The man on the horse was an odd one – I could tell that even as he angled his quarter horse into my beams like it was his turn in the center ring. An Easterner, which maybe 10 years earlier might’ve seemed even odder. Little dressier than the average rancher; handled his animal like he knew how but had learned it someplace else. “Saw you from the rise,” the man said. Easterner, all right – kind of horse-faced fella with a government haircut and a big nose that reminded me of the Jew families that’d passed through the dust and winds and Pop’s tourist camp on their way to California. Not that I gave a damn – Pop hadn’t given a shit about God after He’d took Ma in ’32, and so he likewise didn’t give two shits about anybody’s private dealings with The Lord with or without Jesus. No, it was the man’s eyes. Big, calm. Curious. “Do you need some assistance?” My old Nash 400 was running like a top on four threadbare but plump tires, and the trunk was flung open with the jack still clamped into place. And then there was the Indian blanket I’d got in trade for some janitor work at the “last gas” before the next “last gas” on the way to my pot of gold that had turned into a cesspool about two hours ago. Oh, and the shovel lying next to the blanket rolled tight like a Tulsa oilman’s stogie on the dirt under the lip of the trunk. Even without Jesus putting his two cents in, it wasn’t the way I’d been raised. But like I said – it was the eyes, unblinking even in my headlamps. And that slow smile he gave me as I pulled Pop’s old Colt out of my belt and made him a third eye. Like I’d done him the biggest favor in the world. **

