and as they go over Sai’urn’s official report, it settles it in stone. They were talking about the assignment, the distress ping and whatever Sai saw there that shook him so badly.

“Have you talked to the boy, gotten his side of the story? Does he know what you found out there?” One of the people on the speaker asks, a little harder to hear than the rest. Nal’eid clears his throat. “No, ma’am, we haven’t spoken to him, but Captain Ne’la’c is certain he didn’t see anything on the ship, or at least didn’t recognize anything.” “Seeing something and recognizing it are not so different. If he saw what was written on the ship, the insignia, it’s very possible he’s already looked it up and found out what happened on Ac’ai many moons ago during the Xhi’ka Conflict. Captain Ne’la’c. Can you positively tell me he didn’t see anything on that ship?”  There’s a long pause, and Onii’kvi has the briefest white-hot flash of fear running down his spine. He never thought about if Sai’urn had noticed him that entire time. Sure, he didn’t respond or look directly at him, but he was very spacially aware. It’s entirely possible that he’s aware Oni saw the insignia. What happens if Sai’urn tells them? Is he going to get kicked off of IRIS? Is he going to get thrown in some kind of max-security prison for what he saw? Blackmailed to never pilot another ship again? “I can say with absolute confidence that Pilot Onii’kvi did not see any defining marks on the fighter ship, nor did he recognize it as being one of the GDC’s.” What?! It was one of theirs?! It didn’t look anything like their ships! From what Oni saw it was really old and rusted and the materials they use for the ships now are used primarily so they don’t rust or crush completely flat upon emergency impact. There’s no way that ship was one of their models! One of the officials on the phone clears his head and makes an acknowledging hum, clearly believing his captain’s testimony–whether or not he was lying to their faces. He might not have actually seen anything.

“Mhm… what about the pilot? Were we able to figure if they were DOA?” Sai'urn sighs heavily, one of the office chairs creaking slightly as he sits down. “First Officer Shaii’kvi died on impact due to engine failure in the pod. We suspect she was seeking refuge on station RELLE that was taken down a decade ago, sir.” Wait. Mom?


February 7th, 2040. My name is Bryan and I’m writing this because I don’t know what's next. I found a blank journal and some pens so I decided to document this. I’m was always bad with remembering dates so if the dates are wrong, or weird, then I’m sorry. A week ago on January 29th they attacked. At first we thought they were human, our neighbors, coworkers, friends, family, celebrities. Then their leader came. Whatever they were emerged from their skin sacks and attacked everyone in sight. You know those theories where there's aliens living among us? Well that's what I think it is. It was my day off so I was inside. When I heard the news I locked all my doors and barricaded myself in the basement. I have enough food to last me maybe a few months if I can spread it out. March 5th, 2040 The power went out. Whatever they are keep trying to get in. I heard the front door breaking and now they're trying to get in the basement. The news says that the government is trying their best but you need to stay inside. I don’t think I can make it through a few more months. I remember my neighbor said that he had a bomb shelter made inside his basement. I can try to get through the tiny window in my basement and make it to his. But will he let me inside? Is he one of them? Please if anyone's reading this send help. March 17, 2040 They stopped trying to get in. I fear that if they try again my door won’t last. I packed a small bag with some cans, bottled water, clothes, flashlight, and some batteries. I’m gonna try to get out next week but if they pick up sooner than that I’m leaving then and there. March 19th, 2040 I saw one of them. They look like what people think werewolves look like, but with no skin. They’re tall, really tall. Hunched over. Pure white eyes. Long fingers and limbs. I can never unsee it. March 26th, 2040 More of them are here. Their changing. Now patches of skin are starting to form on them. I should have left sooner. I don’t think I can make it to my neighbors. April 4th, 2040 They’re moving. I think my town is just a rest stop for them. Their going somewhere big, I can feel it. During the day they sleep or are slower than usual. I’m gonna escape then. April 8th, 2040 I made it! He wasn’t there but I didn’t look around. He was very prepared with food for about a year (only for 1), bottled water, clothes, tubs filled with water, a backup generator, batteries, hanging lights, flashlights, books, pens, and much more! April 27th, 2040 Someone knocked on the door. It sounded like a woman, she asked if anyone was in there. I think she knows since that was a week ago and everyday she’s come back. She's getting desperate. I think she's one of them. April 30th, 2040 She left. I feel a little bad since she sounded so human. I wanted to try and go outside to explore but I think their still out there. May 6th, 2040 I heard something. The last time I heard something was when the woman was knocking. I think it's trying to get in. I need help, please. If anyone finds this help me. May 27th, 2040 My birthday was yesterday. I turned 21. I can now legally drink. Not like I haven't drank before. July 17th, 2040 Something tried to break in. I heard a chainsaw. Men yelling. Banging. Its starting to smell. July 27th, 2040 I found the smell. My neighbor had made a hidden room under the bed. He hung himself. I think I might follow him. August 12th, 2040 I found a letter. It was in front of the door. It wasn’t there before. Am I going insane? I don’t need help now, I need company. I’m gonna open the door. Only to throw out the body, the smell is almost life threatening. I’m gonna read the letter, I think? I don’t know. August 14th, 2040 I opened the letter. “Dear Bryan, happy birthday! I wanted to write to you sooner, but I never got the chance! You can come out now. The world is safe, the aliens are gone. I would love to officially meet you. Please you remember Cally’s Cafe on 4th? Well from 10-4 I hang out there! I hope to see! Sincerely, Lamien.” That fake. Totally fake. Who uses all those exclamation points? I’m not going. I’m still gonna open up the door to throw out my neighbors body. I’m gonna try and give him a proper funeral. I didn’t know him that well but hey! August 17th, 2040 I opened the door! I looks like a bomb happened. I guess that also helps my theory with how the letter was fake. I just realized a bomb probably did happen. Tomorrow I’m gonna give him a funeral, and bury him. August 18th, 2040 I buried him. I’d wanna say it took about a few hours just to dig the whole and cover it. Then 10 minutes to say some words. The whole time I felt like someone was watching me. I tried to go as fast as I could but if you’ve ever dug a grave after being in the same room for months then you can’t complain. I walked around a little more. There were still some buildings but mostly the bottom parts. My house is gone, along with everything that was in it. September 2nd, 2040 I think something got inside the bunker when I was burying the body. I hear scratching and some of my food is going missing.  But I can’t leave! I don’t know what's out there. I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow. I’ll update you hopefully soon. September 10th,  2040 I found out what it was. It was a pretty big rat. But how did it survive? It seems friendly to me. I might keep it for some company. September 29th, 2040 You remember that room where my neighbor hung himself? Well I decided to do something with it. I don’t know what yet but I’m gonna do something, I’m really bored. I’ve read all of the books he had in here. November 15th, 2040 I’m hearing explosions, people screaming, and screeching. I think they're starting to come back. If so I’m not leaving or making any noise. The generator is dying, I don’t know how it works. November 21st, 2040 The generator is died. I’m only using the flashlights and the batteries for this and finding stuff in here. With the time I’ve spent in here I’m sure I won’t need the flashlights that much. I can’t find my little rat friend. It’s also starting to smell, I think he's dead. All the noises outside are still going on. December 14th, 2040 In case you're wondering my neighbor had a calendar in here so I’m trying to cross of the days but since I can’t see the daylight and my phone is not something I want to use, I’m mostly guessing. Most of the noises stopped I’m still hearing some screeching from time to time. December 25th, 2040 I think it's Christmas! My gift for myself you ask? Well I’m gonna find my dead rat friend. I did get another letter. “Dear Bryan, merry Christmas! I see you didn’t want to meet up. You probably thought it was fake didn’t you? Well it isn’t! No your not crazy. I hope you kept my last letter because I do still want to meet up with you at that same location! I do hope you come, it would be nice to officially meet you! Sincerely Lamien. P.S.  I did see you burying your neighbor, how nice! ” How? How did they see me? I didn’t see anyone? I’m not going. I don’t even think the cafe is still there. January 6th, 2041 A new year! I did find my rat friend. I quickly threw him out, didn’t take time to bury him, I didn’t know him that well. January 10th, 2041 Someone is knocking. I don’t know who but I think it's the thing whos given me letters. January 13th, 2041 They started banging. I don’t think the door can handle it. January 29th, 2041 It's been a whole year since this alien thing started. The banging stopped, I’m glad, I got another letter. “You didn’t come, how sad. You also aren’t answering. I still would love to meet you, even with how rude you are.” It's different. They didn’t address me or add their name. February 7th, 2041 The banging started again after January 29th. I think I’m gonna open the door. You know humans, curious creatures. Well you know what they say, “Curiosity killed the cat.”


