I didn’t expect it to work. When I placed the worn photo of my mother and her long-gone sister under my pillow – a photo that had captured them at their most rebellious, most vivacious – some summer night in 1982 – I didn’t expect to be brought back to that very parking lot where the photo had been taken. And yet, that is where my story begins. She was 19 then, and my aunt 23. It would be the last time my mother saw her sister alive: a night that would haunt her for the rest of her life, and in turn, would haunt me throughout mine. My mother was not a warm person. The rest of my extended family tells me that she used to be: that she used to be loving and larger than life, that she laughed louder than anyone in the room, that she was beautiful and magnetic. They tell me that the ‘she’ she used to be died that night, too, right along with her sister. They tell me they’re sorry for my loss even though I wasn’t born then, because maybe I could’ve had a red-lipped mother who smiled at me with bright white perfect teeth and who laughed with my infant gurgles, a melodic mother who soothed me when I cried as a child. I didn’t have that mother. Instead, I had my mother: a cold, hard woman who smoked Newports and flicked the butts throughout our apartment and paid me little mind. I spent my life fixated on that night, the night in the photo. The night that took who could’ve been my mother away and left me with this shell of a woman to raise me. I’d seen an old video of it once: I had a penchant for digging around in places I didn’t belong, like my uncles attic. Not my real uncle – a close friend of my mothers who’d been there that night, who we visited often; whose home was filled with relics from a youth he tried desperately to cling onto. Posters of glam rock bands carelessly plastered on the walls of his garage and leather furnishing that made his admiration of biker culture very clear to visitors made for tacky décor throughout his home. He was the only person who I ever saw make my mother laugh, although even then, it was rather sardonic. On one of their whiskey nights, I wandered up into the attic, filled with dust and boxes and more boxes and books and old VHS tapes, and browsed the ones with handwritten labels; and I found one that had a label with no handwriting on it, laying on its back instead of vertically with its brothers. Probably some kind of filth recorded from the television after 1AM on one of those X-Rated channels no one pays for but tries to make out through the snow anyway. In that attic, he had an old, musty, perpetually damp couch with springs sticking out across from an old, box television set to play those old VHS tapes; and so, naturally, curious, starving for information and entertainment that did not belong to me, I decided to play the tape. I didn’t find filth; at least not the kind I was expecting – instead, a shaky video of a boy and his friends in a parking lot; film that had rotted away in the plastic casing of that VHS, leaving blotches in corners of the video, distorting the clues to their exact location and cutting off faces of friends that were perhaps long since forgotten. I watched, mesmerized; able to recognize my mother and her pouty, painted red lips and teased blonde hair, worn up, while she dragged on her Newport and laughed raucously at whatever someone near her was saying, jabbing her sister in the rib to, I imagine, elicit laughter from her, too. It was odd to see my mother as a girl, then. She was 60 now but looked much worse for wear than she could’ve had she taken care of herself all these years. The girl on the screen was beautiful and lively and cool; my mother downstairs was dried and wrinkled and raspy and someone that coughed up phlegm and spit it wherever she pleased. I became determined to go back there, somehow. I immersed myself in the study of film restoration and 80s history, in physics, in time travel, in the suspension of disbelief and most of all, in a misguided spark of hope. I couldn’t tell you why it dawned upon me to freeze frame that shot of my mother and her sister and turn it into a photo to place under my pillow, as if it would summon a fairy to bring me to their world in that time and in that space: but I can tell you that that’s precisely what happened. And that’s where I am: watching her, watching her friends, her sister. The air smells of freshly pumped gasoline and is just crisp enough that I question how she could even be comfortable in that skirt with fishnets, such a stereotypical look for the rebel of her time. Her sister, dressed similarly, looks less comfortable. Tense. Have you ever heard of vinegar syndrome? It is, essentially, the deterioration of film. It is what caused that home video to have messy blotches of empty space when I watched it. It is the, in technical terms, “catastrophic deterioration that occurs when the film breaks down.” It is precisely within that spot that I find myself: a black hole, an interdimensional wasteland, a secret place that lets me watch them without them watching me. And as I marinate in this space, I somehow feel my own being quickly deteriorating: as if my very flesh is melting, as if my brain has developed the ability to shapeshift from a rounded pink mass into sharpened blades that grind against my now ever-changing skull; and it’s so fast and so overwhelming and so freezing cold and burning hot all at once, and the smell – the smell of rotting, of vinegar, of some warped attempt at preservation; and I need to run. And my brain, in its malformed yet commanding transmission, lunges me forward; forward, toward my mother, toward her sister. I lunge and engulf her within the black hole I find that I myself have become and I’m so acidic I digest her, my mothers sister, in a matter of seconds, with no ability to form an idea as to why it must be her, but it must be. She belongs in the liminal space between film and the world, and I don’t know why - And then I’m awake. In my bed. The photo is gone. And the video, paused, shines back at me in my still-dark bedroom with film strips strewn around the floor, and I see the frozen frame, rotted, paused. A shadow stands beside my mother. The film there has deteriorated.


The stars drifted like motes of dust, swept under the cosmic rug to gather and breed into beings of dark speculation. Their closeness was deceptive; many a light-year had passed now, and no new encounter seemed at all imminent. A lone vessel travels the deserted hyperway, the quiet hum of the motors inaudible to we who drift in the vacuum, yet if we were to enter the small bubble of atmosphere which surrounds that road, we would hear the sparking music of the circuits flashing without end, propelling its partakers at speeds that would have made Einstein's head spin. But the vessel. Unlikely though it may seem, this is the rush hour, and the traffic monitors from their perches on the asteroid designation Raxl-09H are watching the crowded byways with the needless concern of their ilk. But even in a galaxy populated by trillions of Elevated organisms, the vast blankness of the stars has proven yet insurmountable to the rigorous advance of overpopulation. The last car had passed some thirty minutes ago, riding a separate hyperway which had disappeared in its wake, swallowed by the tenuous pocket-dimensions which bound it for common usage. In the car (it is so very hard to follow, at this speed), hear the children's quiet snores,  the low conversation of adults discussing rest stops and local attractions. "Yes, Hadeir is nice this cycle, but think of Klanem, deary! You wouldn't want our children to miss the Terrogahn, now would you?" "Bloody disturbing, the Terrogahn. I wouldn't much mind an AmnoRet, if we could afford it, for the bleeding thing." "It's local culture, honey... do show some respect for differences." "They eat their children! " "Only the weaklings... they wouldn't make it past their ninth gendak anyway!" "It's Dorphag that uses gendaks, dear. Klanem uses Yeinu'uns. Three moons, see?" A bleary voice, from the back of the vessel. "Woss noon..." "See what you've done. Now Daniel's up." "Noon...?" The voice, not as young as its sleep-shaken tone would suggest, belongs to a teen of healthy size and direct Earth descent, who is rubbing instinctively at the blotchy acne of his face. "There's no noon out here," offered the mother - a bubbly woman named Sarah - "I think deep space uses Xarnath relativity... isn't that right, honey?" "Gvorak pocket time," he mutters, for he is a Cartographer by trade, a position most auspicious in a constantly expanding universe. His name by birth was Hank. The profession demanded he change it to Horatio. "I just want lunch," said Daniel, and stretched luxuriously in his chair. But Sarah has turned back to her brochures, and Horatio is grumbling about always being ignored, so the boy pinches his sister in passionless malice, and chuckles at her blazing rage upon waking. Sarah's head jerks back. " Daniel!" "Who, me?" The look on his face bears an admirable facade of innocence, especially since he must wear it while under siege from a barrage of whirling, furious limbs. The girl is short, but surprisingly foul-mouthed for her young age of ten, a fact which has brought a discreet smile on her father's face. "You know," Daniel is saying, " I think some food would do us all good. Mom, can we please stop for some lunch?" The girl stills, a brief calculation rushing across her small features. She is weighing the benefits of a continued assault on her aggressor, against those of quieting down, and voicing her opinions on the upcoming meal. Her name is Penelope, and she has not won the tenuous respect of her older relatives without a cleverness rivaling that of her Grecian namesake. "I want a hamburger," she says, and how sweet her voice can be! It takes her brother off guard, halfway though he is through his slow petition for Gorfaergen hog roast. "Well, yes," he rallies, "but we've come so far, don't you think, and it'd be a shame not to have some local cuisine... " Sarah brightens, and it is perhaps to his own harm that Daniel awoke too late, for the first words out of her mouth are enough to chill Horace's blood. "Well, that's a good point! We could stop at the Ter"- "Hamburgers." "What was that, honey?" A swerve of the wheel, and the hyperway hums in dissatisfaction at the sudden demand. "Ham... burgers." His gritted teeth broke no argument. "Hmph. I still think it would have been a good experience for the children..." And Horace lets her talk. For long years of marriage have at least taught him that women love to talk, and do so with real earnest and persuasion, and their retribution to an unresponsive man can be vicious to the degree that the Terrogahn might seem a pleasant walk through the Earth Alps, and yet for all their cunning and ire, he is the one behind the wheel. So they go, the vessel streaking errant particles behind it, and the planets very bright where they illuminate the void, and the stars so like the fireflies of home as to warm the hearts of all who look upon them. They go, they leave, and the cosmos waves a thin salute - bright arcs of ice in the dead night of infinity - in their wake.