I’d settled in Espanola a couple years after the Depression ended. Though or maybe cause I’d helped the town undertaker put a number of such folks under the shifting Oklahoma topsoil for a few pennies a body, I’d sought out someplace a little more off the path of men desperate or stupidly hopeful enough to drag their wives and young ones through the Valley of Death to a pot of gold that didn’t exist. But everything shrinks as we grow, my pop once said, and it wasn’t too long until they started to trickle south off the California trail into the desert. College types -- engineers, they said. Easterners. Jews, I heard, and more than a few foreigners who weren’t fooling anybody with names like Henry Farmer and Nicholas Baker. Now, I’d never been out of Oklahoma before Pop’s lungs finally gave out and I dug one last grave this time for free, and I’d sure as shootin’ never met any Germans. As at the time we had an ax to grind with Mr. Hitler, I was a sight more than nervous about the funny voices with the funny names sidling up beside me at the local watering hole on a Saturday night. Didn’t help that the government’d bought out the ranch school and put me out of the first steady work I’d had since sorting the dead from Pop’s barely paying guests. The school and its high-flown Eastern teachers and rich folks’ kids playing cowboy seemed a bit silly to me, but groundskeeper’s pay was decent, and the Pondses treated me right. Felt no desire to stick around afterwards, even with the new jobs the government and their “engineers” were bringing to the area. What the Easterners and foreigners specifically were doing may have been the best-kept secret in the Southwest, but the tighter you keep the lid on the pot, the bigger the mess when things boil over. All anybody could guess was it had to something to do with that aforementioned scrap with Der Fuhrer, but folks got rattled with the Army and the federal suits “cleverly” watching every move the locals made. Bad enough they were keeping Nazi prisoners and Japanese folks from California on ice down south at Fort Stanton. Seemed passing strange we weren’t rounding up Germans and Italians who could blend right in at any military base or shipyard, but my two cents wasn’t going to buy me anything but trouble, especially these days. The Denver and Rio Grande Western had ripped out the “Chili Line” and pulled the tracks from Espanola in ’42, but the town was hanging on between the nearby farms and the new government jobs 10 miles to the west. I was a handy sort with nowhere really to go, so I hung on, too, in what passed for the middle of nowhere. ** If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. I think that’s in the Old Testament, or maybe some tourist dropped that pearl on me on their way to the New Promised Land. As I now headed the opposite direction, back through Espanola and north past Taos into the mountains near the Colorado border, I could feel God’s jeering presence. Poor time to get religion, with two bodies stuffed in the trunk and a ticket to Hell waiting at the station for me. When I think about it – and believe you me I have – maybe that’s precisely the time. I put them deep in the Carson Forest. It was a skill I thought I’d put behind me, but even the dead can surprise you. I was in my bed a few hours before dawn, contemplating and shivering on the bare mattress. It was sheep country – I could get a new blanket in the morning, though at this moment, I wasn’t sure of the need. Barring rattlers, the horse was the only one got off free that night. ** Hitler willingly gave up his ghost in the spring of ’45, and his pal Mussolini got a date with a firing squad and a public showing strung up like the day’s catch outside a Milan filling station. It took close to three more years to rein in Hirohito. After destroying the Japanese Navy and taking a string of Pacific islands, hemming the Empire in nice and neat, we rained fire down on Tokyo, Osaka, Hiroshima, and Fukuyama. I say “we” although I spent most of my stint with the 124th Transportation Battalion in Luzon, up to my elbows in axle grease and sweat. I’d signed up two months after that night in the forest, reasoning only more blood would wash away what was on my hands and my soul. I was pretty much nobody in the middle of nowhere, and when no GIs or Eastern-looking fellows in suits and badges showed up on what passed for my doorsteps, I figured Uncle Sam had chalked things up to Nazi spies or an unlucky turn on a dark plateau trail or maybe Junior, as I’d come to call him, just bugging out. It was those goddamned eyes. He seemed like a man looking for a back door out of Purgatory. Wonder if the sergeant at the Santa Fe recruiting office spotted anything like that in my bloodshot brown eyes. See, thing with being nobody, having nobody in the middle of nowhere is the company you’re forced to keep. Nobody was ever likely to find the bodies, and nobody was likely ever going to spill a tear over the man who’d soiled my good blanket. But every time I listened to the bodies piling up on the radio, I wondered how many others I’d buried. Just what was it that midnight horseman had been up to at the old ranch school, with his army of eggheads with phony names and their army keeping the whole town under wraps? And why did most of the lot just pull up stakes a few weeks after? “Had t’be some kind of secret weapon, blow the krauts and the Japs off the map, my guess.” For one bleary moment, I thought my brain had contracted TB and an Irish brogue, but it was one of the Denver and Rio Grande Western’s gandy dancers who’d lost a knee and his toes and the works in between to a 3 p.m. coal car maybe 15 years ago. It hadn’t broke him of the whisky. He read too many of those cheap detective magazines with the gumshoes and masked crusaders and flying saucers and half-naked women about to be sawed up or worse, and I’d had my wits about me, I’d have heard him creaking down the planks and cleared my stool. “And what makes you think that?” I asked, ‘cause it was the noise I needed. “My sister’s boy, he does some plumbin’ and odd jobs for them mad scientists down the road,” the old man wheezed. “Seems like everybody’s in an uproar over the boss fella gone missin’ a few weeks back. Seem to think there’s spies all about – nazzis or commies or some-such. Young Danny happened down the wrong hall, and the soldier boys there grilled him near t’medium well.” “Boss?” My voice went up a couple notches, but he was too stewed to notice. “Some Jew scientist from California sposed to be grand muckamuck of the whole operation. Jingleheimer, Wisenheimer, sumpin’ like that. Summa the talk is, this Jew might be the spy.” He leaned in on the half-leg and grabbed my sleeve as a thick cloud of coffin varnish sent me reeling back. “Now, you think about it, boyo. Why you think every man-jack’s knickers are in such a knot, less somethin’ big was in the works? Y’ever hear of atoms? Y’know, the stuff what we’re all of us made of? Well, I hear tell Hitler and his boys have found a way to split them atoms, to just rip all a’ creation apart. Unless we get there first and blow the fella to Hell first. Little wonder them nazzis would wanna rub out Dr. Jingleheimer.” He then toppled from his stool. I caught him halfway to the floor, jostled him back into place, and made for the door. Crisp desert night outside, the moon too close and stars scattered across the black nothing like atoms torn asunder. I jumped in the Nash, somehow made it alive back to my shack, and packed for my penance. ** “Recently leaked revelations allege the U.S. Defense and State Departments largely falsified published reports that Nazi Germany and Russia were on the verge of harnessing atomic fission as a potential weapon against America and its European allies, purportedly to spur allied physicists to escalate development of such an ‘atomic bomb’ to bring about a speedier surrender by Hitler’s forces. “That effort, referred to as the ‘Manhattan Project,’ was conducted under a nearly impenetrable cloak of military security on the site of a former boy’s academy near Los Alamos under the auspices of preeminent theoretical physician J. Robert Oppenheimer. Without revealing the nature of his work, Oppenheimer’s mysterious disappearance late one night in 1944 sparked a massive manhunt and rumors the eccentric scientist had collaborated either with the Germans or the Russians, given his wife and brother’s ties to the American Communist Party. The case remains open to this day, and the Manhattan Project ended shortly after Adolf Hitler’s suicide and the effective fall of his Nazi regime. Amid the loss of one of its most brilliant minds and fears of further security breaches, the remaining physicists of Los Alamos declared the project a failure. “Or so we thought. I talked this week with Isidor Isaac Rabi and David L. Hill, former Manhattan Project researcher. In a 60 Minutes exclusive, Rabi and Hill reveal for the first time that they and other project scientists concerned about the long-range implications of atomic warfare conspired to conceal their findings from the military.” RABI: “Dr. Oppenheimer himself voiced doubts about the sanity of releasing such a force into the world. But he was under intense pressure to beat Hitler, beat Stalin to the punch. None of us knew we alone held the keys to a Pandora’s Box, but without Robert’s ‘zeal,’ we reached a hard but crucial decision. There are questions which illuminate, and there are those that destroy. I was always taught to ask the first kind. The only answer to the question of the day was destruction. If not merely the instantaneous vaporization of entire cities and the then-unquantified aftereffects of ambient radiation, then the geopolitical stranglehold an atomic arms race between the U.S., Russia, perhaps even the former People’s Republic of China would impose upon the human race. And imagine if such a weapon were deployed. There would be no defense, no deterrence – only annihilation.” “Rabi was awarded the 1944 Nobel Prize for his discovery of nuclear magnetic resonance – a major breakthrough in medical imaging and diagnosis, and his work in microwave technology revolutionized military and commercial radar systems and led to the introduction of the home microwave oven in the mid-‘1950s. Meanwhile, following the dissolution of the Manhattan Project, project team member David Hill headed up the Federation of American Scientists, later to become the Global Federation of Responsible Scientists with the overthrow of Joseph Stalin and subsequent collapse of communism across Russia, Eastern Europe, and Northern China. Under Hill’s leadership, the Federation worked with the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission and other international agencies to design virtually failsafe atomic reactors which have all but replaced coal-fired power facilities and have been credited with greatly reducing air pollution around the planet. We reached Dr. Hill at his Santa Fe home. Hill continues to defend Oppenheimer’s patriotism and loyalty as he has since President Truman branded the missing physicist a traitor in league with communist factions.” HILL: “The consensus was that the specter of atomic warfare and destruction would come to eclipse any prospect of science in the public interest. We’ve harnessed the power of the atom to save lives and provide clean, safe energy. I posit we’d never have put men and women on Mars nor developed a seamless worldwide web of satellite communications and technology had we created a world occupied solely with averting global apocalypse.” WALLACE: “Not everyone concurs with your assessment. Ret. Major General Boris Pash, who headed up the investigation into Oppenheimer’s disappearance in 1944, argues you and your colleagues withheld vital scientific information that might have ended the war four to five years earlier, saving, in his words, ‘countless American and civilian Japanese lives.’ And to this day, Pash believes Oppenheimer was complicit either in your deception or acts of espionage. He’s pushing the Justice Department to bring formal charges against what he called ‘the Manhattan Conspirators.’ Your response?” HILL: Mr. Wallace, I’d invite you to imagine a football stadium filled to the rafters with all those American, British, Australian, Russian, Japanese casualties. Then imagine dropping a bomb that would wipe out an area five, 10, 100 miles around that stadium. Then look ahead at the radioactive wastes that would linger in the air above that area for months, possibly years, that might carry across hundred, possibly thousands of miles. Multiply that by as many bombs as it might take to prove we mean business. As for Dr. Oppenheimer, you have to understand the exhaustion and stress we were all under. Robert’s way of dealing with that pressure, his doubts about the work and its consequences, was to ride the mountain trails around Los Alamos, through the Sangre de Cristo and the Jemez Mountain Ranges. He loved New Mexico, and he loved his horses. We were on the verge of a key breakthrough at that point, and he vanished shortly after supper. Most of us knew where he’d probably gone, and when they found his horse wandering around the plateau about three miles off, we figured he’d met up with some kind of misadventure. Dr. Oppenheimer would never have let that animal to languish in the wilds. That was something General Groves and his men would never understand.” ** It was a small item on the Sunday news feed, but the Taos byline had caught my eye. A massive flash flood had uncovered and a trio of hikers had discovered what looked to be the skeletal remains of two adult males, one wrapped in the shreds of a decomposed wool blanket. A couple ribs shattered by one bullet, another bullet found rattling around in his companion’s punctured skull. They’ll surprise you, all right. And with ‘em, the rest come surging back. The soldiers, the flyers, the privates and colonels and generals, the moms and dads and sons and daughters caught in the spitfire, the moms and dads and sons and daughters snared in limbo merely for being the face of the enemy or a fair enough approximation. The odd horseman with the tortured eyes who’d suffered such indignity and injustice for taking a midnight ride. I’d taken a single souvenir that night in the forest. Secreted it away to the Pacific, on the second great California migration to find that golden pot in the airplane plants and the aeronautics trade. Tucked it in a bedroom drawer through a marriage, two sons, a funeral and two graduations. Buried it deep packing for that one final job far but not far enough away. Now, it seemed, was the time. It’d been a tough week in the field, and I’d hoped to catch the satellite feed of 60 Minutes and maybe Columbo , but this finally seemed the time. I set the yellowing badge – No. 76, I guessed how the brass kept track of their college boys – on top of the TV monitor, trying not to look in those damnably damned eyes this time. Bye, J.R. Then I wrote this for you, whoever you wind up being. You can see the right people get it. Then I think I’ll step out for a bit of air. The desert is beautiful at night, especially in the high beams of a double moon.