There's one conversation I will always remember between my father and myself, I was only a young boy back then but his words have managed to stick with me into adulthood. One day I shall recite them to my own children, I hope to be half the man my father was. It all started when he asked me to go on a walk. “Let's go for a walk,” he said to me.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere you want.” I slipped on my red wellington boots and ran outside. “Don't forget your coat! Just because it’s sunny doesn’t mean it's not cold!” I ran back and giggled as he zipped me up, wrapped a warm, fluffy scarf around my neck and placed a blue woolly hat on my head. “Kids these days,” I heard him mumble. I set off down the gravel path and into the world. I looked back to see him smiling, his grey eyes coming to life, like they used to. It wasn’t always just me and him, I had a mum too, but she got sick. He says she’s not in heaven but all around us. She’s the brightest star in the sky, the rocks on our favourite mountain, the droplets of water that escape when I jump into a puddle. I like when he says that. It makes me feel better. I decided to go to the beach, I know he loves it just as much as I do. The sun shone bright in the sky above us, it was spring, and the flowers had begun to bloom, and I watched as they swayed in the gentle breeze. I mimicked them and held my hands up and moved them back and forth, dad let out a laugh and picked me up.

“You are so extraordinary; do you know that?”

“What does that mean?”

He thought for a moment and continued to walk, “It means that you always manage to make me smile,” he kissed my forehead an put me back down.

“Isn’t that just being happy?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose it is. But sometimes even when people smile, they're not happy.”

“So, they’re lying?” He takes my hand and I swing it up high then take it back down, repeating the process several times until he replies.

“No, they’re just trying to show everyone else they're okay.”

“But if they’re not okay they shouldn’t fake a smile.”

“Sometimes it’s better to show the people around you that you are happy, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“You mean like when I talk about mummy? You always smile but are you really just sad?

“My goodness, no,” he lets out a laugh which surprises me. “I love talking about your mother, yes it makes me sad now that she isn't here but talking about her keeps her memory alive. I believe meeting your mother was my destiny, my fate if you will.”

I nod not really understanding what he meant, I went to ask but he looked so deep in thought I decide not to. We were nearly at the beach now, we just had to climb the pebbles that created a border from land to sea. I huffed and puffed my way up, crawling on all fours at some points but then I made it to the top and took in the view. The sun was sinking below the sea, and everything was beginning to go dark, in that moment the whole world was silent. The only noise I could hear were the waves and the beating of my heart. Bumbum. Bumbum. I walked along the pebbles and decided to sit on the top of the ridge instead of heading down, the tide was coming in and it was too cold to get wet. I patted a rock next to me and pulled my dad's arm to sit down. We both sat in the stillness of the world, watching quietly and making little noise. The idea of fate and destiny were still fighting each other in my mind.

“What is fate?” I questioned. He looked at me then stared back to the earth.

“It is something that can never be known. Some may choose to search for it, other might want to fight against it, to make their own future. Some never manage to find it, and some are led by it to do great or terrible things. But they all have one thing in common. None of them can change it.”

“Then what’s destiny?”

“Destiny is your future; your actions now determine what your life will become. Each person's destiny is their own to make and isn't set in stone like fate.”

“Wow...” I stared back at the ocean. “So, which one is true? Surely if you can make your own destiny then fate is wrong.”

“Who says they both aren't right? Perhaps when you make the decision to go on the other path instead of the one you were on its destiny leading you to your fate.”

“Thats... scary,” I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Remember son, no matter what you do, I will always be behind you, following you. Whatever you think I will be thinking it with you.”

“Is the world alive? That’s what I'm thinking,” I tilt my head and look upwards, one-star twinkles above us, she’s here with us.

“Of course it is. The world is so magnificent, and I want you to remember that. When things go quiet, and you begin to smile to make people believe your happy, you need to take a step back and go outside to dance or scream. When mother nature stops singing to you, you need to yell at the sky to let the music never die. But most importantly you need to listen to your heart, that is where the world is alive. Right here,” he pokes my chest and smiles. “You have to look after your soul too.”

“What’s a soul?”

“It is who you are. It is what makes you a human being. Some say that souls can continue to exist after you pass away and can even make you be reborn. Some souls know each other, like your mother’s and mine, and will continue to find each other in every lifetime. We are all born from the stars, someone us from the same one, and one day we will go back.”

“Do you know mine?”

“I do now, and I am so grateful to meet it.”

The sun had completely disappeared, and the night sky was cloudless and beautiful. In that moment I couldn’t help but think that maybe that is where our souls go after we die. That maybe if we were born from stars then that is where our true home is.


It’s a typical warm summer evening in Glendale. The summers are short, hot, arid, and clear, but winters are lengthy, cold, rainy, and partly cloudy. A city known not only for its offbeat galleries and museums but also for its beautiful scenic mountains. When the sun sets, one will discover live music and a variety of food options all across the city. In this lively town filled with interesting activities for anyone and everyone, a very curious turn was about to take place in the lives of two people namely, Lizzie and Paul.

At about 2 pm, as Lizzie sat in her chair, reading the book of her favorite author, Abigail Maiers, described as an epitome of success by the avid readers in the world of mysteries. It was at this time the Universe had decided to chime in with a small Bzztt. It was Lizzie's phone.She looked at it. It's from Paul. She opens it and gasps a little. The text read Hey Lizz, if you don't have any plans tomorrow,I was wondering if you would like to go out with me?

Lizz goes completely silent for a moment. She's been waiting for Paul to ask her out for 6-7 months and now that the moment is here she can't contain the excitement. They have been talking for quite a while now and though they haven't really hung out together even once Lizz gets a vibe from him that she hasn't felt with anyone. Her friends were of the opinion that it's all probably because they are both hiding behind a screen. "Hanging out and talking is a lot different than some hi hello on the street," Lizzie still remembers Ann remarks. She's probably right. But some or the other thing kept pushing this meeting until today afternoon at 2 pm. The only thing standing between the wait and the meet are three letters YES. Lizzie's smile widens with every letter. It's finally happening. Over at Paul's place ,things are equally interesting. He awaits the response with his fingers crossed. As he waits,his mind seems to be a few steps ahead already,which is quite normal considering his romanticized nature.Ironically he's usually ‘that one’ in a group,you know the one who appears all shy and quiet,till you get to know the person and then they are oops,still quiet. Unless it's something they know and love,then they just won't shut up about it. Paul knows this about himself and wonders “is it why my mind can't shut up about Lizz?” Paul shakes his head and says to himself, "No ,paul. That's impossible. I mean you need to get your head right.You have never met her and what's more she's not even said yes. " (He's unaware of how strongly Lizz feels for him,too.) It's strange though,he never thought or looked at Lizz in that way. He smiles a little, wondering how he fell for someone without ever even flirting with her. She is the only girl he never tried to impress, he never ‘tried to talk to’, someone with whom he could just be himself. Paul's thoughts are distracted by the ring on his phone. "Oh damn" Paul almost yells and hurriedly picks the phone. "Ah man! It's just another sales call from some telemarketers.Why would you pull such a prank on me,eh God?" He sighs in dismay and is about to put the phone back when his phone beeps with two words that will be one of the moments that Paul remembers forever. The words were 'Lizzie' and under that a big 'YES!' Paul can’t stop smiling, it’s actually going to happen. I am going on a date with Lizz.He becomes a bit teary eyed. "Okay ,Paul that settles it. You're in love. For real this time!" He wipes off the tear and picks up his phone and calls her. Lizz picks up the phone. "Hey,Paul. Oh gosh. I can't believe it took you so long to ask me out. I can't wait for tomorrow." "Haha. I know. sorry about that. I'm a bit of a slow poke,ain't I? Let me start by making it up to you." "And how do you plan on doing that,Mr.Slow poke?", says Lizzie in a mocking tone. "Um how about you meet me after your classes outside the station ,we go to your favorite cafe from there and umm..well we'll keep the rest of it a suspense."