"I will go and have a look in the field. I think I had forgot to remove the stone," Sarpanch says. "Now, it is raining heavily. The lightining is occuring. Let it be," his wife says as the lightning strikes. "The crops will be of no use till morning. I will come back in a hour." Sarpanch reach his field. The big rock was blocking the way of water. He rush toward it. The weight was too heavy for his age. He try one more time. The rock landed on his feet. He cries, the blood from his feet make the water blood red. He fell into the field, his clothes fully drenched. A lightining occurs. "Aren't you going to scream," a female voice says from behind. "You know, it doesn't count if you are already planning your defeat," she says as she remove his eyeballs by pressing it. ************************ "What are you doing?" Shiva says as he pull the clothes from the bag. "Can't you see. I am leaving. I am going back to my home," Rekha shouts throwing her clothes in the bag. Shiva pulls her by her elbow. "This is our home," he says to end the conversation. Rekha jerks her hand away from his clutches. She doesn't stop the packing. "Where will you go? What will you do? Why can't you understand?" "I am not feeling good here. There is so many restriction. I have to live in those dirty hut during my periods. And the household work, it never ends." "It is just a matter of few weeks. We will go back, once I get money from them," Shiva says. "You are saying it from past one month. You know how much difficulty I am facing?" Rekha says. "Shiva, the sarpanch," his mother says as she catches her breaths. "What?" "He is dead. In the field," she says. *************** "I told him. I told him to not go in the field. Oh god!," the sarpanch wife cries as the people take his body away for funeral. "Whose evil eyes has landed on our village?" she continues patting her chest with her hands. "First Makhanlal and now him. Within a month there has been two death," she says, Shiva mother tries to soothe her. But she pushes her hand back. "It is coming. Next will be your husband," she says glaring right into her eyes. Shiva mother put her hand on her mouth. "No, no. It is not true," she cries storming out from her house. Rekha rush behind her. "Mother, mother stop. It is not good for your health," Rekha says as she was huffing for air. "It can't be true," shiva mother says as she cłoses her door. "Mother, mother open the door," Shiva says. "Why you pay your heads to such nonsense?" Shiva's father Sukhi says. "She is in pain. She just said it. She is no god." Sukhi says. The door open Shiva's mother eye was puffed. She glares Sukhi. Sukhi pulls her inside the room. "Your mother need some rest, my children. No need to worry," he says looking Rekha and Shiva. They both moves away from there. "What is all this?" Rekha asks as they come down. "Just old rivalry I think. She just say it, she knows my mother is bit sensitive in all these things," he says. "It seems there is something, more than rivalry," Rekha says. ********************* "She is right. It is coming," Shiva's mother says as she sits in front of the God photo. "What is this behaviour? What will our children think?" Sukhi says. "I don't care what they think. Just tell me what happened that day?" Shiva's mother asks clutching his kurta. "Nothing. How many times should I tell you," Sukhi says. "You can't fool me. There was blood on your kurta that day," Shiva's mother shouts. "Lower your voice. Oh god, somebody will hear it," he says closing the windows. "There was nothing. It was 15 years ago. He dies because lightning strike him," he says. "Lightning," Shiva's mother repeats. "Didn't you see his eyes? They were plucked out. His body was purple as if someone has suffocated him." "Whether you believe or not. My heart says it is because of that day only. God is punishing us," she says. ********************* "Where is the tea? Is anybody there?" Sukhi says as he take a seat in the lawn area. "Here," Rekha says as she handed a glass of tea. "Shiva and mother has gone to temple. They will come back soon." "Why didn't you also go with them? This is your first time in the village. You should also go," he says taking a sip of tea. "I am not a religious person. I don't believe in all these things," she replies. Sukhi chuckles, "Obviously, city people are modern. They didn't believe in gods and superstition." "Where is your village? I know you two got married in secret. Even we were unable to attend it," Sukhi says. "I..I belongs from Hansi," she says. The glass fell from Sukhi's hand. "What happens? Do you know about the village? It is near only," Rekha says picking up the glass, the tea spills in the rock marble. "Um.. yes yes. I know about it. I think I am tired I may rest now," he says walking toward his room. "Hansi. You should remember my village. Don't you?" Rekha says, Sukhi pause midway. Sweats forms on his forehead. "There is one popular story in my village. It is of 15 years ago. Two girls came to this village. They were young and beautiful," Rekha says and pause. Sukhi was shivering in his place. He didn't even have energy to move around or walk, as if his feet were stuck to the floor. "There were three men in the field. Drunk. They see the girls. One of them holds their hand, one see everything and one do dirty things. They fulfill their desire, one after other. And when they were done. Do you know what they did?" Rekha asks. "They threw a large piece of rock. To crush their skulls. Luckily, one girl was not dead," she says. Rekha pick up a large stone from the lawn. Sukhi couldn't move from his place. As if some energy is holding him there. He can sees his death right in front of his eyes. "Let me go, please," he cries as Rekha stand in front of him. "That's how we pleaded back then," Rekha says as he break his skull with the large rock. Blood splash on her face, as she disfigures his face.


I only went to mass twice a year. Christmas and Easter. I admit, some years I’ve even skipped Christmas (how could you not, when there’s so much else to do?). Despite this, I wiped my hands on a towel to get all the french fry grease off them so I could prepare to pray without getting my pristine white dress dirty. I pushed aside the McDonald’s bag that I had made Christy go out and grab from down the street in the midst of my first mental breakdown, rested my hands on the table and kneeled down in front of it. It was only a matter of time until she came back with the ice cream I had told her I needed, too. She was the perfect maid of honor, so she would probably be pushing over other customers to get it to me quick. I had to do this fast. I put my head down, coming face to face with an invitation plastered our bible quote, Romans 12:10. “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.” I pushed it aside.

“Dear God,” I started. I could hear how stupid I sounded. How cheesy. I wouldn’t talk to my friends like that. And right now, more than ever, I wanted God to be my friend. He was like Emily, that girl that I dropped and then she suddenly married, like a millionaire and threw these awesome parties so I had to make my way back into her life. Had I remembered to invite her? I shook my head. “Scratch that. God, I really need you right now. I know I am wearing white for my wedding when I shouldn’t be, and I don’t know if that’s like, illegal or not, but I’m sorry. I’m also sorry for going to mass still a little bit drunk last Christmas. Those red and green Christmas Eve jello shots were so festive, and I was celebrating your birthday.” I remembered that party that I went with my girlfriends. Brooks and I had recently gotten engaged, and I was so excited to announce it to everyone that I had gone a little bit wild.

I bit my lip and shook my head. Not something to be thinking about in the middle of a prayer, Jesus Christ, Julia. I mean, not Jesus Christ, don’t say that.

 He must have gotten the worst impression of me during this intro. When I said amen, does it send, or are there like no take backs when praying?

“Anyways, to the point, I don’t want to waste your time because you have to be back here in-” I checked the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes. Tears surprised my eyes and blurred my dressing room. “An half an hour. To bless my marriage. Geez, okay. Here it is. I sent Gavin an invitation.”

Saying it out loud made the tears slip out of my eye. I quickly dabbed it away for fear that my makeup that had been beat to perfection would be ruined for all the pictures.  How embarrassing was that? Sending your ex from high school that knows you’re still in love with him an invitation to your wedding? Get a grip, Julia.

“And I know you took your extra time making Brooks. Like, that face! Great job on that one. His eyes are so bright, which mixed with dark hair is my weakness, so you must have been paying attention. And super thank you for making him into me. Everyone was surprised about that part. Plot twist, I love it. Cornell grad, good accounting job. You probably thought that this was the best thing to ever happen to me, or something. And it was, for a little. I just need your advice.”

I took a deep breath before saying the next part. Sucking in made my dress fit a little bit better. Which was for the best, after all, it cost half my dad’s salary for the year, and I tried about 5 stores and 34 dresses before I fell in love with the lacey details on this one.

The champagne glasses swirled around the grand room as I gulped down the french fries that were threatening to shoot back up my throat. My heart felt like someone had grabbed it with both hands and squeezed it repeatedly to speed it up too fast. I had never said it out loud before, but God, if he was real, seemed like the best person to spill to.

“I’m still in love with him. And I told him!” I let a high pitched giggle slip. It was a sound I had never heard come out of my mouth. It bounced off the wooden walls of the old room and came back to slap me in the face because of what I had just admitted to. “Through e-mail. I told him if he felt the same way, he should come and meet me here before the wedding. Or I’ll go through with it with Brooks. I found him on LinkedIn. I mean, you know this, since you know everything, but I just thought I’d include it in this… message… thing. So you know I’m not leaving anything out.”

“Julia!” It was Christy. She must have come back with the ice cream. I had spent enough time inspecting this church to make sure it was the perfect one for my special day to know that her voice was coming from the grand front door, and it would take her about two minutes to burst into my dressing room. “I’m asking you now to have Gavin not come. I have the potential to have the perfect life with Brooks! And if Gavin comes, I am going to mess up everything. My mom’s going to be so embarrassed, my dad’s going to waste all this money. All my friends are jealous of me, it’ll be so humiliating if I leave with my ex boyfriend! But you know me, I have, like, 0 self control. And I can’t take back what I did, but you can prevent it from blowing up in my face. I can be happy with Brooks, and I promise I’ll go to mass, like, once a month. And-” My quick rambling was cut off by Christy’s heels clicking into the room. “Julia. Here.” I turned around, and she had a small cup with vanilla ice cream in her outstretched hand. “Just take it. I had to practically bodyslam six people to get it here in enough time that you could digest it and still not be bloated for the pictures. Or else, it means a trip to the bathroom.” She mimicked sticking her fingers into her mouth and gave me a death stare. I winced. Brutally honest, but that’s why I chose her as my maid of honor. “Are there a lot of people here?” My question was prompted by the thought that maybe she would have seen Gavin, and she would go on and on about how funny it was how much he had the same blonde, curly hair that always got in his eyes when we were high schoolers and ran around the city with our friends dining and dashing. Instead, she just waved a hand. “Yeah, they’re all mingling in the lobby, or whatever.” She was too distracted to think about those details. “Honey, what happened to your makeup? Did you rub your eyes?”

I nodded as she frantically fixed my under eye makeup. My mind wandered. 15 minutes left for him to show up and absolutely ruin my life as I know it. I imagined what it would have been like if Christy was fixing my makeup for Gavin to see it on that altar.

Maybe we would have still broken up like we did that first year of college, because “distance” or “exploring other options”, but I realized sooner that I really did need him and I flew from San Diego State to NYU to surprise him. I would have told him that I didn’t care about the distance and I could have lived out my college years drunk texting my love to him instead of having meaningless hookups with random guys who I had to ghost the next day. And then we would be here, and I could see the tears being shed out of those puppy dog brown eyes when he gets that first glimpse of me in this dress. Just like he had always described on our way to 5th period math class.