Rail Road High School Two Weeks Before Halloween “Hey Phi, did you figure out what you are going to do for Halloween yet?” Emica asked.

“Probably spend some time with my family and then maybe watch some scary movies. How about you?” Phoenix asked as she continued etching a ghost figure into her desk.

“Aww...ok. I was going to see if you wanted to go to a Haunted House with me and Rachel? She was asking if you wanted to go with us?” “Rachel asked really?” “Yeah, I think she might like you!!!” “Yeah right! I might be able to go I just have to--.” SMACK! Startled by the rapt sound of the ruler Phoenix quickly looked up from her desk and noticed that Ms. Codfish was glowering at her, wooden ruler in hand at the podium in the front of the class. Everyone in class shifted in their seats staring at Phoenix and Emica. Phoenix gulped and started fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. This was the last thing she needed right now. Was to get in trouble so close to exams. Sighing she shot a quick glance over at her friend Emica who was trying not to laugh out loud. Emica looked at Phi wiggling her eyebrows at her.

“Ladies, I’m assuming that since you are having such an in depth conversation that you are finished with this week's papers I assigned. No, well then less talking and more writing unless you would like to be assigned some homework for this weekend!” “Yes, Ms. Codfish.” They said in perfect unison. Later that evening at Phoenix’s Home

“You want to do what?” Phoenix’s mother, Amara asked angrily.

“I was wondering if I could go with some friends to a haunted house? I figured it would be ok since we are still new to the area and thought it might be a good idea to blend--” SLAM! Bits of chicken flew off the plate. A crack appeared down the center of the table. The house became eerily silent. The tension was so thick it would have needed a chainsaw to cut through it. “It’s two weeks before Halloween and you are just Now asking if you can break our Halloween traditions!” Amara seethed. “Amara I don’t think it’s that big of a deal…” Her husband trailed off seeing Amara’s face. “Not that big of a deal! Have you lost your mind! This is the one chance we have to make an impression on this town! Make a name for our family! And she wants to spend time with her human friends that are doing nothing but polluting her mind! She was raised with better sense than to live her life this way. I will have none of it!

You still have much you need to learn! You haven’t even gotten accepted into the School of Horrors yet and you are worried about making friends here. You still have two weeks to continue your training and studying and try to take the entrance exam again or you will have to wait for the next term and I don’t know how long your father and I will be here…” “Mother, we are immortal! Can you stop being so dramatic!” Phoenix mumbled frustrated. “Phoenix, don’t talk back to your mother that way!” Her father warned. “But father, it’s not like I’m wrong..” She replied. “Enough!! Your mother didn’t have to take you in and raise you, but she did out of the kindness of her heart! You don’t even know how to be a ghost! Be lucky we are even allowing you to stay here with us! If it wasn’t for her I already would have performed the exorcism and you would be nothing more than ashes. Now Go To Your Room!” He bellowed. Emica’s home one week later “Emica have you heard from Phi lately?” Emica’s brother asked. He was playing video games on the couch and saw Emica just staring at the picture of her and Phi on the fridge. “No, her family can be kind of a lot, so she wasn’t at school this week.” She said sadly. “Well don’t give up. I’m sure she’ll come around. Why don’t you try giving her a call or sending her a text?” He encouraged her. “Ok.” She said. Emica walked up the stairs. She missed her best friend. She hadn’t had any friends but Rachel growing up and when Phoenix moved to her neighborhood two years ago she finally felt like she had met her missing half. It had been feeling like a piece of her soul had been missing lately and she wanted to know what was going on. They were graduating high school this year and Phoenix was continually missing school and seemed super exhausted lately. She put on her Nightmare Before Christmas Revisited CD and pressed play getting into the mood of Halloween and in the mood to text her best friend. Sometimes you just got to feel the music. An hour later.. “Hey Phi, just wanted to see how you have been doing lately!? I miss you and it’s been weird not talking to you all week or seeing you at school!” Emica texted. Setting her phone on vibrate. “Hey, Emica sorry I’ve been so distant. There’s been a lot going on.” Phoenix texted back almost instantly. “No Worries! I understand! I’m just worried you know? You can tell me anything Phi, I’ve got you!” “I have a secret to tell you. And I don’t know if you will understand or be ok with it. I am scared of losing you as a friend you know. And if I tell you, you have to promise me that you won’t share it with anyone!” “You can tell me anything Phi! I promise I’m not going anywhere! Nothing you can say will ever change that. And I promise I won’t say anything to anyone. Cross my heart and hope to die.” “Stick twenty million needles in our eyes.”