"Ahem ahem. You have done your research,eh? So, tomorrow 10 am it is!" ,says Lizz with a giggle. "Yes! I'll see you soon, Lizz!" *** The next day arrives. Paul gets up early. The classes of Lizz are in LA about 20 minutes away. Paul decides to board the 9:30 train,so that even if there is a delay due to some reason Lizz wouldn't have to wait. He gets up early,finishes his chores and gets ready. He leaves home all dressed and as he starts walking to the station a little feeling of nervousness begins to dwell on him. It’s been a long time since he last went on a date. He reaches the station and tries to calm himself down. Luckily the train seems to be on time. He boards it and takes a deep breath, “It’s ok you got this. Just be yourself,buddy!” It's about 9:25 when he reaches the decided spot, his heart racing. Five minutes seem like a lot. He’s busy with pep talking to himself when there is tap on his shoulder. He turns, it’s Lizz. All of a sudden,surprisingly, all of the nervousness seems to have disappeared. Instead there is a silence within him. Paul can’t understand what just happened. Never had he felt such a feeling of silence from within. After they exchange pleasantries, they head over to board a cab to Lizz’s favorite cafe. He asks her about her classes, she shares a funny story that happened with her BFF, Katie and they have a good laugh. They reach the cafe and everything is going very smoothly for a first date,nay if someone was asked it would be hard to figure out for a person these two were on a first date. Paul orders the food and drinks and while they wait for their orders to come he asks Lizz, “Hey, didn’t you just go on that trip to Paris with your family. You said you’ll tell me all about it when we meet. Well here we are.Tell me about it!” As Lizz begins to describe her trip, how it was decided, her favorite spots, some fun facts about Paris, their hotel, the must visit spots, Paul becomes completely engrossed in it. With every little laugh, the way she describes things, her little quirky and cute expression, he seems to be falling for her. They talk and laugh, Lizz seems to like Paul’s sense of humor a lot, though his dimples might be the ones helping him more than his puns.

“You know, it’s so weird that I can be completely weird with you” says Paul with a little chuckle. Lizz starts laughing and says, “I know right. It’s like two weirdos in a pot. Haha!” They go on to a small dessert shop nearby after their brunch. After sharing it and having a cute-clichey moment, where a person pretends to feed the other and then takes the bite at the last second , they return to the station, waiting for the train to head back home. Lizz checks her clock and is shocked. It’s been more than 4 hours. She says to herself,smiling a little within, “Man! How did time fly by so fast? Are you in love,Lizz?” He asks her what had happened,seeing her smile. She says nothing with a smile and grabs his hand. He smiles. Their train arrives and after a little chit chat Lizz rests her head on Paul’s shoulder, hugging him a little. Paul holds her hand and as he sees her, that feeling of silence, a calm within once again makes him think. He smiles a little, you see it was at this moment, he knows. He knows she’s the one and that he is in love. “And that my dear little angels is the tale of the one where Lizz and Paul go on their first date!”, says a jolly looking,teary eyed,a little bald and now a 42 yr old Paul. “WOW! That was so cooooool!”,yells little 9-yr old Ben. Claire chimes in,too “ Aww! Pa, that was really one of the sweetest stories I have heard till now.Mommy and you are truly goals,aren’t they Ben?”

Ben,who’s not that old to understand such slang terms like goals and all just nods along in excitement.

“Kidssss, dinner’s ready!” Lizz calls them from the kitchen.

“Coming,Mommyyyyy”, they all yell, laughing and giggling their way to the kitchen. “Mommy, mommy guess which story dad just told us?” asks Claire. “It was the first date of Lizz and Paul!” Ben breaks the suspense and gets a friendly tap on his shoulder. “Gosh,what part of guess, do you not understand, B!” Claire frowns a little. “Haha. Now,now. Don’t you fight. How about mommy tells you something as interesting as your dad’s story?” They seem to like the idea and look up to her with curiosity. Lizz says, "Well,you know how your dad is always in awe of the food I make and keeps asking me about my secret ingredient?" "Yessss, hehe, we want to know it as well,mother. What is it? Oh,please do tell us!" "Woah! I want in on this,too!",says a shocked Paul. " How about I give you a hint,the story you just heard ,the answer's hidden in it only." Both Ben and Claire look at each other, gossip something in each other’s ears and Claire yells out, “LOVEEEEE!” Lizzie holds Paul's hand,looks in his eyes and says, “That is correct,dear,that is correct!”


The Reincarnation of an Endangered Species A series of strident ‘Shut-Ups’ echoed through the valley, and the gaggle of conversation amidst the attending delegates slumped into a murmuring buzz, before petering out into silence. It was the final day and the final hour before the summer break in the

Parliament of Fouls . Yes, it was time for the Queen’s centennial Speech of the Year 1621. This was a special occasion that commemorated the anniversary of the first ‘landing’ of the indigenous Mauritian Pigeon Foul; an event that has been celebrated every century over the past twenty-six million years. From her cosy nest on a high ledge, Ms. Lutwidge, the reigning Queen, cleared her throat of the remnants of a frog and addressed her avian congregation. They numbered a mere two hundred or so, scattered on the sides of a narrow Mauritian valley that sloped gently down to the tempestuous waves of the Indian ocean. The Queen was an imposing figure, who for the past sixty years had waddled and flapped and pecked her way, back and forth, across her domain of Mauritius. ‘Waddled’ because she looked and walked like a duck; ‘pecked’ because she had the scratch-and-feed similarities of a chicken; and ‘flapped’ because, try as she could, her short wings failed to support a lift-off. She was also an unbridled windbag who loved the sound of her own voice, a rare hybrid of a cluck and a quack. These avian characteristics blended into the formation of a royal personage which, through a quirk of natural history and gross over-feeding, ballooned out into a three-foot-tall waddlingpeckerflapper. While Ms. Lutwidge was not exactly ‘dumb’, she was plain dopey; having inherited that trait from her ancestors who welcomed hungry Dutch and Portuguese sailors with, tragically, short-lived enthusiasm. It was but natural for these European colonizers to name the clumsy, gullible bird ‘Duedo’, abbreviated to ‘Dodo’—an emphatic synonym for ‘stupid’. It is a word that has outlived the original dodo creature, having gained traction five hundred years later to describe individuals in political leadership with a penchant for double-speak. Ms. Lutwidge was the queen of her diminishing flock not only by her overbearing size but also by virtue of being clairvoyant. She had a knack for looking over her shoulder and catching glimpses of the future with prophetic accuracy. “I have had a premonition” she announced to her murmuring audience, “and it’s not good news. This is the Last Speech of the 17th century, for we are faced with extinction. For the past one hundred years, we have been ravaged by guttural pirates and colonizers roasting us with ‘yo-ho-hoes and bottles of rum’. We have suffered the cyclones, the deforestation of our paradise; and the dogs, pigs, and rats that accompanied these invaders have devastated our nesting grounds. Yes, my people, our noble and rare species will end this year in 1661, the year that will forever be chronicled as the Year of the Pfftt.” A slightly hysterical murmuring swept the crowd, with eyes glazed in fear and necks bobbing up and down like periscopes. “However, I sense a change, a change full of promise,” said the Queen reassuringly. “That, like the phoenix we shall rise again transformed. But the seeds of a new generation must be sown now. With the pinnacle of glory in 2021. However, I can’t tell what genetic traits and DNA will characterize the new generation; only the séance will reveal all.” The squawking amongst the fouls rippled through the valley, gathering momentum; enlivened with an air of expectancy of a bright future. “Let the séance begin,” trilled the Queen, standing tall on her tippy toes. The squawking hysteria rose to a crescendo and split the heavens, unleashing billowing clouds of red haze, streaked with lightning bolts, as the earth fissured and split with thunderous booms. The bottom fell out of the valley as the fouls scattered and waddled up to higher ground. Fire and brimstone erupted like geysers from the giant crevice in the valley floor. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, the hiss and gurgle of steam poured forth as if the Earth in thick fast pants was wheezing. And disgorged a mighty cauldron with a thunderous burp. “The Vision is invoked… the Vision of Kubla,” shrieked the Queen. And the chant of ‘ Kubla! Kubla!  resonated and bounced back and forth across the valley. Shafts of fire blazed forth and burst into stars of scorching sulfur that blanketed the surrounding terrain beyond the Valley. So fearful were these omens of dread that the sailors, rats, dogs, and pigs stampeded towards the anchored ships for safety. In the gripping silence that followed, the chant of

Kubla! Kubla!