“Brooks is probably going to cry like a baby when he sees you.” Christy’s minty breath in my face as she finished the last touch of blending snapped me out of my daydream. It was like she was reading my mind and setting me straight.

I turned to look at myself in the long mirror suspended on the brick wall. It was true, I looked absolutely breathtaking. I would for sure be using these pictures as my new profile pictures, taken that Gavin doesn’t show up. 7 minutes.

The impending feeling of doom as the seconds ticked away reminded me of the last night in the city Gavin and I had spent together. We both were silent, not in the mood to stir up trouble like we usually did on summer nights. I could still feel his hand loosely grip mine as we dodged people on the sidewalk. After two years together, even we knew that 3,000 miles was too much distance to keep us together. I bit my lip to keep from crying the whole time, even when Gavin found a ten dollar bill on the ground and used it to buy us cheap alcohol with his fake ID. There was no use wasting our college years on a silly high school relationship that I would forget about within a few months, so I knew that the heart-wrenching conversation was coming at the end of that night. “Are you sure you’re good, Jules?” Christy gave me a soft massage on my exposed shoulders. “You look white as a ghost, and to think, I got you a tanning membership before this. That was expensive, are you sure you went?”

I shrugged her hands off, turned around, and plastered a fake smile on my face. “Remember when we met Brooks?”

“Yeah, at that fancy bar after we got our first paycheck?” She rolled her eyes. “God, I wish someone else had been there so you don’t only have to reminisce with me. Or, I need to go back there and find my own rich businessman so I can actually enjoy this conversation.”

Christy and I had been fresh friends at our new job right out of college, and we decided to splurge on a strict girls’ night at the nicest bar in the city, where Christy pointed out how to die for hot a group of men were. When none of them hit on us all night, I had to take matters into my own hands. They must have known what they were doing, because guys who ignore girls completely are so much more attractive than the ones who want us. Of course Brooks stood out to me, he had a deep voice and he was tall. He wasn’t into the shenanigans at first, so things were a little rocky until I learned to not make so many dark humored jokes in front of his millionaire family and friends. “Three minutes, Juju. I’m so excited.” Christy inspected me one last time to make sure every inch of me was perfect. I kept glancing at the door, expecting someone, anyone to burst through. If it wasn’t him, it would be one of my bridesmaids, freaking out that she saw him and expecting me to ask to get him out of there. If it was him, he would shout, “Julia, I’ve been waiting for you.” After all, his Instagram and Facebook proved that he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend in years. He must have been waiting for me. He was going to show up. I knew it.

But time was up, and he wasn’t waiting for me. He never came, and I waited to meet Brooks behind big, golden, closed doors to the altar, with my closest friends in matching blue dresses in front of me and men in tuxes on their arms. They were the kind of doors that every little girl dreams of standing behind to meet this kind of man. The kind that slapped me in the face on how just truly lucky I was in that moment, and how stupid I was to even reconsider this blessing. “You alright, princess?” My dad patted my tanned arm. “Nerves? Get rid of ‘em. You look great. Go out there and go get ‘em.”

I swallowed my doubts and looked to the ceiling. I had to pray in my head this time, or else my dad would take me for a psychopath.

God. I’m sorry for having my doubts about Brooks. Not that I doubted him, because he truly is the perfect man, and I love him. But I am sorry for acting like a bitch and thinking for one second that I should be with someone else. Especially someone who doesn’t want me back. Thank you for giving him to me. I am going to go to mass every weekend now. And I’ll never be rude to him. And I won’t do jello shots on Christmas Eve. Amen.

I thought the prayer would take up enough time for the music to start, but the silence lingered on. My dad held my arm a tiny bit tighter, and I turned to him and smiled.

“I’m really excited. Thank you for all this.” I rested my head on his shoulder while we waited for the organ to start playing the notes I had practically memorized when choosing the music for this ceremony.

The anticipation was like waiting for the lights to come on during a blackout. My heart was suspended in my chest with excitement. I was ready to see him.

Someone opened the door. Brooks’ best man, Cole, looking just as handsome as he did when we met them in the bar that night years ago. Finally.

Cole whispered something to Christy. My palms were sweaty with excitement, and my heart leaped in my chest.

Christy looked back at me, and I expected a smile or a nod. But her eyebrows were scrunched up, and her bright red lips were parted open slightly. She slowly but gracefully walked to me and grabbed my hand.

“Sweetie.” She intertwined our perfectly manicured fingers, and led me back toward my dressing room, closing the door behind me. I was greeted by the smell of greasy french fries. I felt like I was going backwards in time.

My mind swirled around in confusion. “But the music, we have to wait for the cue-” She handed me the handkerchief gifted to me by Aunt Beth, and looked into my eyes with her own.

“It’s not your fault.” Her cold fingers trickled down my spine as she started to unzip my dress. Chills followed her nails. “Hm?” I felt her finish unzipping. I could breathe again.

“It’s Brooks. He left.”


Melissa wasn’t looking forward to another wedding. She definitely wasn’t looking forward to going to her 20-year- old niece’s wedding when she was a 42-year-old old maid. Old maid, that wasn’t a term that was still used anymore, but that was how she felt.  She couldn’t even remember the last time she had been on a date. She had dated a lot when she was younger, but she hadn’t found anyone she was compatible with. Now, it was even more difficult; most of the men she knew were married. Her only options were the few divorced men she knew, but they only seemed interested in beer and football. Melissa wanted a man she could have deep conversations with. She wanted a man she wasn’t afraid to share the poems she wrote with. Although, she was afraid to share her poetry with anyone so that was probably wishful thinking. She had become resigned to the fact that she would probably be single for the rest of her life. It really only bothered her when she had to go to weddings, and she had been to a lot lately. Melissa was full of so many conflicting emotions. She was very happy for her niece, Amber, but she was also filled with loneliness. She decided writing a poem might help her sort out her feelings. Happy But Lonely I am so happy for you But I am filled with loneliness I love you so much But when is it my turn For love?              Melissa wrote some of a poem, but she felt like it was garbage, so she crossed it all out. She then sat on her floor with tears streaming down her face. She thought, what is wrong with me? I’m a horrible writer.   Why do I think I can teach my students to write when I can’t even write myself? Why am I so emotional?  I can’t even think about going to a wedding without having a breakdown, no sane man would want to date me anyway. *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *             *              Victor tried to pull on his dress pants. They didn’t button at first; he needed to suck in his gut to get them to button. He, sadly, remember the last time he had put on these pants. It had been two years ago for his wife’s funeral. He figured it had been all his stress-eating that had made his pants fit a little tighter. Sarah had died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. It had been a shock for Victor and his daughter, Eleanor, who had been five at the time. Lately, many of his friends had told Victor it was time to move on, but how did a 45-year-old single dad even move on anyway? His co-worker, Jason, had invited him to his wedding.

             He said, “Hey, maybe you can meet someone there.” Since Jason was only 22 Victor doubted there would be very many eligible women around his age at the wedding, but he just smiled and said he would be there. Victor didn’t think he would be compatible with a woman in her 20s and he doubted most of them would want to date a single dad, anyway. A ring at the doorbell startled Victor from his thoughts, was the babysitter here already? “Hello,” Victor said as he opened the door, “Sorry, I lost track of time, what time is it?” The teenage babysitter, Mary looked at her phone, “5:30.” “Oh, no!” Victor exclaimed, “I need to go! There’s a frozen pizza you can make for dinner, thanks, Mary.” He gave Eleanor a hug and kiss and started to run to his car. “Um, Sir,” Mary said unsure. “What?” Victor asked, a little annoyed. “Um… you don’t have a shirt on.” Victor’s cheeks turned red as he looked down at his bare chest. He got so distracted after he put on his pants he had forgotten to put on a shirt. “Oh, wow! Thanks, Mary.” He went into his room and grabbed the first dress shirt he saw. Victor tried to put his shirt on while he was driving, but it was too difficult to button up while driving. He raced to the church saying to himself, “don’t be late, don’t be late.” When he got there, it was 5:55, the wedding was supposed to start at 6. He ran inside, buttoning his shirt as he went. He sat down in an open spot at the back of the sanctuary. *    *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *              Melissa tried not laugh as she noticed the man who sat down at the end of the pew she had been sitting in. He had clearly been trying not to be late to the wedding. She noticed he missed a button on his shirt. She figured she didn’t have a right to laugh anyway. She had almost missed the wedding because she had been crying about her loneliness. As she kept looking at him, she noticed he was kind of handsome. He was bald which Melissa found quite attractive. He had some stubble on his face. It seemed like he had either forgotten or hadn’t had time to shave before the wedding, but Melissa couldn’t stop looking at his face. She thought, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.  She tried to look at his left hand to see in he was wearing a wedding ring, but then he looked at her and she turned away. She blushed when she realized she had been staring for quite a while. *    *           *           *           *           *           *           * After the woman turned away, Victor continued looking at her. She was beautiful. He realized it was the first time he had thought that about another women since Sarah had died. The woman he was looking at had dark, ringlet curls that shaped her face perfectly. He wished he could move closer so he could see what color her eyes were. He wondered if she would mind dating someone with a daughter.  Then he realized he was getting way ahead of himself. He didn’t even know this woman. “You may now kiss the bride!” Oops, Victor and Melissa thought simultaneously, they had both missed the whole wedding because they were busy thinking about each other. At the reception, Victor and Melissa happened to be seated next to each other.