“Ok, I’m ready!” “I’m a ghost.” “Woah! Really!?? That’s sooo exciting!” “LOL! You believe me??”

“Of Course I believe you!! You’ve never lied to me before!! Plus I’ve always been into learning about the Underworld and now I know I’m right!! So Cool!! Tell me what being a ghost is like!? Do you like it? Sorry for texting so much this is just so exciting and surreal!!!” “Haha I wish it was for me too but well I suck at being a ghost. All I do is mess everything up. And my adopted family hates me and thinks I just want to be a human. Soo...there’s that..” “Well I kind of suck at being human and ironically you have been helping me with that since you’ve moved here. Why don’t I help you with being a ghost!?” “You don’t have to do that. You aren’t obligated too!” “I want to though! You helped me study for my exams and I passed last year and I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you! Let me help you! That’s what friends do!! I got you!” “Awwww. Ok Emica! Thank you! You are the best!” “No Worries! Let’s start tomorrow morning at Starbucks!”

“Ok sounds good to me!”

Starbucks Three Days In “I’m Never going to get the hang of this!!” Phoenix yelled, glowering at Emica.

“You are being sooo dramatic Phi!! Look all you have to do is try your best to levitate and make no noise when you try and scare the barista!” Emica exclaimed. Grabbing Phoenix’s shoulders and shaking her like a rag doll! “You are such a know it all!!!” Phoenix laughed, pushing Emica off her. “Listen you want that pumpkin spice latte right!? Well then suck it up and practice it again!” Emica was unbearable when she got like this. But what would Phoenix do without her. Phoenix smiled to herself as she continued watching Emica speaking energetically at her about her studies and test coming up. It was in two days and she still was nowhere near understanding some of the physics behind being a ghost. She couldn’t seem to memorize the historical facts about Eugene Milsworth and why he was such an important figure in the Horror Community. In fact she wished that Emica could join her at the School of Horror because this stuff seemed to come naturally to her and she was seriously in awe. “Why are you so fascinated with...with, well all of this? Why is it so important to you?” Phoenix asked. Emica went quiet and started biting her nails, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Well aside from being your best friend and wanting to see you succeed with life. When my brother and I were younger we lost our mom. One day she was with us and the next she was gone. The police officer who spoke to us couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us how or if she died. The officer just said that she was gone and we would have to figure it out. We tried a séance and we also tried desperately to figure out how to find her if she was alive and nothing was working. So we both just continued researching and studying. Then you moved here and I don't know, I just thought the aura around you was magical and special. So I thought maybe one day if we continued being close friends we could talk about this and maybe do research together.”

Phoenix reached over and pulled her into a hug, "Wow! Thank you so much for sharing that with me. That must have been hard to do and seems very overwhelming. I appreciate that you trust me and believe in me so much!” “Anyways, enough about me! Don’t try to distract me! Study, Study, Study!!!” Emica chanted pulling out of the hug. “Yeah I know, Practice, practice, practice.” Phoenix whispered, smiling to herself. Phoenix’s House the day before Halloween “Well I don’t know how you managed to pull it off but congratulations you passed your entrance exam to the School of Horrors!” Amara said. “Thank you.” Phoenix said.

“Your father and I discussed it further and noticed how hard you have been studying and practicing and he, we, decided that you could do what you wanted this Halloween with your friends. Just be safe and remember to text us if you are going to be spending the night at your friend Emica’s house or out past twelve. Understood?” “Yes, thank you so much!!!” Halloween Evening Briiinnnnngggg!!!!! Emica rubbed her hands together and blew on them. Brrr it was chilly outside and she had forgotten to wear a sweater. Come on Phi!! Answer the door! The door opened and there sat a black cat whose bright green eyes pierced through Emica giving her the chills. She bent down and waited for the signal that it would be ok to pet her when Phi arrived.

“MOTHER!!!! What have I told you about meeting my friends if I ever brought them over!?” Emica did a double take. Closed her eyes and when she opened them again Phi’s mother walked over to her towering over her. She wanted to curl into a ball and die. “Be safe and make sure not to get into any trouble tonight girls!” Closing the door after practically pushing Phi out of the doorway. Emica breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t worry about her! She’s kind of irritated that I’m not spending time with the family tonight but happy that I passed the entrance exam so what can you do!? She shrugged. “You look amazing!!!” Emica squealed and hugged Phi! She was wearing white skinny jeans, white knee high boots, a tucked in white tank top with a white leather jacket covering it. She had her hair in braids around her knees and it was smooth and creamy as white frosting. Her iris eyes were alert and excited and she was gliding effortlessly next to Emica. She tilted her head. “Emica are you ok?” Phi asked mischievously. Emica nodded.

“I just think I’m a little underdressed.” Emica said looking down at her blue skinny jeans, Edward Scissorhands cotton tee and her short hair messy and dyed purple for this evening. “You look beautiful! Now let’s go before we miss the haunted house with Rachel.”

After the Haunted House

“Bye Rachel!! Have a good night!” Emica and Phi said waving walking down the front steps. Walking through the neighborhood looking at all the Halloween decorations Emica started shivering. Phi shrugged off her jacket and draped it on Emica. Smiling Emica hugged the jacket close to her.

“What did you think of the Haunted House?” Emica asked nervously, biting her lip. “It was ok. I’m glad I went with you and Rachel. It was like a cute little theme park. I mean they tried.” Phi laughed loudly. Emica's eyes widened. It was sooo scary to her! She wondered what Phi had seen that could have possibly been scary. “Ok, here we are!” Phi announced stopping suddenly. They were in front of the cemetery.