was amplified into an ancestral voice prophesying destruction… and rebirth. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the mighty cauldron rose above the flaming crater in the alley. Fear pulsated through the legions of the fouls, as the cauldron bubbled and spewed out great tendrils of writhing, scaly skin, gleaming like scummy wet leather. Exultation turned to despair. The fouls gabbled in fearful realization. “The cauldron is the Sign. Our goose is well and truly cooked.” “No!” snapped the Queen with a thunderous squawk. “This is the day of rebirth. We shall evolve and be born again with good Karma. And we shall rule the world in countries across the continents and hemispheres. That is the oracle that I have seen and heard. Prepare for the séance!” As the crowd lapsed into a hopeful silence, the Queen spread her tiny wings, and intoned, “Abracadabra! Answer our prayers, O enchanters of the Underworld.” With a loud bang that stunned the audience of fouls, the bubbling cauldron lifted into the air and froze, in suspended vibrancy. Three gigantic puffs of cloudy mist ballooned from the cauldron and dissipated, revealing three cackling Gorgons from Scotland. In unison, they shrieked and warbled in rhyming verse. Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Who doth call us from our Scottish lair? Is that you, playful Willy? Bard Boy! Or is that Macbeth, a ghostly killjoy? By the pricking of my thumbs Who doth this way squawks and comes? You’re not Willy, who might you be? Ohho! a waddling dodo, fiddle-de-dee! “It is I, Queen Lutwidge of the dodo clan,” said the fluffed-up windbag. “And we are on the edge of extinction unless you can save us, sothatfuturegenerationsofourspecieswillnotvaporize.” Following which Her Royal Highness visibly relaxed and popped a prolonged methanic toot. “Ayy, she let wan go!” cackled the hags. “So prophetic!” Awright! Choose the magic word and repeat it thrice. For with that magic word, we will add the spice. Hocus-Pocus! Jabberwocky! Gobbledygook! Pick the word to let you off the hook. “I’ll go with ‘Jabberwocky’, it sounds so wacky. So human,” said the Queen. She turned her beak to look over her shoulder, into the future. “Ahh! I see a whiffling and burbling human shape from the year 1871. And it is created by a dodo. A Lutwidge Dodgson. I feel we are related.” Your wish is granted, in a trice Ms. Wacky Coming up! One king-size Jabberwocky. Grab the tentacles, sisters, and pull its thatch. Arrh! The jaws that bite, the claws that scratch. He is worse than the frumious Bandersnatch. And they hefted the Jabberwocky out of the cauldron and gift-wrapped it for the Queen. And all the dodos cheered as the Queen snuggled up to her newfound love and they went galumphing off. Extract from an op-ed in The Scotsman , dated November 4 th ,2021:

COP Summit adds to global warming. Scientists and climate change proponents have warned that the greatest danger to planet Earth is stifling hot air, and governments are adding to it at the Conference of Parties (COP) at Glasgow. There are 20,000 attendees including leaders from over two hundred countries, at the world’s biggest gob fest. That is a colossal tonnage of hot blasts for a full fortnight adding to global warming. Activists have described the event as the

DoDo-Nothing Jabber-Jabber (DDNJJ) jamboree. To get to the source of DDNJJ, ancestry genealogists and anthropologists have teamed up and conducted extensive research on the origin of this human trait that afflicts global leaders and have come to an intriguing conclusion. The report suggests that DDNJJ can be traced to a mysterious occurrence on the island of Mauritius in 1621. The report details eyewitness accounts of the unusual union of a mythical jabbering creature with an oversized quacking chicken. These creatures were thought to be extinct, or at worse, hallucinations of sozzled brains. However, the signs are unmistakable. Scientists now accept the theory that over the past four hundred years, the union might have spawned generations of creatures that have morphed into look-alike specimens of homo sapiens. A humanized trait of these evolved creatures is the propensity to persistently jabber in falsehoods—a predicted phenomenon of COP21 in Glasgow. In a quacking outburst, Queen Lutwidge VIII, flamboyant in her feathers, accompanied by her royal consort Jeremy Jab-Jab Wocky (unvaccinated), told The Scotsman columnist. “We’ve seen it in the past COPs, and it will happen again here in Glasgow. These conferences have a single agenda: Jabber-jabber, pledge, forget; eat, drink and be merry. Wealthy nations make no profits in tackling climate change. As always, we must protect what we’re doing wrong.”


He is dying. She knows that and doesn't know how to feel about it. Is she supposed to be unset? He is her father. She should be grieving. Moving towards the house she grew up in, her steps slow as she reaches the porch. A creak as her foot hits the bottom step. A pause as she waits for her heartbeat to catch up. A thousand memories flood her mind with just that sound. Jumping over it, as not to alert him. Sitting on it, locked out of the house.  She pulls in a deep breath as she prepares to climb the others. The squeak of the screen door brings to mind her me-ma’s house. It was the one place she felt safe. Summers on the farm, running around with her cousins, just being a child. The next steps bring her to the door. A slight hesitation before she knocks. Maybe no one will answer. Perhaps he is already gone. Hope mixed with dread at this thought has her shaking. A minute passes before she hears footsteps. They are lighter than her father's. The home health care nurse or her stepmom, she assumes. “Lynn, we are so glad you are here.” She is swept into Mary's arms and breaths in the scent of vanilla that always seemed to surround her. Underneath it is the sickly smell of sickness, the smell of her father. “Thank you. I … had to.” She is led into the house, Mary’s arm around her shoulder. “He has changed.” “No offense but you haven't known him as long as I have.” Mary stops them at the entrance to the living room. The ragged furniture of her childhood has been replaced by well matched sets. A woman ‘s touch. “Lynn, I know what he did. He told me all before we were married. He wanted me to know who I was marrying.” Lynn is shocked. Her hand grabs a hold of the wall. “Yet you married him.” “Yes, because he has changed. God redeemed him. He apologized. I told him it was to the wrong person.” “Yeah.” she stared into the room, her eyes finding the corner, now decorated with a cute shelving unit covered in little figurines. She  wondered if it covered the marks made in it while she held fast as she was beat. “You have a right to hate him. I am not sure how I would feel if I was you. All I can tell you is the angry violent man you knew is gone.” “It is easy to change knowing you are about to meet your maker,” She sighs, “Sorry. None of this is your fault. Thank you for seeing too him.” “Come Lynn. He will need more morphine soon. He wants to talk to you while lucid.” She tightens her shoulders, standing straight. No longer the little girl that hid in her room, praying her daddy wouldn't be angry that day. No longer the teen making plans to leave as soon as she could. No longer the sixteen year old who left home never planning to return. She has made a decent life for herself. Finished highschool while living and working on her own. Now attending college courses online while holding down a full time job and attending counseling, she is in the best place she can be to confront him again. Mary enters first. “Irvin, you have a visitor.” Lynn walks in slowly. The last time she saw her father he was throwing her stuff out. “Get out then!” She can hear his strong angry voice even now, “ After all I did for you this is how you repay me!” She had told him she wanted to move, that she couldn't take his abuse anymore. Shaking her head, she tries to pull herself back into the present. “Who is it?” She recognizes it as her dad’s voice but barely. It carries no strength. There is only a painful weakness. It has her locked in place. She knew but to hear his voice, it brought it all into sharp focus. “Come,” Mary takes her arm and leads her forward. Good. She wasn't sure she could have moved if she hadn't, “it is affecting his eyes. You will have to get close for him to see you.” She whispers to her. “Okay.” her voice comes out weakly too. She leads her to his bedside. He is half the man he was before. Half the weight, half the presence. His once thick dark hair is gone and she can clearly see his skull through what is left. His skin is so pale it is almost translucent. His eyes are dark with pain. Still, they light up some when they see her. “Lynn! Is it you?” Her throat fills with unexpected tears. She simply nods, “I thought I would die before seeing you again.” “I wasn't sure I would come.” She slips into the chair beside his bed. The table beside the bed is full of medicine bottles. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. Lynn, I am sorry. My inner demons were in control,” a shake of his head brings a groan. Mary is at his other side. “My love, do you need…” He waves her off. “Not yet. I will bear it for a few minutes,” he focuses’ back on his estranged daughter, “that is true but only part of the excuses. They were but I didn't fight them. My mom raised me better, in church. Your mom would have wanted the same. Forgive me for that as well. If you can at all. I didn't do right by you at all. Her death, no that is another excuse. I could've fought against my demons. I didn't. Lynn, I'm sorry.” “For not raising me in church or…?” She wants to forgive him. The pitiful man that lays dying before her isn't the same man that terrorized her childhood. She sees the difference in his eyes, in the peace that is there, even in the dying. Still, she must know what he is sorry for. “Everything. Every harsh word and touch. Every raised fist and belt. More though, every time I could have and should have been gentle and loving and choose violence instead. I wasn't the father you deserved. You were right to leave.” She finds herself gasping as tears of grief and deep forgiveness run down her face. “I forgive you. I love you.” “Thank you. I love you my sweet girl.” It is the last words he says to her. He slips from a drugged sleep into a deeper unco nscious, then into his final rest. His daughter holds his hand throughout.