Melissa noticed Victor wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, “Hi I’m Melissa,” she said shyly. “I’m Victor, how do you know Jason and Amber?” “Amber is my niece, what about you?” “I work with Jason.” “Oh, you work at the lumberyard, too?” Melissa wondered what his biceps looked like under his long-sleeve shirt. “Yes, what do you do?” Melissa shocked herself when she said, “I’m a writer. I mean, I like writing. I’m a teacher.” “Oh, really? I have a 7-year-old daughter. What grade do you teach?” “I teach middle school English.” “I bet you’re great at that.  What do you like to write?” “Well, I write poems sometimes.” “I’d love to read one sometime.” “Well, I don’t really share them with people, I don’t even know why I told you about them.” Melissa looked around the room for a place where she could be alone with her embarrassment. Victor sensed that she wanted a change of subject, “This is the first wedding I’ve been to since my wife died.” Then he realized his mistake, talking about his dead wife probably wasn’t good flirting material. Melissa didn’t seem to care about his awkwardness, “I’m sorry, she said, “when was that?” “About 2 years ago, she had a brain aneurysm, so she just died unexpectedly one day.” “That must have been very hard.” “Yes, but um, sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bummer. What about you? Have you been married?” “No, I’ve never been married.” “Well, maybe we’ll have to change that some time.” He couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth, “Sorry, I clearly don’t know what I’m doing,” he laughed. Melissa smiled, “Is this our first date?” she teased. Melissa and Victor talked for most of the wedding. They learned so much about each other. Victor told Melissa all about Eleanor and she seemed to be sincerely interested. Melissa told him about her job teaching and about how she had a dream to be a writer, but she didn’t think it would ever happen.

Eventually, the bride and groom were cutting the cake. Victor looked at his watch, “Oh no, it’s 11:00! I told my babysitter I’d be home by 11. I need to go.” They exchanged phone numbers quickly and promised to see each other again. As Melissa watched him leave, she thought it was possible she might not be single forever. As Victor lay in bed that night, his mind kept wandering to his conversation with Melissa. It had been wonderful; he was so excited to see her again. He was trying to remember the last time he had felt like this. Then he realized it had been 20 years ago, after his first date with Sarah. He realized it could be possible to fall in love again.


All it takes is one slip. Gaps are to be avoided. Gaps are where important things fall. That’s why

Mind The Gap  resonates like a cattle prod to the temple. There are gaps everywhere and the devil uses details to his advantage and what is to his advantage is to our disadvantage. He’s pretty tricksy like that. It was a buggered detail that led to Thruk struggling his way across a dessert. There was something utterly wrong about this from the get-go, but Thruk was not a thinker, he was a doer and so he trudged and splotched across the pink expanse of dessert knowing that this was what he must do. Why he must do it was beyond his pay grade. His one simple thought was that he’d probably know why he had had to traverse the dessert once he’d gotten to the other side. “Good job it’s blancmange,” Thruk muttered to himself. As desserts went, blancmange was one of the better ones when it came to walking on sweet foodstuff. This particular blancmange had set well and so Thruk wasn’t wading through it, he was walking atop it, albeit his legs were aching from the give in that surface and he was concerned that he may puncture the outer layer with a clumsy footfall and that would not end well. A good way into Thruk’s nonsensical culinary journey he espied an object that was partially submerged in the blancmange. Thruk was thankful for this distraction as an unending expanse of blancmange soon enough loses its allure and becomes utterly depressing. What had not been helping Thruk’s mood was that although he liked the structural integrity of this dessert, blancmange was one of the few desserts he avoided. It was a consistency thing. Blancmange was claggy and claggy wasn’t something Thruk wanted going on in his mouth. He couldn’t understand anyone putting themselves through a claggy sensation no matter what tastes were being delivered to the palate during that traumatic episode. The other problem with an infinite panorama of strawberry blancmange was that it was pink. Scientific studies have been performed on the colour pink. This is because pink is a naughty turncoat. A smiling assassin of a colour. Spend twenty minutes with pink and it soothes and lulls you and promises you more of the same. However, in the twenty first minute it whips off its mask and socks you a googly one to the back of the napper.

Scientists were brought in to study this phenomena by insurance companies. The insurance companies insured buildings where pink had been deployed in supposed Calming Rooms. Everything started out well in these rooms. People with what was called anger management issues, which was to say angry people, were put in these rooms and the anger ebbed away in such a breezy and delightful way. Then the angry person seemed to remember that they were angry and in one fell swoop, they remembered all of the things they had ever been angry about. They got so angry that they had to take their anger out on the nearest thing and that just so happened to be the pink wall of the Calming Room. It turned out that the Calming Room wall was harder than an angry person’s head. There was a body of empirical evidence to bear this out, so the scientists didn’t have to study that. Through the mist of his building anger, an anger that was seeking to blindside Thruk, but was unlikely to do much of anything other than annoy him, what with blancmange not being anywhere near as hard as the wall in a Calming Room, Thruk saw a large red object. Thruk was glad of the red object. It gave him something to focus upon and walk towards and in so doing he largely ignored the dangerous and annoying pinkness of the blancmange. It did not escape Thruk that approaching the red object held other dangers. After all, it had breached the surface of the blancmange and so Thruk would have to take care around the surrounding areas of the object. He would do a thumbnail risk assessment as he closed in on the object and he would do his best not to think about what next. Despite that,

what next

began tapping on his shoulder and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Beyond the object was an inescapably huge expanse of pinkness. Nothing but pink blancmange for as far as the eye could see. “Bugger off!” Thruk said to the whispering

what next.

Talking to intangible manifestations of anxiety is very common in those who find themselves in a desert, let alone an unending dessert, so Thruk was in good company. “I’ll walk backwards! So stuff that in yer pipe and smoke it!” added Thruk. This was quite a good idea. In fact, it was an inspired and very good idea for Thruk. He didn’t have many ideas and most of the ideas he’d had in the past he’d rescued from the recycling centre in his mind. New ideas were too expensive for the likes of Thruk. But he wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth, for that mouth was probably pink and he’d had his fill of pink. From afar, Thruk had assumed the red object to be the very obvious object to be found in the midst not only of a blancmange, but upon a great many dessert dishes. The universal appeal of the red cherry was legend. Everyone expected red cherries to top their dessert. Red cherries were the crown of choice. Red cherries were so important that the lack of a red cherry could crush a soul in a thrice. Even the use of a half red cherry was a terrible disappointment, but to see the circular lipstick mark of a red cherry’s kiss on your dessert was to stumble upon the most horrendous of crime scenes. Only the worst of people would steal the cherry from atop a dessert.

And so it was that Thruk experienced horrendous disappointment as his expectations of a red cherry in the midst of the blancmange were dashed upon the sharp grey rocks of despair. Closing in on his objective, the object revealed more and more of its true nature. At first, the circular element of the nature began to take shape and Thruk say that it was more of an oblong. Nearer still, he saw that it was flat and as he ascertained this flatness he began to think of it as a base. And if it were a base then the object had been upended in this dessert.

Now Thruk could see that the colour of the object was more matt than a glace cherry would have been. Somehow this hurt a little more. That colour spoke of the material of the object and in speaking it uttered a language foreign to Thruk’s ears. “That shouldn’t be there,” he stated simply. This was an understatement. For starters, Thruk should not have been strolling through this pink dessert, but due to an administrative error deep in the bowels of the universe, here he was. Again. Yes, it wasn’t for the first time that Thruk had been placed in a sugary predicament. He didn’t like talking about the last time. The flashbacks were so gruesome that he was doubly incontinent. He had had to adapt to those flashbacks. No longer did he make ad hoc visits to the shops. He was a convert to online shopping for the most practical of reasons. Oddly, he had no concerns with regard to a flashback occurring whilst he was perambulating this expanse of blancmange, and if he were a thinker, Thruk would have wondered at that. There were many questions arising from the entirety of this situation, but those questions were for others. Thruk was content with doing what he must and moving on, hopefully as swiftly as was possible. Thruk was right though, the object was out of place. This object brought more aspects of wrong to the situation and although Thruk was no deep thinker he was still curious and so he had to know more of the object.

Despite its size, the object was not heavy. Thruk could tell this just by looking at it. He surveyed the blancmange ground around himself and then around the object and adjudged it safe to attempt the extraction and subsequent identification of the object. That way, he could cease thinking of it as the object and give it a more appropriate name. There was something desolate and soulless about the word object and Thruk was beginning to object to the use of that word. Thruk grasped the plastic base, braced himself and with a glance toward his feet. He tugged for all he was worth. This he did several times, but to no avail. There was give and then the blancmange tugged back.

“Bugger,” said Thruk. Thruk liked the word bugger. Bugger was a word that had soul. Bugger was a versatile form of expression. Bugger was Thruk’s friend. The blancmange was not Thruk’s friend. The blancmange was a stubborn git of a dessert. He circled his foe and considered the problem of extraction. Thruk was strong and he was sentient. His desired result was a foregone conclusion, all he had to do was apply himself to the task in hand. Having circled, given forth of much stroking of his chin and then kicked the object for good measure, he returned to his original position, spat on his palms and then grasped the base as though he were going to strangle it into submission.

Then he really put his back into it and pulled. None of the former tugging lark that led to frustrating yo-yoing. Thruk went at it with deadly intent and this time there was give. The trick, he knew, was not to stop even if it felt like he was winning. The blancmange would yield no ground. If Thruk were to do half a job the blancmange would suck the object right back down. So Thruk pulled and pulled with all his might. He pulled until the breath in him had given everything it had and was not asphyxiating him. He kept going even as his face went from its usual pale pink through every shade of red to an alarming hue of purple that would have been the envy of the best of blackcurrants. PLOP! Thruk lay there on the dessert floor and for a moment he was not there. He’d given everything and there was nothing left. Then he began to come back to himself and as he did he understood that he was laying on a vast expanse of blancmange and that he had managed to retrieve the object that had made his existence just a little more interesting than blancmange alone could have. “Oh…” Thruk groaned. His plaintive cry sounded dull in this dessert environment. Blancmange is the best sugary sound dampener in the known universe. And the unknown universe for that matter. His cry arose because as he lay there and recalled his venture he had a terrible sinking feeling and his sinking feeling was in direct response to the potential sinking feeling the object would have been subjected to as it was hurled into the air, cartwheeled end over end and then landed back into the blancmange. Thruk wasn’t ready for that level of disappointment, so instead, he arose unsteadily on his feet, his muscles still trembling from his exertions and he kept his back firmly to the trajectory of the object. First he was going to peer into the ragged and unexpected hole in the blancmange. Thruk was no expert in blancmange, but he’d half expected the hole to close up. Like mud. Claggy mud that flopped and plopped any hole firmly shut. But that hadn’t happened and so there was a hole to peer down into and in that hole was a small chunk of Thruk’s hope, for Thruk had a mindful expectation that was in accord to the order of the universe as he knew it. After all, desserts such as this always had a sweet red glace cherry on top and so in that hole could well be the frivolous object of Thruk’s desire. Thruk held his breath as he leant over the hole. His muscles did not thank him for this and the largest of the bunch decided it was time to take action on this point.