“What are we doing here, Phi??” “You told your brother you weren’t coming home tonight right? I just texted my parents that!” “Yeah, but I thought…” “You up for an adventure of sorts?” “Always!” “Great let’s go!” “Where are we going?” Phi stood still for a moment moving her arms in a mystical way and suddenly a portal appeared with purple, black and blue swirls coming from it. “You said you always wanted to go to the Underworld right?” Phi smiled holding out her hand.

Emica nodded vigorously and grabbed Phi’s hand.

“Hold me tight and don’t let go!” Phi whispered. Emica nodded. Emica and Phoenix entered the portal, leaving this world behind and being whisked away into the unknown. Seconds later the portal dissipated seconds after they had stepped in. This was only the beginning of their misguided adventures into the underworld.


With every sound of the door opening, Emily’s heart stopped for a second. Every time she lifted her head and stared at the door with the hope that the person for whom she was waiting for finally came. But then with a deep sigh, she continued reading the menu while hesitating if she made the right decision to come. She hasn’t seen her dad since her parents got divorced, she stayed with her mom, and her dad left with another woman. She ordered a big cup of herbal tea to get warm. She came earlier so she didn’t want to sit there without any drink, food, or company like a freak. Her feet were getting cold from the frosty breeze crawling from the door. It was a snowy winter morning and the only thing glowing through the snowstorm were shop signs, traffic and street lights, and last but not least, thousands of little shiny Christmas lights surrounding the city. The snow was creaking under the legs of people courageous enough to step out of their houses in such weather. „Hi Emily, “, said the man standing on her left covered in clothes as if he was headed to the North Pole. Emily didn’t even notice him coming while she was gazing through the window adorned with rime. "You came… Hi” Her dad joined her by the table. They were both looking around the place and trying to think about something that wouldn't sound dumb to say at that moment. He was tapping his fingers on the wooden table when Emily interrupted this endless and excruciating silence "So why did you want to meet after all this time, dad?". He knew he deserved that harsh and confused tone of her voice. “I…” his voice cracked “I want to be a part of your life. But, of course, only if you want me to”. It sounded more stupid than in his head. He didn’t know what he was doing when he decided to call Emily and ask her to meet him to talk. And he was almost completely sure she wouldn’t even answer the phone, not to say that she would agree to come to this vintage café. And she had all the right to do so. He knew he screwed up their relationship badly when he left with Josie when he and Emily’s mother got divorced. Emily was just 11 years old. At first, he was visiting her every weekend, then every other weekend, then only once a month and at some point, he stopped seeing her completely. The only thing he kept on doing was sending her birthday and Christmas cards. He watched her and he could tell by her face that her brain was on fire. “I’m sorry I’m confused. You know, it was a long time ago that we even spoke.” She took a sip from her tea and got her tongue burned a little but she didn’t even notice. Every kid wants to spend time with their parents. But what should anyone do in a situation like this one? To run out of the place and slam the door? To reproach him for what he did, for all those times she cried because of him? To refuse his offer and not to let him in her life when he finally wants to be there for her? Or … To forgive? “Are you sure you want this?” she sighed because she remembered vividly how many times his actions caused her sorrows “Because if you are not completely sure about this then there is no point in even trying” She predicted what he would say. Of course, he wants to become a real dad now. That’s what he’ll say. But will he keep his word or will it end the same way as it ended 6 years ago? Nobody can tell her what is going to happen. Nobody can predict if her dad will truly change. But it isn’t right to not even try because she is afraid of a letdown, tears, anger, or sadness that might come. She looked at his dad, but he could tell by her eyes, her beautiful amber eyes, that she is willing to meet him again. He pulled himself together and answered decisively “I moved back here to Prague. Me and Josie. We got an apartment just a few minutes by bus from here. Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn't come here if I wasn't.” He caught a slight smile on her face and that made him even more determined. Never could he lose his little girl again. The guilt for abandoning her was ceaselessly expanding. He tried to chase away those thoughts, waiting for what she was going to say.

“One chance,” she said and started putting her coat on. “If you’ll screw it up again, that’s it, no more excuses”. She pulled out an agenda from her bag, asked her dad for a pen, and quickly wrote something. Then she said the last thing and walked out to the snowstorm “Friday, pick me up at 7 p.m. Don’t be late.” She came back from the door as she forgot something. "And Merry Christmas" she added, now with a soft smile on her face and danced away. When she got lost in the tangle of people rushing with their heads pressed to their chest, he just sat there for another 10 minutes with his mind full of hope. He put his cap on and walked down the street. There was a family, parents with two kids, one girl and one boy, all holding each other’s hands. The girl was almost too alike his daughter, Emily. All these memories from her childhood started to come back. Her first words, their first Christmas as a family, him trying to teach her how to ride a bike …

A big tear flew down his cheeks red from the cold. But it wasn’t a sad tear. At least not completely. Even though he was walking in the opposite direction than her daughter, he knew that soon their paths will cross again. And everything will be okay.


Three paths merged, which was not unlikely in the bustling Manhattan city. Many of these merging paths gave birth to other exciting events such as friendship, marriage, or criminal activity. This one, however, gave birth to not really anything exciting. Jules, Kay, and Ry were both oblivious to their upcoming, shared predicament.

Jules, a struggling self-made businesswoman, walked to work with a folder of charts and a home-made coffee in hand. Kay, the victim of a scam, took a bus to his scheduled meeting in a suit snagged from Goodwill. Ry, the scammer, drove to meet his future “employee.”

They were all heading for the same destination: a four-story building that looked as if it were built by the first colonizers of England. It stood in one of the quieter neighborhoods of Manhattan. Cracked, interweaving maroon bricks gave the building an appearance of a large Jenga game. One missing brick could possibly mean the end of its entire structural integrity. Cobblestone ledges lined the windows and a teetering, sun-bleached awning covered the doorway. People would walk by and remark, “How is that not a safety hazard?” However, this building was like the elderly who had no business being so strong. Those elderly who look like a stray breeze would mean absolute death, but instead, they bend the iron bars of age and defy the laws of the land. The building was a physical manifestation of those old people. Although it would not win any fashion shows, it was a survivor, indeed.