CW: This piece contains religious themes that are not meant to accurately follow holy texts. It also includes profanity. Viewer discretion is advised. * All of the characters in this piece are entirely fictitious and are not based on real people. Any character that resembles any person— dead or alive— is purely coincidental.

“There is no god.” I read the opening line of the old manuscript aloud, its pages coated in dust and creased several times over from being buried in an old library until tonight. I don’t want to even look at the following text, yet my eyes glide over anyway.

“There has never been a single god. There was no god before or during mankind and there will not be one after. We have spent our lives blaming and praising a higher power, yet never stopped to question if our pleas were being received by anything. We have lived a fairytale, one that, with this book, I will break. What you are about to read may be my demise, but I will not let my life’s work meet the same fate. The public deserves to know the truth.” “With what proof?” Kat asks in bewilderment mere moments after I finish the segment. “What could this author have possibly found that proves God doesn’t exist?” “Well,” Eve starts, “what proof do you have that a god does exist?” They turn to Kat, whose eyes narrow with frustration.

“For one, all of the different holy texts, not to mention the tales from places like Greece,” she offers. “Those are myths,” Eve counters. “They only exist because the people at the time had no other way to explain things like thunderstorms and plagues. We know now that all of those occurrences are rooted in science.” “What about the creation of the world, hm? Think about it: how would a mess of dust and chemicals create anything more than a base for the Earth? Where did all of the different animals and plant life come from once they had somewhere to exist? It makes sense that God would have at least done that part of the creation,” Kat argues.

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that as well,” Eve sighs.

“Is that not a logical explanation?” “In terms of science and basic history, not really!” As they bicker, my trembling fingers slide between the next two pages as if preparing to turn to the next segment of the manuscript. In a flurry of panic, I freeze my hand in place, half-wishing for it to turn to stone so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I don’t want to see what lies beyond this opening page. If I dig us into a deeper hole, I can bet I will be digging us into our graves.

“What else does that say, Yasmine?” Eve calls, dragging me out of my thoughts and into a whirlpool of fresh fear. My fingers dig into either side of the manuscript, locking the dreaded pages shut, an action I don’t realize until Eve is trying to pull it out of my hands.

“Come on, what else does it say?” They insist, pulling at the faded paper and its worn-out binding. My fingers don’t budge. “This isn’t a good idea,” I try to explain, my voice a shaky whisper. “This sort of information, if it’s real—” “I bet you it is,” Eve interjects. “This sort of information could be dangerous, Eve!” I plead. “Do you have any idea what sort of chaos this can cause?” With a grunt, my fingers come loose and Eve tips backwards as the book finally comes into their grasp. Despite my protests, they hastily pull it open and flip through the pages, their eyes zipping through paragraphs for information they can use— a predator hunting its prey. Some flicks of the pages later, they stop, lean in close to the text, and read it aloud.

“The preceding information and everything following comes from a man who, for his safety, will remain anonymous. He was moments away from becoming the new Pope— had gone through the teachings and all— when he was thrust out of his position at the last possible moment. In an instant, the life he had worked to obtain was ripped away from him, the honor of the Pope bestowed upon someone else. Within seconds, he was nobody. This man tells me the reason for his sudden fall from grace: the truth. “He recalls the night that roused his suspicions. In the middle of a violent thunderstorm on the 13 of April, 1775, he knelt on a cold, wooden floor, his hands clasped and held tight to his chest, uttering prayers and pleas for God to send him a sign. Midway through the storm, there was a lull. Silence fell upon the world around him for a moment, one long enough for him to rush to a window and cast his gaze to the sky. ‘The sky,’ he told me, ‘was a deathly black. It blotted out stars and left the perfect clearance for a sign to be sent down. I thought God was setting this up. For a moment, I stared and saw…nothing. There was no voice like the teachers had promised me. There was no evidence of life or death up there, only darkness. When the storm came again, it was as if a lost piece of information had clicked into place. This God we’ve believed in—it never existed at all.’” Eve’s reading, confident as can be, fades to a whisper by the time they reach the final sentence. There are notes of fear in their voice. Kat’s eyes are wide and her expression sits somewhere between befuddlement and worry.

“Is that enough proof for you, Kat?” Eve’s question is quiet as they slowly turn their gaze to Kat, who only stares at them for a long moment before snatching the manuscript out of their hands and flipping it to see the front.

“Someone search this author’s name,” she mutters. “Lucien Vieux.” I fumble my phone off my nightstand and tap the name into Google. The only result is an obituary. Reluctantly, I read it out. “Lucien Vieux, 45, was burned at the stake on October 11, 1783, in Paris, France, on charges of heresy. These charges arose from the attempted publication of a manuscript entitled ‘La vérité’ —‘The Truth.’ The piece pushed that there was no God, accompanied with a fair amount of self-proclaimed ‘evidence.’ The man whom he co-wrote it with has not been found as of this time. Mr. Vieux did not marry or have any children. All copies of his manuscript have reportedly been destroyed by the Catholic church.” “That’s it?” Kat whispers, to which I nod.

“That’s all that came up,” I confirm.

Kat’s eyes shine with tears. Her gaze falls back to the manuscript still clasped in her hands. “What do we even do with this?” She asks.

“Someone wanted us to find this,” Eve concludes. “There can’t have been many copies of this particular piece. How would one be missed? God may not exist, but luck still must.” “Who do we take it to? The church? The government? The natural history museum? They’ll all just lock it in a vault never to be seen again!” Kat’s voice rises almost to a shout. I motion for her to hand me the manuscript. She does.

“We’re on the cusp of chaos with this thing,” I breathe. “People will be a complete wreck if they find out there’s no god. Religion is a comfort, a baseline, something to focus on instead of all the horrible shit happening in our society. It gives people a sense of purpose and belonging. What happens if we shatter that illusion?”

“Didn’t Lucien say that the public deserves to know the truth?” Eve chimes in. “Don’t people deserve to know about this so they can change their lives for the better? Think how many problems would go away if we got rid of religion!” “Think of how many more problems would start if we did that!” Kat retorts.

“Give me the manuscript.” Eve holds out their hands to me and I hand the manuscript over. They take it and flip to the last page of the piece.

“I may not live to see the effects of this piece, but nobody should continue to be in the dark about this any longer. Our history has been torn to shreds by the belief in a higher power. Our belief in ourselves and each other has been ruined by the idea of a lack of responsibility; if everything can be blamed on a higher power, there is no need for guilt or shame or simple humility. With the truth, the good can be good without punishment, and the wicked can face retribution for their actions. In the truth, we will find balance. I beg you, reader, understand the truth and let it become common knowledge. Do not doom this world. “There is no god, only man.”