“Ah!” cried Thruk as waves of pain assailed him.

The cramp the muscle had garnered was impressive and was not for turning even as Thruk strutted like Jagger, hopped like kangaroo with a scalded foot and made noises like a very surprised and intrigued orangutan. He blindly went around and around in an ever increasing circle whilst the cramp gripped his butt and squeezed it in a vice.

Let’s take a moment to pan back from Thruk’s song and dance. The dance is unlike anything witnessed throughout the history of this universe. That Thruk’s song of pain matches it is remarkable. But he is performing on a lake of pink. This is a dessert for the eyes, ears and the mind. Bravo Thruk! As one, the judges raise their scores and it’s 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0… …is he going to achieve a clean sweep? A perfect score in his first ever outing in Dancing on Blancmange? Come on! It’s got to happen! 5.9. Now that’s deflating. But there’s always one isn’t there? As the agonising pain of the worst cramp pain ever subsided, the glut muscle having made its point very will indeed, Thruk ceased his amazing staccato dance and sang his last. In the daunting silence time itself held its breath and watched. Thruk stood at the end of his arc of pain and he looked down. In the thrall of the cramp he had seen nothing. He had been transported to another world and that was the world of pain. Now he was back and he found that he was stood before the sprawled object.

Thruk’s fears had been unfounded. The object had not re-entered the dessert surface. Fear is a fickle and often stupid fellow though, for Thruk’s fears had taken a left turn instead of a right and where they should have been was right here in the face of the object, which was to say Thruk’s face. In this moment, the prospect of buried cherry treasure was all but gone, vanished in the strawberry tinted air. It was all Thruk could do to stare into the plastic version of his own face. “That shouldn’t be there,” Thruk stated simply. And it shouldn’t. A life sized version of Thruk, cast in red plastic in the midst of a planet sized desert of blancmange dessert.

Thruk would have stood there like that. A living version of the plastic statue that he gazed down upon had it not been for the intervention of the finger of fate. Or in this case, the finger of a little boy in search of his red toy soldier. The bestest of all his toy soldiers because he was red and red was the very best of all the colours. “There he is!” cried Billy.

He plucked Thruk roughly from his bowl of blancmange and brought him level with his eyes so he could reacquaint himself with his favouritist of toys. “Err!” said the boy, “you’re not Kurt the Killer!” And with that he lobbed poor Thruk over his shoulder. “There he is!” the boy was giggling as he retrieved Kurt the Killer from his blancmange and licked him clean. Thruk lay winded and forgotten on the kitchen floor.

“What the…” he began to say as his senses came back to him, but then a gigantic paw landed on his chest pinning him and winding him all over again. Oh not again,  thought Thruk as he heard the blare of an animal’s voice above him. MEOW!


I love this time of the year, it’s like I’m going home for what the humans call Christmas, I’d love to go somewhere nice, definitively somewhere snowy, with a mountain. I know exactly where I’m headed. I’ve always loved to travel alone, even though us birds don’t usually or never do that; but this is how I see it, I make the rules, I stop whenever I want, and go wherever I want, I enjoy all the little adventures, because believe me when you do a three to four weeks flight, it’s an adventure! Here I take off, it’s time.It will start to get warm in a few weeks where I live now and as I am a snowy owl, snow is calling me and I’m definitively responding to it!  As I flew all over the city, I was thinking about all the little things I’ll miss, let me give you a tour. I used to live on the biggest tree in this beautiful parc over there, it’s convenient because all the little birds would come by night to feed over the nuts this lady human would give. In the morning I would take a dip in the lake not far away, then over the day, as I’m minding my own business, I have to bear small humans staring at me, trying to catch me and throwing bread crumbs at me, while I’m trying to sleep. I always loved watching humans crossing the parc in the morning, there is this human guy with the blue shirt, he always seems to be in a rush, and as he runs, sometimes he spills his black liquid all over him, oh and this human girl always getting this delicious square golden food from this store nearby , delicious I assume by the great smell it spreads, I tried to get it from her multiple times, but I didn’t succeed. And let’s not forget that old human with five of her dogs, she would walk them every day and they’d always bark at me, Am I that intimidating? I certainly won’t miss that; the black big dog almost ate me once. Now I’m seeing new images, nothing really interesting for now, I’m just overflying landscapes, houses a lot of them. Anyways, it’s been a while since I’ve been in the air by now, I’m starting to feel really hungry, Maybe I should stop for a snack, I deserved it, or maybe I should wait, I’m almost crossing a big ocean, I could eat my favorite fish. I’m voting fish. Up in the air I meet a lot of new friends, that’s the coolest part, it’s a time killer, when you meet a new bird and start a conversation, time flies by, not that it does not when I’m all by myself. Let me go some feet down, I’m seeing something huge from above, a big ass boat with some people on it, and I’m definitively smelling fish, I’m going for it, It’s time for lunch! Seeing it from close by, it’s a sailing boat, I’ll be very discreet and no one will notice me. I see a lot of fish in a bucket, I made sure that no one was looking at me and I flew right next to it. -What do you think you’re doing? Says a parrot -Hi, didn’t see you there! I responded; can I have some?  I’ve been flying for a moment now. I really tried to be polite here, but the truth is I hate parrots, they always give me attitude. -It’s my lunch, but we can share if you want. -Oh, okay thank you! I responded surprised -So, where are you going? He asked me with food in his mouth -I don’t know, I’ll know when I see it, it’s beautiful and snowy, I’m calling it wonderland And I have to go now, thanks for your hospitality. -I’m Edward. -Moly! As I’m in the sky, I started to feel the cold on my wings, I’m certainly in the right direction. As I am admiring the beautiful city I’m above, all lighten up, humans gathering in a circle filled with snow and just going back in forth bumping into each other, I don’t know what sport that is, but they seem to enjoy it. Just a little far away, some music playing, no actually people are singing in front of a big giant tree they sacrificed and decorated with round colors and glittery stuff, I can see how they like it, it’s beautiful. As I sat down on a bench, the wind started to hit hard, and just like that, it started raining. Everyone was rushing to their homes, apparently a storm is about to begin. I was hiding in a tree, but everything was falling on me, until, I saw a little window from the third floor of a building opened, so I rushed to enter. It was such a cozy and warm house; I was thinking I could sleep here and then go back to the sky. I’ve heard some voices as I entered the house, moaning, actually. As I followed the sound, I found myself in a bedroom with two humans over each other, they were copulating, the human girl was going all in, until she saw me staring and then screamed her heart out. I mean I can’t blame her, a white owl with green glowy eyes in the dark, that’s a bit scary. So, I ran away from that house and found myself a little cocoon where I could sleep until the storm passes. Now that I’ve got all of my strengths back, it’s time to finish the ride. I feel like this trip took more than usual, I started to think that maybe I went the wrong direction, should I ask for directions? It’s when I felt flakes of snow going down my wings that I was wondering maybe not! and then, I saw it, that huge white mountain far away, the lake with the beautiful swans, a gigantic forest with beautiful trees I can live on , and a lot of elegant human houses. I took a deep breath and laid on the highest roof I could found, to enjoy this incredible view, because I knew I was finally home.