Over the years, its multiple owners attempted to modernize it. All the projects met dead ends or were left abandoned. This building stood to spite history. And so, an elevator remained long after the stairwell fell out of use. It literally fell out. There were no more steps. Odd mixtures of new and old trends could be seen in wallpapers, flooring, and furniture. The current owner was a remote man. He rented the building to desperate individuals with a dream or desperate individuals with a criminal background. Whatever happened in the building was no concern of his, as he had bought the building at rock-bottom prices hoping for an extra source of income. After the sale, any concerns or complaints went ignored as the owner disappeared off the face of our planet Earth. And thus, these three characters entered the building. Jules who had rented the fourth floor in hopes to start her own business. Ry, who ran a slow but steady pyramid scheme of weight-loss miracle pills, occupied the third floor. Kay stepped through the doorway and thought, “Maybe I should leave.” Such was the enormous power of the building’s hazardous appearance. They bid good morning to one another as they stepped into the dinghy elevator.

Jules watched Ry through her peripheral vision. She recently learned of his pyramid scheme targeting desperate individuals and had yet to confront him about it. She sipped her coffee with furrowed brows. Ry was in a great mood. He knew he was hiring a new employee, but he did not realize that his future employee was in the same elevator. He hummed a little tune that sounded a lot like Britney Spears’s Toxic. Kay peeked at Ry, waiting for Ry to acknowledge him.

“Did I get the wrong building?” thought Kay with considerable worry. Maybe the man in the elevator was just a lookalike. He shook the thought away as he had checked the building address more than twenty times. He hyped himself for the meeting and reassured his nerves. Things were going smoothly.

KA-THUNK-KSHHH The elevator staggered to a stop. The lights flickered off.

Silence perforated the air. No one dared to breathe. A single thought raced through all of their minds:

What was that?

No way…" Indeed, it was yes way. The elevator had stopped, old age, and years of cheap maintenance had finally caught up with the hunkering machine. It was a wonder the emergency brakes were still in working order.

Kay was the first to speak. “Huh, seems like the elevator is broken.” Ry scoffed. “Yeah, thanks Sherlock.”

Jules, bless her kind soul, stuck up for Kay, partly because Kay looked like a poor child and partly because she bore a simmering animosity for Ry’s scamming business. “Hey, calm down, Jesus Christ. That won’t help anything. Let me just call for hel-” As she was speaking, she pulled out her phone to call for help. To her crippling dismay, there was no signal.

“How is there no signal? There’s always been a signal here, albeit a weak one.”  thought Jules.

“Alright, it seems there’s no signal so we just have to hunker down until we can get help or help comes to us. Someone’s bound to notice our absence.”

For a few seconds, the three characters tried their signal in different parts of the elevator to no avail. Ray grumbled about the wait time but succumbed to her suggestion. To pass the time, he played Candy Crush Soda Saga on his phone.

Kay was not about to take this unused time for granted. He was a college student; work needed to be done. He sat down and opened his laptop to continue his research paper. For a while, the only sounds were Kay’s typing and Ry’s Candy Crush audio. Jules hoped the three of them would get to know each other but it seemed Ry and Kay preferred to keep to themselves. She sighed as she slid down the wall of the elevator to sit on the floor. Then she was struck with a bright idea. For weeks and weeks, she wanted for a time to confront Ry about his pyramid business. Now was a perfect time. She was going to expose the man.

“So, Ry, what do you do here exactly?”

Ry did not look up from his phone. “Hold up, let me finish this level. I'm so close… Hell yeah, new score. Alright, what’s up?” Jules looked him in the eye and repeated herself.

Judging from her tone, Ry knew something was up. He became wary of the question. “I manage a business to help people feel their best.” He silently congratulated himself for the great answer. Jules was not about to back down. “I know about your machinations. You’re running a pyramid scheme, aren’t you? Ry wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Jules’s accusation was unexpected. “What’s a pyramid scheme?” Surprisingly, Ry was not joking. He was wholly unaware of the very idea of a pyramid scheme. He was running an accidental pyramid scheme.

After a few minutes of fervent discussion and a lot of exasperation on Jules’s end, Ry realized that his business was illegal and became determined to change things. His Candy Crush game no longer interested him. He was ready to turn things around.

Throughout the entire conversation between Jules and Ry, Kay grew increasingly certain that the man standing before him had tried to recruit him to the pyramid scheme. So he spoke up.

“Dude, I think I’m the person you hired. I was supposed to have a meeting this morning with Ry Manning. My name’s Kay.” Ry looked closer at Kay and realized he was right. “Oh my gosh, you are. Sorry about that. You don’t have to take the job, but the offer still stands. Just let me fix the business first.” “Wow really thanks man,” beamed Kay.

Refilled with a purpose, Ry couldn’t stand staying in the elevator for another minute.

“Let’s try to escape the elevator. There’s got to be some sort of door to go outside the elevator.” And thus began the search for an escape hatch. They decided that Kay would sit on Ry’s shoulders to inspect the ceiling. To reach higher, Kay unstraightened his knees while Ry held his feet in place.

“I’m not sure if you want to know this, but your butt is literally on my face right now.” expressed Ry in a calm and level voice.

From up above, Kay inspected the ceiling while responding. “Yeah, well, it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it! Stop looking up then. Ah, I found it.”

The safety hatch was pried open with numerous tools including fingernails, pencil tips, and rulers. Ultimately, their combined effort proved worthwhile. The hatch popped open and no one could believe their eyes. Surely, it must’ve been a trick.

The opening revealed a teal and foggy sky. Strange floating, golden lights hovered, illuminating the fog in an eerie way. It smelled like the community pool’s chlorine. The three of them stood inspecting the strange environment. Out of absolutely nowhere, a large BOOM BOOM BOOM shook the entire elevator. Shocked, Kay dropped the hatch and left it open. It sounded like a large dinosaur was sprinting in their direction, each BOOM becoming stronger and louder.