Ruth set her empty cup in the sink and walked toward the balcony. On the way, the bottle of wine they’d received for their anniversary beckoned to her from the table. She picked it up and scrutinized it as she recounted the meeting of the previous night. The people there were welcoming and genuinely expressed their interest in getting to know her and George. Though she’d only met Gloria a couple nights ago, she felt she could trust this leader of these people. This was despite the strange and alarming things that had been shared with her. Ruth’s mind flashed back to the meeting. Gloria held the old book open before her and read unrecognizable words. Periodically, there was a response from the listeners in the same tongue. Even though she couldn’t understand what was being spoken, Ruth sensed something strangely appealing about what she was watching. She didn’t feel bored or out-of-touch. After about five minutes, Gloria set the book down on the chair next to her. She raised her arms up and began singing. Her voice was pleasing. The other members joined in. Soon, the room was filled with the sound of their voices. The melody was intoxicating, with men and women’s voices blended in beautiful harmonies that came and went with the progression of the song. A feeling of warmth seemed to enter the room and one felt like the space was larger than it was. As she listened, Ruth realized that she no longer heard the noise of the ship’s engine room nearby. The voices of the singers were by no means louder than that of the engines, but rather, seemed to eclipse them. It was almost as if that sound was being replaced. Ruth began to think she’d never heard anything so beautiful in her life. Tears filled her eyes. An urge arose inside for her to stand to which she unconsciously responded. As the singing continued, wave after wave of warm feelings came over Ruth. At the same time, an unsettled feeling began to make its presence known. Ruth couldn’t put her finger on it. Soon it began to distract her from the peaceful sensations she was experiencing. She wanted it to go away, but it persisted. Something familiar about it haunted her thoughts. What was it? The peace she had felt before began to erode. She looked at the faces of those around. All seemed to be beaming with satisfaction, contentment. Was she the only one feeling this? Ruth was brought back to the present. That’s why she was here now. She couldn’t let that sensation go. She was unsure of what to think of everything she’d been told. She wanted to be open. George, however, was very skeptical. As she turned the wine bottle in her hand, she remembered Gloria’s warming from their first meeting. “I urge you to get rid of it. Do not drink it.”  Ruth had intentionally not mentioned any of that to George. It would have only added fuel to his objections. She knew the subject would have to be broached, if and when they ever opened it up. It’s just a bottle of wine. What could be so bad? She set it back down and walked to the balcony. The overcast sky added to her somber mood. She thought about her family, about the things Gloria had said. Flashes of her past whizzed by and Ruth felt her knees buckling. She dropped into a chair. Again, her conversation with Gloria about this person called Eyah-sah and Kyrios, the being who sent him, came to mind. “Get alone. Get somewhere you can be without distractions, where nothing will be able to compete with your attention and talk to him.” “Talk to him? How do you talk to someone you can’t see?” “By acting as if he is there. I assure you; he will be. Don’t give up. Press on. What you’ve been fed your whole life is like a fog that has to be burned away. It can take some time, but it’s worth it.” “What happens?” asked Ruth. “He’ll make himself known to you.” Gloria touched Ruth’s breastbone. “Here. This is where you will see him, and he’ll show you what you need to see.” Now Ruth looked up and around. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know where to start or what to do. Is anybody really there? Is anyone even listening?” Ruth sat there for a few moments waiting for something. She didn’t know what that was. As time passed, she began to feel rather foolish about her solo conversation. “I should just get dressed.” As she rose to leave, she felt something restraining her. It wasn’t words per se, but more like her own consciousness telling her not to go. She stopped and turned back around. Stepping to the railing, she grabbed onto it and stared out over the water. “Is that you or is it me? Am I just imagining things?” Ruth stood silently for a few moments. Her head lifted upward. “E--Eyah-sah? Is that you?” Suddenly, a new sensation. It seemed she was not alone. There was a presence with her, not on the balcony, but all around her. Somehow, she perceived that it had been there all along but only now had she become aware of it. “Is that you? You’re here?” Again, it was not words, but she felt a confirmation in her that was an answer to her question. “Can you help me? I was told to seek you. I need to know what’s going on. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. Please, I need your help.” Tears began to fill her eyes. “Please, Eyah-sah, if you’re there.” Just then, she felt something calming her heart. She sensed understanding, compassion, even concern for her life. “You’re here, I know you’re here. Gloria said you would show me what I need to see. Please, show me.” At that, the calming began to fade. The same unsettling feelings she’d experienced in the meeting with Gloria and the group began to return. Only this time they were more pronounced, more pointed. Like they were trying to direct her thoughts to a specific place. She felt a wrenching of her emotions. “What? What is it? What is this I’m feeling? I’m so disturbed. What’s happening? What are you trying to tell me?” Ruth gripped the railing tightly as the sensation intensified. She could hardly stand it anymore. “Help! I’m in agony over this!” Glenda Harboro. That name suddenly popped into Ruth’s mind. Glenda had been a childhood friend. As young children they had been inseparable. Glenda was a rather clumsy girl and not particularly attractive, but she had a sweet personality. Ruth was her only real friend. That is, until they had gotten older, and Ruth had begun to date George. The time they spent together began to diminish in its frequency and duration. Ruth felt guilty about it at first, but as she spent more and more time with George and their circle of friends, that passed. Those guilty feelings now returned. Long buried memories arose in a slideshow of scenes that recalled how Ruth had specifically been distant, insensitive, even cruel in her treatment of her friend. One particular incident proved especially bothersome. Ruth and her girlfriends were seated together at lunch and Glenda came up in the conversation. The other girls made light of her, making all manner of disparaging remarks about her looks. Ruth recalled with horror now how she had laughed with them. Just as this was going on, Glenda walked by their table carrying a plate of food from the buffet. She stopped momentarily and looked at Ruth with sadness. The other girls shut up and looked at their plates with awkward expressions. The sinking feeling Ruth had felt at the time returned. As Glenda continued on, the other girls giggled and smirked among themselves. Ruth sat silently, awash in shameful guilt. Interaction between Glenda and Ruth became nothing more than occasional encounters at various activities on the ship. Ruth felt for the longest time the need to address the situation, but her guilt-ridden conscience wouldn’t let her. Eventually, she buried everything deep inside and carried on with her life. Now, a final memory of her old childhood friend came into focus. It was fifteen years ago; the day Glenda left the ship. A small gathering stood on the main deck with Glenda standing on the exit platform. Ruth hadn’t been able to bring herself to join the group. She, instead, was some distance away on a walkway facing the ceremony. Glenda turned to walk onto the catwalk but took one final look to the backdrop as if hoping to see someone. Ruth hadn’t realized it at the time, but now was fully aware that her old friend was looking for her. She watched Glenda step onto the catwalk and into the void of the Black Ship. Her old friend was gone. She had never had any children, had never even married. Not many had been there to see her go. As if someone had punched her in the stomach, Ruth collapsed onto the balcony deck and buried her head in her hands. “Oh, no, what have I done? What have I done? How could I?” She began to convulse in sobs. “Oh, Glenda, how could I? I’m so sorry. You were so nice, and I was so cruel. I wish you were here to tell you but you’re not and I’m so awfully sorry. I need your forgiveness, but I can’t get it. How can I live? How can I live?” The presence Ruth had felt before returned. She looked up in desperation. “Oh, Eyah-sah, help me! Please help me!” Instantly, the words Gloria had spoken before about Eyah-sah came to mind, but more than that. Ruth could visualize what had been spoken to her. She saw this man being beaten and strapped to the stern of the ship. She saw a man cry out and go limp. She saw a lifeless body get cut loose and tossed like a rag into the sea. She recalled Gloria’s words about Eyah-sah taking our guilt upon himself. That’s when Ruth realized that she had a part in it all. Her guilt was driving this selfless act. She bore responsibility. She cried out. “Oh, Eyah-sah, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it. How could I have treated her like that? Poor, dear Glenda. I’m sorry for hurting you. Forgive me. Please, please forgive me.” Ruth curled up in a ball. She wept and wept, repeating “Forgive me” over and over. Then, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off her, Ruth felt a lightness in her heart. All at once, she became aware of an overwhelming presence that overshadowed her. It was like someone had stepped onto the balcony with her, though no one was visible. The oppressive guilt she had felt was totally gone. In its place she felt an indescribable warmth she’d never experienced in all her years. This presence was like what she felt from Eyah-sah but was different. It was unique to itself. Then it burst upon her in a flood as if someone had turned on a light and she could see for the first time. She rose to her knees. “Father!” she cried out. “You’re my father. It’s you. You’re my father. All this time and I never knew. It’s you, Kyrios.” Tears of comfort, relief, peace, and contentment poured from her eyes as she absorbed it all. A new awareness had become part of her. She sensed and realized things hidden for her entire life. Something had happened to Ruth deep in her core. She knew now that this Kyrios had always wanted to be that to her, a father. All those thousands of years ago, that was his intent from the beginning. More than a creature, she was now transformed into a child of this marvelous being. The plan and the intent of Kyrios was now manifesting itself in her heart. Now it became apparent to her that she had to see her need for forgiveness before she could realize it. It was Eyah-sah. He made it possible. She was free. Her guilt was gone. There was nothing in the way of or that could hide this new-found relationship. Not only was she forgiven. Ruth was loved. She was really loved. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, father. Thank you, Eyah-sah. Oh, Eyah-sah, dear Eyah-sah, how can I possibly thank you?” Ruth bent over with her knees on the balcony deck, repeating softly, “Thank you.” After a few minutes she quickly raised her head. Something new had just been revealed to her. “No!” she said with excitement. “Is that who you really are, Eyah-sah? I must tell Gloria. I must tell George. I must tell everyone.” She quickly rose to her feet. There was a new spring in her step, not at all like that of a seventy-something. “I must tell Gloria first.” As she headed for the door, the bottle on the table seemed to jump out at her. She picked it up and looked it over. The words Gloria had spoken echoed in her mind, but this time it was not her voice. That same impression from inside of her was now the source. She knew what she had to do. “We’re not having this.” Ruth marched out to the balcony and drew the bottle back. As she got ready to throw it out to sea, a thought occurred to her. What will George think? She hesitated, then recalled Gloria’s words regarding the Dark Ones and their influence. She looked at the bottle. “I don’t care anymore. There’s a lot of things I don’t care about anymore.” With a grunt, Ruth hurled the bottle over the railing, then turned and headed for the door. She opened it and stepped outside. “I must tell Gloria,” she said with a giggle as she closed the door. Then she turned and bounced down the hallway, still in her nightclothes.