How many of you had an imaginary friend? I was a latchkey kid growing up. My father served in the army overseas, and my mother took up a job at home to further support us. My mother didn't return until a couple of hours after school let out, so I'd be alone for a good while. I was an only child and had trouble making friends, so this compounded my loneliness. There was a playground about two blocks from my house that I'd frequent after coming home from school. I could get there faster by cutting through a small (but thick) forest clearing behind my house. It depended on how I was feeling whether I'd do so, as the canopy of the tree line made the forest below dark as all get out. Some days I'd cut straight through, and some days it made me far too rattled and anxious to try. The playground itself was very old. There had been some additions to it over the years, as well as some parts getting replaced for safety reasons. However, I don't think anything short of a full power wash could get all the rust off the swing-set chains and corners of the jungle gym. I overheard kids at my school talking about how creepy the place was now and then. Some even came up with their own urban legends surrounding the place. I never found it that scary though. To me, the wear was almost comforting. Whenever the playground was empty, I'd imagine all the kids who had played there. I'd imagine them in all the old outfits I saw from vintage photos in history books at school. They'd throw around old slang and lingo amongst each other, and I'd watch from the lone swing set in the corner of the playground. The Loser's swing. It was called that due to being a swing set with only one swing. Over time, the second swing's attachment to the chains had degraded in an unrepairable way. So, they detached it. From what I understand, the playground had already been on the chopping block for years. The town didn't want to bother shelling out the cash to replace the whole thing. So, only one person could swing in it. Instead of being jealous or fighting over the seat, most kids who came there would make fun of whoever was using it. After all, to use the swing was to use it alone. You don't play with anyone else, you just swing. By yourself. Even with that kind of baggage attached to it, it never dissuaded me from using it. I was pretty used to being by myself, so it wasn't hard to tune everyone else out. Also, I was scared of falling off the jungle gym. I'd seen it happen before, and it looked like it hurt. After a while, I made up an imaginary friend. I sort of modeled him after one of my dad's friends, because I thought he was cool. Called him Rob. An older guy in his thirties, who seemed to have an answer for everything you asked him, and a story to match. When I used the swing, I'd envision the swing next to me repairing itself, and he'd take the seat. I'd ask him why the sky was blue, and he'd say "Well, 'cause it's God's favorite color!". I'd ask how planes stay in the air, and he'd tell me they had people behind it blowing it forward real hard. I'd ask all the questions kids ask, and he'd always have an answer right away. Only one question seemed to stump him. I asked, "Why do people die?". He looked at me, tilted his head, and stared for a long while. He seemed to be as confused as I was but tried to come up with an answer. "Well," he said, clapping his broad hands over denim-clad knees, "Maybe it's just some people's time to go." Usually, he was funny and reassuring. I remember feeling upset by this answer. It felt very apathetic. Though, I was too young to understand what the word "apathy" meant, let alone place why his answer upset me. I wanted to feel like there was a reason people died. He didn't give me one. "... why do they have to go?" "They just have to." I stopped asking as many questions after that. I'd ask him to tell me stories while we were swinging. As the days went on, though, the playground lost more of its color. The paint was peeling off more and more, and fewer and fewer kids came to play. There were rumors that they were going to completely tear the place down any day now. It was sad for me, but the playground had become less of a comfort over time. I struggled to keep up the conversation with my imaginary friend. I couldn't even maintain the image of all those old kids playing here. It was hard imagining anyone playing here anymore. I remember the last time I went, though. I had been getting bullied in school for a while. I don't want to mention him by his real name, so I'll call him John. As far as bullying goes, it wasn't anything too awful. He'd pick on me, sure, but it was just name-calling, or teasing me for not having friends. He never tried to hit me, or anything like that, but he was relentless. One day, he heard that I'd go to the playground after school. So, he decided to come visit it. I can't remember what he said when he showed up. Some generic teasing, I'm sure. Making fun of me for using the Loser's swing. Again, nothing out of the realm of very basic schoolyard bullying. I tuned it out the best I could and kept swinging, my gaze glued straight ahead. He got mad that I was ignoring him and grabbed the chains mid-swing to stop me. That's when Rob got up. I remember his face twisting into a terrifying, enraged expression, his face red as a beet. He pointed at John and screamed at him to get away from me, and that he'd beat him half-to-death if he didn't turn tail. I flinched, completely horrified by how angry he was and wanting to shrivel into myself to hide from it. I don't know what came over him and had never seen him act like that before. That isn't even what haunts me about it, though. What scares me most, is that John seemed to hear it. I remember him staring at me in shock, like he couldn't believe what he heard. Taking the opportunity, I stumbled off the back of the swing and took off as fast as I could. I cut through the forest, shielding myself with my arms from all the branches and brambles. It felt like the forest stretched into forever as I ran, my heart pounding, my lungs burning. Even though I knew that I was all alone, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being chased. That if I didn't make it out of the woods, no one would ever find me again. After running, and stumbling, and picking myself up over and over, I finally saw the light from the other side. I could see my house in the distance. I swear I heard a voice calling to me from behind, telling me to wait. I ignored it and kept pushing until I was clear of the woods and safely past the fence of my backyard. I ran into my house, locked all the doors and windows, and hid in my closet for hours until I heard my mom come home. I tried my best to act like nothing had happened, but she knew something was up. She was always worried about me. I ate dinner and went to bed early, clutching the blanket to my body like a protective cover the whole night. That was the last time I ever saw John. I didn't see Rob for a long time, either. In the following days, they had put up missing posters all over the neighborhood for John. He hadn't come home, and I seemed to be the last person who ever saw him. The police visited our house and asked me some basic questions about it since a few of his friends knew he had come to the playground for me specifically. I gave them a general summary of what happened, though I left out Rob's place in the story for obvious reasons. They seemed to accept what I said and didn't come to question me again after that. After all, there wasn't much more I could tell them. There were rumors about me after that in school, though. Some of the other kids thought I killed him and hid his body in the woods. As much as it upset me at the time, I can't blame them all that much. We were kids, and I was always distant and anti-social. If I was in their shoes, I might have thought the same thing. For the rest of my school life, I did my best to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. I made a few friends here and there, thankfully. It wasn’t a lot of friends, but they were good ones. Without them, I could have turned into an insane recluse as I got older. As I mentioned before, I didn't see Rob after that. I dropped the "imaginary friends" entirely, too traumatized by what had happened to bother humoring the idea anymore. Sometimes I'd lay awake in my bed late at night, terrified of looking out the window. I'd envision him looking back at me from the black forest, making that same, twisted expression. The fear faded over time, but it still lingered in the back of my mind now and then. This takes us up to now, though. Recently, my mother passed away. My father had died quite a while before that overseas, so she was all I had left in terms of family. The grief broke me. I retreated into myself after the funeral, content to live alone and not form any more connections. The idea of losing anyone close to me again was mortifying, and it was hard to imagine surviving that kind of pain a third time. That's when Rob came back. At first, I would catch a shape just out of the corner of my eyes when I looked in the mirror. I accepted it as exhaustion and was more preoccupied with marveling at how shitty I was starting to look from neglecting my needs. It kept happening, though. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of him sitting down in one of my chairs, and he'd be gone by the time I'd look back. I'd wake up to the sound of the TV on in the living room, usually on some sports channel. No matter what I did though, I could never catch a full look at him. I started to assume I had finally snapped and completely lost it. I was second-guessing what was real and what was fake at every turn, and the feeling made me isolate myself even more. I started to think I was a potential threat to society, and that I'd be better off either not associating with it, or dead. In my lowest moment, that's when I heard his voice again for the first time. It was distant and faint. Though, I could swear he said "Pick yourself up, champ!". I bawled on the floor when I heard it. It was a cocktail of wonderful, horrible emotions. It was a familiar voice, reassuring me. It was like hearing an old voicemail from a long-lost friend. At the same time, it was hard to forget what had happened all those years ago, and why I was scared of him in the first place. Not to mention that hearing voices in my head didn't feel like a great sign. But at least I didn't feel quite as alone. It was sort of a wake-up call. I tried putting myself back together. I started sleeping on a more regular schedule and made sure to eat at least three times a day. I tried reaching out to old friends and socializing more. I had grown agoraphobic over the months I had spent locked away inside. So, I did my best to get outside for as long as I could manage each day. I've gotten a lot better. I feel healthier than I ever have, and I'd like to say I'm "okay" again. I've recovered, at least. Only, I thought that would make Rob fade away, back into the recesses of my mind. He hasn't. I still see him. Whether out of the corners of my eye, in old photos, or even in the distance outside my house. I still see him. Sometimes, at night, I hear his voice muffled outside my window. I try to pick it up on my phone, and the nights I leave it recording are the nights he doesn't talk. That's not the only thing bothering me, though. John's case is being reinvestigated. The playground was torn down decades ago. However, they've recently been clearing the forest behind my old house as well. While they were cutting down trees, part of a tree trunk collapsed when it struck the ground. Inside the debris, they found remains of a child's skeleton. The bones matched some of John's old X-rays. No one knows how they got in there, as the portion the bones were in was toward the very top of the tree. A few feet below it, words carved into the tree read: HAD TO GO They've started finding carvings like this all over the forest, too. I'm not sure what idea scares me more. Rob being a part of my imagination, or Rob being real. All I know is that I keep seeing him more and more, and it feels like he's angry at me. And I'm too scared to look at him anymore.


I haven’t had contact with another human for years. At first, I counted the days where I went without human contact but the days piled on top of each other and I could no longer count them. I didn’t really mind the loneliness at first. I had my dog to keep me company, while he couldn’t talk he gave me some kind of comfort throughout the night.

I don’t remember how humans disappeared or why. I remember waking up and getting dressed for work, I said goodbye to my dog and traveled down to the train station. When I got there it was deserted, it was cool at first but then it dawned on me that there was no one there. I still remember the same platform, its image is printed inside my brain, the eerie flicker of the lights, the empty train, the silence. But that station was long gone. Once I realized that there was no one left I went home. I greeted my dog and ran to my small living room. My hands reached for the remote and I pushed the power button, I watched as last night news played on my small box t.v. in denial I raced to my home phone, first I rang my parents. No answer. Then I rang my sister who lived in Europe. No answer. Then I rang the local police station thinking that maybe my parents and sister were busy. I got no answer from them. With no luck, I dialed random numbers hoping that at least one of them would answer. But no one did. I screamed and yelled out of fear or excitement, I don’t really remember. I spent all day locked up in my small apartment, I did laps of my kitchen, I read books, I talked to my dog. All in the effort to distract myself from the scary truth, I ignored it. I said to myself over 100 times that the world was just playing a massive prank on me. But when I woke up the next morning it was the same thing all over again, no people. Then I decided that staying in my house wouldn’t do me any good. So I left. I took my dog and a small bag full of food and water. I remember saying to my dog “come on Daisy, were going on a walk” her tail wagged with excitement. I knew we weren’t going to come back. So I and Daisy traveled across empty highways with empty cars, I stopped and peered in a few of the cars. Stealing food and anything of value, I didn’t take money. I figured it was useless now. We traveled through empty shopping malls which were good for food seeing as there was an abundance of it. We kept traveling until the night where we would find a shelter of any sort and stay in it until morning came again. Sometimes we wouldn’t find shelter in time and we would be forced to sleep outside. But not too long ago the nights started getting colder and storms were worse and happened more often. So now sleeping outside was no longer an option. Which brings us to our current position. While our daily travels had started in a small city we were now in the middle of nowhere. Dead grass surrounded us and the few plants that remained in this dead plain weren’t tall or wide enough to grant daisy and I cover from the storm. Panicked filled my body while life was lonely and boring, I didn't want to perish in this storm and leave Daisy alone. I ran with Daisy at my side. Did I know where I was running to? No, But anything was better than the dead plains.