“Close the door! Close the door!” screamed Jules from below. Ry, shaken by the sound, fell, and Kay fell right on top of his face. Jules’s commands spurred them into action. Quickly, they detangled themselves and rushed to close the hatch. It closed and the BOOM BOOM’s softened to silence.

“Whew, what was that?” thought all three of them simultaneously.

Kay was the first to speak. “So that was probably a dinosaur.” “What’re you talking about? Dinosaurs died like a million years ago. That’s literally not possible. Maybe some freak gas accident.” suggested Ry. “You think a freak gas accident is gonna cause floating lanterns and repeating earthquakes? Unlikely. But I also don’t think it’s dinosaurs.” exclaimed Jules. With that, they settled into silence. Jules analyzed her charts and sipped her remaining coffee. Ry beat the 100th level in Candy Crush Soda Saga. Kay finished his research report. Going by Ry’s watch, they opened the hatch each hour and were greeted by a new, eerie environment each time. Ry broke the silence. “I need to pee.” Jules was flabbergasted. “What? You didn’t even drink anything. I finished this entire coffee and I don’t even need to go anytime soon.”

“Yeah, well, I drank a lot of water before coming here. People are saying it’ll help clear your skin,” remarked Ry dejectedly, pointing to his acne-scarred chin.

“Jules, you have your coffee cup right? He can go in there,” suggested Kay, sitting crisscrossed on the floor.

With no better idea, Jules surrendered her coffee cup while Ry turned to face the corner. For a few seconds, the only sound was trickling.

“Uhhh guys I don’t think this cup is enough. Guys, oh my gosh, get me another container!” “WHAT HOW’D YOU FILL THE ENTIRE CUP AND STILL HAVE MORE!” screamed. Kay, frantically searching his backpack for a container. At the bottom, he uncovered his reusable bento box. Silently bidding his box farewell, Kay surrendered his beloved bento box to Ry’s calling of nature. They disposed of the bento box and cup in a world with a blood-orange sky, constant buzzing noises from every direction, and intolerable cold.

After the fiasco, they resumed their silence. Once in a while, a small conversation would strike up about their lives and themselves. They continued to check the outside each hour. Eventually, sleep consumed them and they huddled together in a corner for warmth because the elevator had gotten unbearably cold since nighttime. In the morning, they opened the hatch with little hope.

Hallelujah! If there was a God, He had answered. The hatch revealed a darkened elevator shaft with brickwork familiar to Jules and Ry. Ry helped them both up before pushing himself up onto the elevator top. They climbed the horizontal iron bars embedded into the wall and pried the elevator door open. Sunlight pooled on the wooden floorboards through half blurred windows. Jules, Kay, and Ry simultaneously released a long-held sigh. Immediately, they looked to one another and laughed. They had made it, a full 24 hours later. They agreed to seal off the elevator and renovate the stairs, with or without the remote owner’s permission.

Kay began his work with Ry, fixing his fraudulent business and Jules’s business grew slowly but surely. Connected by their shared struggle, they became friends: not close friends, but friends. Ry purchased a new coffee cup for Jules and a new bento box for Kay. Back in the red, icy dimension, the tainted coffee cup and bento box remained unmoved.


Navigation Coordinates J2000 Right Ascension to Saturn (Per the International Celestial Reference System) On board Spacecraft Module ZK8*11, two of Planet Exo’s top engineers sat together in the Goldilocks Lounge going over the day’s findings. EKK-&#@ and SPEC-%^+ studied a year’s worth of data points spread before them reflected in graphs and pie-charts. The table surface doubled as a computer screen. The two had their internal telepathy enabled so they could communicate without speaking. This had the advantage of blocking out other sounds in the area and was especially effective when sharing classified business.

EKK-&#@:   Look. The data supports our initial theory that Earth is, indeed, a doomsday planet, always has been.

SPEC-%^+:  Yes, but this is new. See this increase? Tells me there's hope. EKK-&#@:   Those numbers elevated when we initiated the study.  That shift was a direct result of our researchers’ influence; I’d bet my existence on it. SPEC-%^+:   When can we expect a decision from the Elders? EKK-&#@:    Anytime now. If the choice is demolition for the greater good, we’ll want our research technicians evacuated.

SPEC-%^+:   And the alternative? EKK-&#@:    Do or die; they have to do better or . . . SPEC-%^+: They can still turn things around. They just have to stop, look and listen. EKK-&#@: For their sake, at least, let us hope they remember how. * * * “Mom? Where’s Zippy?” Chloe yelled from the playroom. Amanda was in the kitchen attempting to get Chloe’s little sister to eat more cereal. “I haven’t seen him. Did you check under your bed?” “He better not be!” There was only one reason her favorite toy would be under a bed; the family beagle, Oscar, had retreated with the stuffed creature to give it a good chew. Zippy was surprisingly resilient and hadn’t sustained permanent damage by way of rips or tears, but Chloe reasoned there could always be a first time. Zippy had become the most popular toy the prior holiday season. This was a product that just seemed to appear in practically every toy and department store across the globe one day and became an instant sensation. Every child either had one or relentlessly campaigned for one.