In the woods North Preston is the largest black community in Nova Scotia by population and has the highest concentration of African Canadians in any community in Canada.

The population was 3,223 in 2021. This is a decline from 2006 when Preston had a population of 3,536.

North Preston also includes the beautiful Lake Echo in which a river flows through the community.

Ashayo was a shy, quiet, yet happy little guy. His short 10 years of life on this earth were thought to be quite uneventful.

The community in which he lived was a community of faith. There was a sign at the beginning of the community "We've come this far by Faith." and it was true - the community was tight. There were big church potlucks once a month, Sunday school for the children every Tuesday night, and everyone knew everyone. It was a community that took care of its own. They looked out for each other.

Tuesday, October 28 at 9 pm Ashayo's mom sent Ashayo to brush his teeth and get into bed. A ten-year-old boy needs to get his sleep and so does she. Oh but, she was tired. Harriet was bone tired. Tired from work, tired from worry, and tired of just being sad.

He was a good boy and never had Theresa a lick of trouble, unlike his older brother Theo.

Theodore was named after his daddy rest in peace. Raising these two boys alone was hard, hard, and lonely, but she was determined to make their daddy and the good Lord proud of her and her little family - her sweet boys. They all missed him so much. It was two years since their Daddy passed but they rarely spoke his name. They were just too darn sad. They all just grieved in silence, in their own way I guess.

Theresa had worked all day until 3 pm at Fry Daze - it was a burger joint really but they also had lobster rolls and lobster poutine and of course everyone's favorite - Fish and chips. Everyone ordered fish and chips on Friday because everyone in the Catholic society knew you had to only eat fish on Fridays. That was the lord's law. Lake Echo was full

of fresh haddock and the restaurant owners had a brother who was a fisherman and brought the fresh fish in daily so the food was good.

Everyone knows Fry Daze was one of the only handful of restaurants in Preston. Other than that, you had to drive into Dartmouth and you had to have a car for that. Theresa took the bus to work every day except

for Sundays because everyone know that was Lord's Day. A day of rest. And God knows

Theresa needed a rest.

 They lived in an old but tidy little house on the edge of the woods. There might have been 30 houses in the whole community.

Ashayo's school was up the road about a 20-minute walk. Theresa used to walk him to school every day when his Dad was alive.

but now that he was ten and in the "double digits" and "almost a man now" as Ashayo proudly stated,

he now walked with his best friend and neighbor Denny. She worried about him. He was her baby but she knew she had to loosen the reins and let him find his way in the world. Plus she had to get to work now.

After school, Ashayo got off the bus, walked home, and started straight away at his homework.

Momma was home by then and was busy in the kitchen starting dinner. She already had his snack laid

out waiting for him- homemade chocolate chip cookies and a big glass of milk. After supper of fried chicken

and a side of greens, he watched his favorite shows brushed his teeth, said his prayers, and went off to bed. Momma still tucked

him in and gave him kissed him goodnight every night. He didn't mind. He loved his momma.

Theresa washed up the dishes and tidied around the house. God knows when Theo would get home and she

didn't wait up anymore. He was seventeen and she just didn't know what to do with him anymore. She just had to trust in the Lord that he was safe.

She started off to bed but before she turned in, she checked on Ashayo one more time. She loved to watch her sweet baby asleep. He looks so peaceful. He looked just like his Daddy. Oh, how she missed his Daddy.

When Theresa opened the door to his bedroom he wasn't there. She looked all around the room, under the bed, in the closet but he was nowhere to be found.

She looked in the bathroom. She looked all through the house. He was gone but where could he have gone? She looked outside around the house while calling out his name. He called Ashayo's best friend, Dany's mom but she hadn't seen Dany since that morning. Soon the neighbors heard the shouting and gathered around in the yard. Someone called 911. Theresa was beyond herself with worry. Please, Lord Jesus, Mother of God keep my baby safe, please keep my baby safe. Bring him home to me. I will do anything you ask me to, just bring him home. Then she whispered a silent prayer to her late husband- Honey keep our son safe and keep him warm and please, please show him the way home to me. Amen.

Wednesday, Oct 29th, 9 pm

Ashayo woke up in the dark and felt a soft breeze stir around his shoulders. He could hear the sound of maybe someone softly singing. The sound seemed to come from outside. He walked over to the window and pressed his ear to the window pane. it sounded like someone was whispering his name - Asha. And then he saw a kind of soft, glowing light off in the distance. He tip-toed out of his room and quietly slipped out the backdoor. It was dark and it was cold. He had his fleece pajamas on and the cold, dry leaves crunched under his bare little feet.

In the woods behind his house, he found a somewhat flattened pathway, so he followed it, mesmerized by the soft, glowing light.

Wednesday, October 29th, 12 pm.

Theresa was pacing up and down her front driveway, waiting for the police, in a panic, she was thinking about where Ashayo could have gone. Had someone taken him? Did he run away? She walked into the house to make another phone call but instead, she decided to look in his room one more time, and there he was, in his bed, sound asleep! She did a double-take - what in the world! Oh, praise the Lord! Thank you, Jesus. She was so relieved and so confused and so filled with joy. She gathered him up in the bed and started rocking him back and forth. She tucked his head right under her chin and kissed the top of his head over and over again. Ashyao slowly opened his eyes, Momma what's going on? What is wrong?

Theresa cried "Where were you? Where have you been?" I'm okay Momma. I heard someone calling my name in my sleep and then I saw this beautiful light in the woods so I had to go. I wasn't scared Momma - The light felt safe and it was so warm Momma. It felt like, like... love. Momma? I think the light was Daddy. He told me he loved us so much and he missed us every day. He told me he was watching us and he was so proud of us Momma and he told me to tell you not to worry about Theo, that he would be okay. He just missed Daddy, but he was going to be just fine. Daddy said we need to get through this together and take care of each other. We need to talk to each other and not be afraid to show our feelings because it's okay to be sad. He said he was watching over us, Momma. He is watching over us every day and every night. It was Daddy, Momma. It was. I know It was.

Harriet cried and stroked his head over and over again as she murmured yes baby, yes baby. It was a dream baby, it was just a dream. We were both dreaming and she smiled as she brushed the fallen leaf out of his hair and then she fell into the deepest sleep she ever had in two long, long years.

The End.


Sylvia starts talking immediately. “Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.” Nathan clears his throat, it feels unnaturally tight. He tries to dig a finger between his neck and the starched collar. “Hi, Sylvia.” She sighs on the other end, collecting her thoughts. It almost undoes him. The tinny tone of her voice is faint and he knows she is in the car, using Bluetooth. He can tell her windows are open, the wind competing with her words. She’s driving back to her campus after the fall break, after the mini-reunion with all of their hometown friends. “I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I…I miss you. Not just as my friend, you will always be my friend, I miss you . You weren’t yourself at dinner last night.” “Sylvia I...” He doesn’t know what to say. He has always deflected Sylvia’s probing into his well-being, kept things light. Even now, after everything, he doesn’t know what to say. The pause stretches, he almost hangs up. “I know, I know. College changes people. It was more than that though. You seemed so deeply sad. I mean, you laughed at the right times and asked the right questions, but something seemed…I don’t know, off.” “I know. It is. I don’t know how to feel better. Not without you.” Nathan’s eyes start to burn. Despite the authenticity of his feelings, the honesty of his words, he still feels shame at the tears and glances around the train car. An elderly woman is sitting across from him and is staring at him with something that looks dangerously close to sympathy. She gives him a small smile full of creased skin and he looks away, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. His mother had insisted he carry tissues, You never know. He wishes he had listened, regardless of his childish claim that he never cries. “Nathan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this on the phone, I’m just worried. I hope you know I will always be here for you. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.” Nathan’s stomach clenches and he suddenly feels as though he might be sick all over his dress shoes. The acidic taste of bile floods his mouth and he struggles not to hurl. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth. If she meant it she would actually be here, not just saying empty words through his phone speaker. He hates her in this moment. “You’re a liar. You are a LIAR!” He slams his fist into the empty plastic chair next to him. The elderly woman is startled and her sympathy transforms into a look of fear tinged with disapproval. She snatches up her plastic grocery bags and shuffles further down the car, choosing a seat near a sleepy-looking mother gently rocking a screaming child. Nathan pinches the bridge of his nose and drops his head between his knees, the feeling of nausea growing stronger now accompanied with embarrassment at his outburst. He should hang up, he knows he should stop this. He presses his phone harder to his ear, wanting to hear every word, every moment. “I mean it, I do-Oh-” The line explodes with noise and then goes dead. Nathan drops his hand and slides the phone into his jacket pocket. He feels exhausted, spent. The wave of nausea slowly begins to dissipate. His stop is next. He sits up and straightens his tie. Smooths back his hair. The train shudders to a halt and half his car exits, he trails behind. The mother has set her child in a stroller and is heading toward the strip mall down the street. A couple side-step Nathan to enter the car holding hands. A man almost collides with him, chatting furiously away on what is clearly a work call. It all feels unreal to Nathan, people merely play-acting at real life because the world has so obviously ended. He can see the spire of the church looming over the surrounding buildings. He is going to be late, but he can’t face it, can’t admit the finality of it. He pulls his phone out again and sits on a bench in the train terminal. He dials his voicemail again. He’s lost count of how many times he has listened to the message since the day Sylvia left it for him, the day she… “Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.” “I miss you, Sylvia. So much.” “I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I…I miss you. Not just as my friend, you will always be my friend, I miss you . You weren’t yourself at dinner last night.” “I can’t do this without you. It’s too hard.” “I know, I know. College changes people. It was more than that though. You seemed so deeply sad. I mean, you laughed at the right times and asked the right questions, but something seemed…I don’t know, off.” “I hate school. I am failing all my classes. It isn’t like high school with you by my side, helping me through it all, supporting me. I am just so sad all the time and now…now without you-” “Nathan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this on the phone, I’m just worried. I hope you know I will always be here for you. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.” “I know, you were. You always were.” “I mean it, I do-Oh-” That small gasp, more a question than an exclamation. A moment of utter confusion as her life is stolen away in a twisting of metal and rubber. Nathan sobs as the explosion of the crash quickly followed by absolute silence assaults his ears. The church bells begin to ring. He is late to her funeral, but he can’t do it, he can’t look at the sad wooden box trying to contain the vibrant life of Sylvia. He can’t face her distraught family armed only with the awkward verbiage afforded to those offering condolences. He can’t sit with their other friends all able to function in the face of their grief. He dials his voicemail again. “Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.”