“Come on Daisy run!” I yelled, she sped up in front of me. “Keep running”

I spotted a road and we both ran to it, A road meant that there were buildings nearby. I turned around and instantly regretted it. I had never seen the storm, I was always tucked up in a building. But this was something different. A dark fog quickly covered the dead plains that we were once in, It was loud and it made my ears feel like they were about to burst. Through the fog, I could see the plains and noticed that the small trees black as if they had been burnt by a vicious fire. The grass was the same, fire-ravaged. Suddenly I knew that we were in more danger than I predicted. I kept running trying to clutch up to daisy, she started barking and I took a moment to pay attention to the distance. A house! I almost stopped running but I kept pushing myself. We got closer and I noticed that the house had a chimney with smoke coming out of it. A fire was running in the house. Did that mean that there was someone in it? But I had gone so long without contact. On our travels, Daisy and I had never seen or seen traces of humans, just small animals that we would catch and eat. The thought of another human excited me and scared me. What if they were not friendly. Daisy reached the building first and started barking at the door.

“Help” I yelled, ``If they could hear us yell they might let us in “help us, please! Open the door!”

I reached the door and started knocking like crazy. I looked back at the storm, the road was gone, it had been pulled up from the wind and burnt by the fire. I screamed louder. The sounds of movement could be heard through the door. It opened and Daisy and I rushed inside the building. The door shut and we could hear the sounds of the storm hitting the door outside, it was loud. It was terrifying thinking that if the door hadn’t opened a moment later Daisy and I would have perished in it. “No way” came a soft voice from the corner of the room.

I turned to face the voice, it was a tall female with dark hair and green eyes. Her face was dirty and she had a bleeding cut on her cheek. She held a wooden bat with nails coming out of every inch of the bat. She looked intimidating, she was definitely not someone you’d wanna mess with.

I could feel my mouth open with shock and quickly shut it. “There are more humans," I asked. Her eyes went wide and she lowered her bat “you don’t know?” “About what” “You really don’t know about the humans” “Wait before you tell me any more, what's your name?” “It's Scarlett,  yours?” “Ryker” “Ok, but you really don’t know about the humans”

“All I knew up until a few minutes ago was that I was the only one left,” I asked “That's what I thought to” she responded, she sat down on the floor across from me “but there's more of them,” she said gravely “Humans?” I asked, she wasn't making any sense and I was so confused. “No” she shook her head “ I guess they were once humans but there definitely not humans anymore, they are the ugliest, most unnerving creature you will ever see” she paused before continuing “they look almost mutated, with extra limbs, bigger and smaller features, but they don’t have eyes”

I stayed silent. Daisy stopped wandering around the room and laid down beside me. “There are just empty black holes, and they just stare at you” “I'm guessing they're not friendly,” I joked, trying to make light of the situation. “No their not” she responded and rolled her eyes “I used to be traveling with my younger sister and she was my only friend left, then we were hunting for food and they surrounded us. So we ran to this building...but only I made it. She wasn’t quick enough”

I could see her eyes were wet with tears and her eyes were red and puffy.“I’m so sorry” I said softly “It's fine, no point looking back at the past. We have to get out of here though, these walls aren’t strong enough to hold them off, and they’ll come for more food if they get hungry” she stood up and started packing up the few things that had been spread out in the building. “Are you crazy?!” I yelled “you want me to go out there after you just told me your story about those creatures”

She raised her eyebrows “I’ve been dealing with this for a lot longer than you have and I know it's better to get away then stay here and wait for them to get hungry”

I bit my tongue and stayed silent. I followed her further into the building, there was a lot of rust and out of date food. It looked like a petrol station from the inside. She stopped at a door and turned to me. “We run out of this door and keep running until we lose them, then we go to my base” I nodded and turned to my Daisy “you have to run faster than ever, ok?”

Scarlett looked at me and I nodded, she opened the door and the sunlight poured into the dark building.

‘Run!”


The sun called it a day and went to brighten up the other part of the globe. The farmers were in the bar for the night. One stranger walked inside the bar.

'Hey, you are not supposed to be there?' 'Oh! I didn't know that. I am sorry.' said the stranger to the overcautious villager. That village faced the problem of hitchhikers intruding on the safety of their village. They came up with a solution to identify and remove the hitchhikers from the village if the villagers found them to be drunk. The solution was simple. They placed a door beside the Gent's washroom in the bar that almost the entire male population above 18 visited at night. The door was fake as it opened to a wall. Only the villagers knew about that, and thus anyone who opens the door was new to this place. The villagers were alerted by three murders and nine assaults in the village within nine months. In all case, the perpetrators were hitchhikers. So, the entire village decided to solve this problem of intruders by devising a plan. But not all were drunks and were genuine hitchhikers travelling across the nation. They shifted the motel used by the hitchhikers near the police station. So, the police can keep a constant watch on the so-called sober hitchhikers. The menace reduced, and now the villagers slept peacefully knowing that there is no lunatic roaming around inside their village. But now, they found another hitchhiker who was not so sober, according to the villager's observation. The strange thing about this man was that he was carrying only one small bag. He was travelling light as compared to others. The apology by him seemed to surprise the curious and overcautious villager, Joey. The man with one bag was six feet three and had a chiselled body like a Greek god. After apologizing, he removed his specs from his pocket. Adjusting the specs, he said, 'I was passing through here. Is there any place nearby where I can eat?' Joey listened with apt attention as he never expected such politeness from a muscular body. 'Ah, you can eat here, the burger is superb, Misterrrrrrrrr...' Joey continued pronouncing 'errrr....' until that stranger cut him off. 'Mr. Timothy Knowles. And you are?' said the stranger while shaking hands with Joey. 'So, Mr. Knowles, where to? If you don't mind.' 'Just call me Tim. I am travelling to the east. Probably I will stay here for about two or three days and proceed further.' 'Great, you can use the motel beside the police station. That is great place for a stay and also the only place in this village.' 'Thanks, but I already know that. I also know that there is an amazing waterfall near by the village.' 'So you know a lot about our tiny village, ’said Joey

‘Yes, in this interconnected world, there is hardly any room for secrets.’ ‘Yes, we have quite a lot of strangers coming here to enjoy the waterfall.’ ‘And due to them, you had to face many issues.’ ‘Yes. That is the reason we have to stay cautious with roaming souls.’ They chatted for few more minutes until the burger arrived. Tim ate it and went to the motel. Tim went the next day to the waterfall and enjoyed the scenic beauty that nature had to offer. He swam for nearly two hours in the morning. On the way to the motel, he met Joey.

‘Hi. Enjoyed the waterfall?’ ‘Why not? The best scenic view with the perfect water. What a swim. Just like they describe on the net,’ said Tim. ‘Meet me for lunch. If you are free.’ said Joey

‘Sure. Meet you at the bar.’ Villagers appointed Joey as the point person to keep tabs on the strangers. Joey was also a stranger once. However, Joey helped to nab a murderer by the name of Mark. He had proof that pointed to Mark. Mark was convicted and Joey decider to make this tiny village his home. Subsequently, he helped the villagers nab other murderers as he was keeping a tab on them at every moment. The villagers hired him as the point person to keep a tab on the strangers. With further assistance from Joey, the sheriff solved all the case. Joey became a deputy sheriff although undercover. Now he had only one job to protect the villagers. Joy failed often but he succeeded in catching the culprit and that helped him stick to his job. Tim and Joey had lunch together, and they exchanged words. In the evening, Tim went for a swim, and when he returned, he sensed that someone broke into his room. Tim arranged his things in the proper place and found that his lighter was missing. He ignored it and went for dinner. He met Joey, and they exchanged a few words. Tim went to his room after dinner as he decided to leave this village early in the morning. It was past midnight, and there was an intense banging on Tim’s door.

‘Open the door, Tim.’ a familiar voice was shouting behind the door. Tim recognized the voice and opened the door.

The sheriff read him the Miranda rights. Sherrif took Tim into custody for the murderous assault on a teenager. The girl was in ICU, and the proof obtained at the scene pointed to Tim’s involvement. Tim was smiling, a strange scenario for a smile to pop up. Sherrif took Tim to the police station. The homicide department of a nearby town would pick him up for further questioning. As per rule, he was allowed a call. Tim called someone, and within fifteen minutes, five SUV stopped in front of the police station. They removed the handcuffs and gave Tim his badge and gun.

‘We need to check the waterfall cameras. There must be all the clue that we need for indictment.’ said Tim ‘Okay, sir. We have already grabbed Joey. Other team is searching his house as we speak.’ reported one of the officers.

‘Good. Now, let us go and grab some proof to nail that psychopath.’ They found what they were looking for. Joey was a psychopath who killed or injured people and placed the blame on strangers. The sheriff appointed him as a deputy sheriff, and that made his task easygoing. Based on the same story provided by every accused, the homicide department roped in the FBI for this mission. They had a suspect. All they needed was proof. They got it. Now the village was a safe place for everyone. Now the villagers even welcomed the Hitchhikers.


«If there is one thing I know for sure, it's that Robert would have repudiated all of them. There was not a single person that he trusted while he was alive and that was for a good reason.» She stood up and sat over the sofa-stool, right next to the man as she griped her finger like a multi-hook lock and continued.

«At least he didn't have to face the people he worked with every single day, plunging like animals to capitalize on everything he created and see what they were really made of. These hideous people... nobody could anticipate their reaction once they got their chance to move unhinged.» The redhead woman was livid. She had dark orange hair, that was curling in big furrows on the top of her head, and big green eyes that were exuding a sense of warmth and exasperated loneliness at the same time. Her silk, multihued shirt was ripped open in the top, revealing a circular golden medallion, and her brown skirt was laying thick and robust, above her naked slick feet that felt like wax-candles that the light was coming from the inside. The man beside her nodded in a minimal way and gazed with an impersonal face-mask that was as neutral as a doll. Bruce was a well-known laconic, a man that would say less than he knew and speak more with his actions, he had made a name for his direct attitude and the blatant remarks he would make without any hint of restriction. He sat back cross-legged in his position, comfortable as he squinted behind the straight thin hair that was falling on his face and he waited patiently for the woman to elaborate on her thoughts. «It's a shame really. Robert was such a benign and polite man that everybody thought he could take advantage of him. They took his kindness for weakness and that was always their biggest mistake. »

She turned back to the man with a sardonic smile as she held the drink loosely in her hand.

«Everybody thought Robert didn't really pay attention to others. That he never cared to inspect his subordinates or bat an eye on the myriad vampires that were after his blood». «They were mistaken. Robert could see through them as if he was glancing through transparent glass». Her feet tantalized as she waved slightly her drink to make the point. «When they first came to buy 'Linear', 10 years ago everybody carried the confidence of a superstar. They thought they reeled him in, into their whims as if he was some kind of a pushover they could do whatever they want to.» She cleaned the right side of her lip with her ring finger as she paused. «You should see their faces when he declined their offer and shattered their millions like a piece of garbage he couldn't care less. Nobody really understood Robert for who he was and especially.. those that were the closest to him.» The man continued staring at her as if he was in a theater watching a show he could not take his eyes away. The woman picked up a cigarette and lighted it up as she let the muscles on her shoulders relax. «Robert was a man of honor. Like you are,» she pointed, «That's why he liked you so much. He was always righteous and just and he would strive to keep his...how you guys call it?», «honor» she exclaimed with a triumph movement of the hand as Bruce leaned forward to her, «isn't that what you guys like to strive for so passionately?». «Miss Morrison,» began Bruce, «Kate, you can call me Kate..» «Sure, Kate, your husband was an exceptional man. And I can only feel blessed to have been close to him for so long. There are not many men like him left in the world today, unfortunately..» «And if there were they would have probably been eaten by the predators,» she said as she sipped from her drink. She glanced reluctantly at him as she nodded to herself and leaned the glass over the table. «So, about the reason, I called you today. Bruce, there are certain things that have been going on and unfortunately, I'm too weak to deal with them all on my own. One person cannot change the course of the river. But combine a couple of them that have a certain skill and trust with each other and... we could turn the tables upside down. Don't forget we are dealing with very mischievous people here, the kind that no one would really like to have to mess with unless he had to,»

She exhaled the smoke forcefully.

«Please,» replied Bruce. I promise I will do anything in my power to be helpful.» Kate continued. «A few weeks ago Ethan and some of the board members visited me right here at home. They came with their suits and ties and claimed they wanted to pay tribute to Robert and all the amazing contribution he had made to the world through the years. I was shocked and pleased at the same time. All these people gathered here just to share their grief with me,» she shook her head as she stood up and turned her back to Bruce who continued observing her unbothered. «Or so I thought. These gentlemen had nothing of the noble and formidable feelings I had in mind for them. Their motives were different, and I only realized it much later when it was already too late,» Bruce remained motionless as Kate wandered casually around the room with one arm glued around her waist. «Robert used to have some of his most important documents in a little safe in his home-office that nobody was supposed to know how to open except him. I'm not sure if I can transfer to you the significance of those papers but let's just say, people would pay a lot to get their hands on them,» «Were they related to the company?» Bruce asked. «Partly, yes. Some of them contained detailed plans about his next steps. Information about important clients, people he knew, conversations with high-profilers. Things that were supposed to remain private.» Bruce nodded.

«Trust me my dear if there was any chance for the company to thrive it wouldn't be out of luck. Robert had made sure to take care of every little detail just to guarantee its progression. Threats they were facing, dangers, future plans were all in there. Together with other valuable information.» she uttered as she let the word fuse into the air. «Facts that nobody really knew or could get his hands on unless it was for Robert who worked so hard for it. Very few could achieve what he did,» «Robert was a very meticulous man,» «He was,». She spun her head to him with a chilling calmness. «But this part is not the one that concerns me really.» «It's not?» Her eyes widened as her face dropped. She continued with a discrete reluctance. «You see, Bruce, this safe contained more than professional documents. I'm afraid some of the things inside the safe were of... personal nature,». She checked on him for any sign of reaction but resumed once she detected none of it. «For all the hard work and discipline Robert exhibited, let's just say he also had some non-conventional preferences. This material is highly sensitive and I'm sure you can understand how dangerous it can be in the wrong hands.» Bruce leaned his head slightly as he gripped his hands together. «What kind of material are we talking about here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.» «Not an issue.» She cut sharply. «It was mostly pictures and videos, of him with other women,» «Had you seen this material, yourself?» he inquired. «I may,» she replied indifferently. «You may?» «Listen Bruce. What is important to understand here is that this material gives the power to Ethan and the board members, to act on it. What they are after is not what Robert had in his mind or his plans with the company. They want full control of 'Linear', and now that they possess all this, I'm afraid they are going to use it as leverage.» «And you are positive that it was them who actually stole all this? Couldn't it be anyone else that might have access to Robert's safe? Maybe friends or other family members?» Kate smiled mildly. «If there was someone else I would know about it. Trust me, I knew my husband better than anyone else. There is only one person in the world that could plan something like that and that is no one else than Ethan. The current vice president and the man that was the closest to Robert while he was alive.» She raised up again and turned her back on him. «We are dealing with a very malevolent person here Bruce. You should never underestimate him or take his abilities lightly.» «Of course not,» assured Bruce. «But based on my knowledge, Ethan has actually a very small portion in the company holdings. Selling the company would be more unprosperous for him than actually keeping it.» «You see that's what Ethan wants everyone to think.»

She shook her head in disbelief. «This guy is so cunning...he has made arrangements with other board members to share their profits once the operation is done, while he keeps his sharing low purposefully. As a matter of fact, he had many chances to increase it if he would like to but he doesn't. And he won't, just for this reason..» «I see,» Bruce seemed contemplative as he soothed his chin with his fingers. He darted a couple of quick glances at Kate who waited patiently to take his time. «Kate, I hope you understand that what you are asking of me, is not a simple matter at all. It will take a long time and preparation before we are in a position to do anything and even then there are chances that these documents may have been transferred or been duplicated in some way.» «I understand.» declared Kate. Bruce took a big breath and clenched his fists. «Robert was like a father to me. He took me in when I had no money in my pocket and had nowhere else to turn for help. As you may know, I owe this man a lot and I could never allow something bad to happen to the company or his reputation». «I will help you,» he declared, «And assuming the documents are still with Ethan I will get everything back. But I'm going to need your full cooperation for it,» Kate blocked the smile on her face as she let him continue. «I hope you understand there can be no secrets or speculations in relation to this. You will have to agree in giving me all the necessary information even if it is..uncomfortable,» «You can have anything,» asserted Kate strictly. «Anything you want.» Bruce took a little pen and a block out of his pocket and marked something as Kate observed him. «So for one thing, based on your sayings, you did have access to the safe yourself. Is that correct?» «You can assume I had,» «I can assume?» he asked picking a serious look at her. «I did,» He scribbled something down as he continued. «You mentioned earlier that Ethan was the only person that knew about the safe or could achieve an act like that. What was your relationship with Ethan exactly?» Kate stumbled back for an instant. «He was a coworker in the company. We had a standard working relationship like everyone else,» «So your relationship was strictly professional?» asked Bruce. «That is correct,» «Then how do you know that he was the only man that could penetrate your husband's office?» he asked observing her reaction. Kate exhaled some smoke as she delayed her answer. «Kate, I need you to understand the seriousness of this. Any misinformation could create a huge danger and I'm not willing to participate unless you are ready to tell me the truth,» «OK, OK» she pleaded. «There was something like a fling a long time ago, between us. I guess that's the reason he is so confident to take matters in his hands like that.» «A fling?» he asked bewildered. Kate nodded sardonically. «Nothing serious really. It lasted for a few months.» «Did Robert know about this?» Kate's face dropped in surprise at the question. «Bruce, I don't think this information...» «Miss Morrison..sorry I mean Kate, I need you to realize this is crucial information if I am to work on a case like this. Plus I can assure you that anything that is shared here between us is going to be highly confidential.» Kate nodded. «He did,» «Was he angry? Did he respond in any particular way when he learned about it? How did he take it?» «Same as everything else. Like a fact he simply had to acknowledge, you know how cerebral Robert was.». «What difference does it make?» she asked with the cigarette in front of her face. Bruce took his time for a few minutes. He seemed uncertain and skeptical about something and reiterated some of the previously established facts with Kate who obliged him in all his questions with slim-cut answers that were straight to the point. After a while, he stood up for the first time and wandered in the room reflectively with his arms behind his back as he let his feet dangle in front of him like big tree branches. «There is still something I don't understand,» he exclaimed with a soft voice. «As it happens to know, I'm very close with everyone in the company and I know for a fact that most people would never accept to partner with anyone who wished to harm the company or Robert in any way. You claim that Ethan would have allies when in fact he would never get enough support to pass an act like that. All he would achieve was to damage his own reputation and be extradited from his business circle for good,» «But you don't understand Bruce,» uttered Kate exasperatedly. «He is a really cunning man who has the ability to take what he wants and he will show his carts when the time is right,» «I'm afraid I cannot agree with you on this one,» replied Bruce calmly. «Even if he had the ability to strike a deal with others and increase his profit as you say he wouldn't have any reason to impeach the safe and grab the documents for this purpose.» «I don't understand what you mean Mr. Barrett,» «Let me elaborate then,» he exclaimed, «from what I know as of now you are holding the biggest portion of the company holdings with 51% of shares in your name. Am I correct?» «You are,» «If he was to blackmail you by giving you such a large amount of money -which should be in the range of a few hundred million in that case- then this doesn't seem like a very strong punishment now, does it? More so, Miss Morrisson, it seems to me that you would have the biggest incentive to actually sell the company and Ethan would be the most eager to stop you». Kate remained stunt.

«So if my reasoning is correct, it was you that desired to proceed with the liquidation and probably Ethan knew about this and tried to stop you from doing it. If my guess is correct Ethan gathered documents that prove the case and is planning to use them to forewarn the others. Am I correct?»

His face brightened with a little grin that was impossible to withhold. «I would like you to leave now sir,» said Kate with a terrified face. «Thank you for your time, but you can go,» she repeated and Bruce gave a little node as he plunged his notebook in his jacket and departed with slow, ponderous steps...