No disrespect to all the cleaners out there, but house cleaning wasn’t exactly my intended career path. Hey, life happens. It paid the bills while I got back on my feet. Most of my clients forgot my name. I was just the Merrie Maid girl to them, basically invisible. I exacted revenge by giving them all nicknames in my mind and fantasizing about their reactions if I were ever to write a book about all their quirks. For example, there was Ms. Hoarder. She had only accepted cleaning services out of fear of her daughter who had threatened her with Social Services. She followed me from room to room as I threaded my way through tottering stacks of clutter, fumblingly snatching back anything I tried to throw out. The Poopsters were a nice old couple, but they had a couple of yappy, incontinent little dogs. I learned early to look where I was stepping and to wear my heavy-duty rubber gloves in their place. Ms. Party Girl left spilled wine stains and cigarette ash all over the place. I was always surprised that the house hadn’t burned down since my last visit.         Then there were the Glossies. The same wedding picture that had been in the glossy society magazine I had browsed through in my dentist’s waiting room was hanging framed on the wall of their elegant home. They were tall, slender and confident, with sparkling white teeth. The dentist probably approved. If the article hadn't contained their personal details, I’d have thought the picture was staged. It all looked too good to be true. With hindsight, I wish I could say I had been prescient, but at that moment I was just plain jealous.             He was standing behind her, arms clasped around her waist as she gazed adoringly up at him. Her hand rested delicately on his to show off a diamond as big as a walnut. Okay, I’m exaggerating, slightly. The blurb had gone on about how they had met, their degrees and careers and how they were soulmates. She was a lawyer, and he was a financial consultant. It described seed pearls and lace in excruciating detail. My marriage had turned out to be even cheaper than my wedding and had barely lasted six months. At least my mother was so thrilled with her granddaughter that she had stopped saying “I told you so” about my ex more than once a week. Since we were living in her basement apartment, I had learned to bite my tongue. I couldn’t disagree with a word she said about him anyway.          “Hope you have better luck than I did, sister,” I said to the bride in the wedding portrait as I dusted it. I forgave them their good fortune. The sleek, modern design of the house, with its cathedral ceilings and hardwood floors, made cleaning easy and I had learned to appreciate the little things. They were polite on the few occasions that we crossed paths, more than I could say about some of my other clients. Their life seemed to be idyllic. I couldn’t hate anyone for that. I smiled knowingly at the messy tangle of sheets in the king size bed and empty wine glasses on the bedside tables. There were loving little notes in the waste basket and roses on the dining table. What, you didn’t think I would read them? Give me a break, and shred your papers .      And yet, there were clouds on the horizon. Sometimes there were only one person’s plates in the dishwasher. One side of the bed was immaculately made, while the guest bed had been used. Gorgeous flowers and sweetly worded cards appeared after these episodes. I gave Mr. Glossy full points for classy apologies until I found the most recent bouquet shredded in the trash along with the shards of the vase. Now I understood how the hallway mirror got broken. That one apparently didn't go according to plan. That day I was dusting his office when I retrieved some papers that had fallen between the desk and the wall. They were letters from collection agencies. I recognized those from my own experience, but the amounts on these made me open my eyes wide. Romantic, considerate Mr. Glossy was in deep financial trouble. I wondered if Mrs. Glossy knew. It might explain the vase throwing. Yet it didn’t seem to make a difference to their standard of living. The wine cabinet remained full and there were exotic travel brochures scattered on the coffee table. I pored over them wistfully before I stacked them neatly in the magazine rack.      “I’m sorry,” I said to her photograph. “I know what it’s like to have your Dr Jekyll turn out to be a Mr. Hyde. Mine wasn’t as good looking and he didn’t have any money to lose, but I know what it’s like to fall for a jerk.” I wondered what would happen if I tried to warn her. I hardly ever saw her in person. There was the slight matter of client confidentiality. And finally, I was the house cleaner. There was no earthly reason she’d believe anything I told her. If I left the statements where she’d find them, he would know who had moved them. I put the papers back where I found them and kept my mouth shut.          On my next visit, I noticed that most of the clothes and a suitcase were gone from her side of the walk-in closet. We wore the same size. I admit I sometimes took items of her beautiful designer clothes out to admire them, though I never tried them on. Hey, I’m human. If you’d had to wear a Merrie Maid smock, you’d have done the same. I thought of the travel brochures and hoped she was relaxing on a beach somewhere, sipping a tall drink with a little umbrella in it. I headed to the main bathroom, gloves on, basket of cleaning supplies at the ready, when Mr. Glossy suddenly appeared, scaring me half to death. He seemed equally startled.           “Good morning, er, um, Ms., Ms...yes, Ms. Merrie.” I told you they never remembered my name.           “Didn’t mean to scare you. You don’t have to worry about cleaning the bathroom. We had a slight mishap last night before my wife left on her business trip. The toilet overflowed. What a mess! It took forever to clean up. I don't know how you do that all day long. Anyway, long story short, I bought new mats and it’s all fine now.”  He’d never uttered more than a passing greeting before. Since he was almost blocking the doorway, I could not enter, but I could see that there were indeed new mats on the bathroom floor.           “In fact,” he continued, “I’ll be joining her in a day or two, so there’s really no need to worry about the rest of the house. Here, this is for your trouble. I’ll call the office when we’re ready for you to come back.” He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a roll of notes, peeled off several and handed them to me. It was almost a week’s wages. I just managed to thank him before he hustled me downstairs. I found myself, cleaning supplies and all, outside on the front porch, still wearing my gloves, as the door shut behind me. Something didn’t feel right, but it wasn’t a crime to behave oddly. Maybe she’d left him, and he didn’t want to admit it. I told the office that they’d put services on hold for now. Somehow, I forgot to mention my tip.

        About a week later, I was relaxing at home, playing with my baby, half listening as my mother prattled on in the kitchen. She had the television tuned to the local news. I glanced up and did a double take as I saw Mr. and Mrs. Glossy’s familiar wedding photograph. The view switched to a teary eyed Mr. Glossy standing outside the house.          “Please come home, honey,” he intoned, gazing into the camera with tearful sincerity. “I miss you so much. It doesn’t matter what’s going on. We can deal with it together.” He turned to weep on the shoulder of a distressed looking older woman. Judging from the likeness, she was Mrs. Glossy’s mother. The camera cut back to the reporter.           “Anyone with information is requested to call…” I was already on my feet, scrabbling for pen and paper.            “Mrs. Glossy, you’d better believe I’m going to call. I’m on your side, sister.”