Zippy came in a multitude of bright colors and sizes, no two exactly alike, but they all had Zippy’s signature ink-blue eyes and helmet with double antenna that, when you squeezed his plush belly, would shoot a harmless electric current back and forth between them.  The doll also doubled as a nightlight and, if you squeezed his nose, would exude a warm glow. “Oscar! Do you have Zippy?  If I catch. . .” Oscar scrambled past Chloe as she entered her room. “Hah! Thought so. Run, you slobbering thief!” She saw one of Zippy's arms beckoning from under her bed. She quickly went to gather her friend. “I turn my back for one second . . . no cuts or tears.  Whew, good. But, ugh, slimy . . . gross, Oscar!” Chloe dangled Zippy between two fingers and took him to Amanda. “Look, Mom. Zippy’s been slimed again.” “I told you, Chloe, Oscar doesn’t know any better. If you want Zippy to be out of harm’s way . . .” “I know. I know. I was just brushing my teeth.” “Well, why don’t you try washing Zippy this time? You’ve seen me do it. I’ll bet you can manage.” “Sure! Hey, Zip, how ‘bout a bath?” Chloe pinched the sky blue material on Zippy’s back and flew him with accompanying jet rocket sounds upstairs to the kids’ bathroom that had a step-stool for her to reach the sink. She ran water. “Don’t make it too hot.” Chloe looked around. “Mom?” Chloe frowned.  She looked at Zippy; he sat, matted and rumpled, on the towel rack where she’d placed him. She turned back to the sink. “I do not wish to alarm you.” This time, Chloe caught the flash of current between Zippy's antennae out of the corner of her eye.  She stared in the mirror before her and focused on her stuffed friend, furrowing her brow. “W-was . . .” “Amanda always makes the water too hot. She thinks she’s neutralizing the proteobacterial content of the canine’s sputum when, in actuality, she’s spreading actinobacteria to further crevasses in my exterior. Well, not mine, per se . . .” Chloe stared at the toy with fascination and trepidation in equal measure. She tried closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands. When I look up again, things will go back the way they were. One . . . two . . . “I simply have no touch, do I? Forgive me, Chloe. May I call you . . .?” Chloe slowly opened her eyes to see Zippy sitting up on the towel rack with his silver space boots dangling and two cloth hands adjusting his helmet. “I’ve never done this, you know.” Chloe turned around. There was no doubt. Zippy was alive, or something along those lines. “Are you going to hurt us?” Chloe’s voice sounded small as she began crumbling. Zippy looked up, alarmed. His electric currents buzzed. “No, no, negative, no. I’ll explain all that I can, but we are here to help you preserve your world.” Chloe took her toothpaste glass and had a sip of water. “You know I’m just a kid, right?” “Negative. You are actually much, much more, Chloe. You are just not aware.” “But I don’t know where to start.” Zippy sniffed his elbow and made a face. “How about a little wash-up?” Chloe took in the funny little creature that had been her companion for as long as she could remember.  She sighed. “Bar soap or bubbles?” *   *   * EEK-&#@ and SPEC-%^+ sat with other covert project personnel around a long oval conference table.  The esteemed gathering, made up of the galaxy’s top engineers, scientists, philosophers, and architects, prepared for an important announcement that could determine the next course of action in re: Planet Earth, the Doomsday Planet. *  *  * Zippy, freshly laundered and blow-dried by seven-year old Chloe, suggested they go to one of Chloe’s secret hiding places to talk more. Chloe packed juice boxes and snack bars in a backpack, placed Zippy in an outside pocket, and yelled to her mother from the kitchen. “I’m going to play outside, Mom.” “Take Missy with you.” Chloe looked at Zippy, who didn’t move. Missy was five years old and Chloe adored her but she could be a handful. Chloe sighed. What am I supposed to do now? Missy, dressed in pigtails and overalls, bounded into the kitchen.

“Can I, can I, Coco?” Chloe smiled.  “Coco” was Missy’s name for her, coined in the days Missy hadn’t yet mastered her “L” sounds. Tell her it’s all right.

Chloe startled. Who’s that?

She glanced at her backpack and Zippy. Oh dear, I’ve done it again. I hadn’t told you we can communicate this way, Chloe. It’s called telepathy. If you think something meant for me to hear, I will hear it. All else is private and won’t transmit. Is that acceptable? Chloe, staring at her pack, slowly nodded. “Coco?” Chloe shook her head, clearing it, looked back to Missy. “Oh, yeah, sure. I got us some snacks, Missy. I was going to the clubhouse. You can come if you want.” Missy jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Just as they reached the kitchen door that opened out to the backyard, they heard the clattering of toenails. “Oscar!” Missy knelt to greet the beagle. Chloe smiled, “Come on, boy!” Zippy’s voice in her head said,

I must warn you that if I should fall out of this portapack, or whatever you call it, we shall need more communication concerning the matter of this bacteria-carrying lifeform that seems to enjoy defacing defenseless objects. Chloe closed her eyes. Do you always talk this much? Well, actually, yes. I have been silent for quite some time, you know.

They were greeted by a warm summer day, the kind of day that you would bottle, if you could, and keep always. Of course, there was nothing to suggest that all was not right with the world, or the universe for that matter. *  *  * The monitor onboard Spacecraft Module ZK8*11 buzzed and sizzled as it came to life, revealing several galactic guards with their identities digitized.  The attendees at the conference table focused their attention on the 5-D screen. “IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT COMING UP – STAY TUNED” *  *  * Missy wanted to play on the swing set near the ladder to the clubhouse. Oscar playfully barked at her feet as she swung back and forth, giggling.

Chloe watched them for a moment before climbing the few steps to the tree-house dubbed NASA Jr.  It had posters of planets, constellations and rockets.  Chloe sat near a window to keep an eye on Missy. Why now? Zippy relaxed into himself. Why . . . Talk to me? Why now? One of my assignments was to learn your language proficiently and communicate in a way that you will best be able to comprehend the important message we have for your planet, and you. I don’t know what you just said. So, you’ve been alive all this time? Yes. Studying, observing, taking notes, submitting reports . . . Why? What for? Who for? Zippy squinted, looking pensive. Hmm. I might be going too quickly. Wait a minute. Were you watching the whole time I had chicken pox? And the tummy flu? Rest assured, you have been a worthy specimen in all categories. Really?  Can I tell my mom about you? Zippy shuddered. We don’t trust adults. None of us do. But my mom’s nice . . . us? Who’s us? The beings where I come from. Exo. How’d you wind up in a toy store? We were sent to study you. Me? Children. In my world, you would be considered a pupae. From our experience and information, the adult of your species is the greatest danger facing the universe today. Oh, c’mon. They’re not that bad. You, in your present state of development, are perfect, Chloe, I don’t expect you to be able to comprehend the horrors that await at the end of your growth cycle.

Some of the words you say, Zippy, I really don’t understand. Trust me, Chloe, don’t tell your mom. *  *  * The monitor remained frozen in the conference room, the pixilated guards hadn’t moved a dot.  The words “Stand by” remained fixed on the screen.  Low murmurings began to form and slowly escalate among the gathered participants. *  *  * Chloe heard the back door close, then watched as her mother carried a tray to the picnic table. She heard the tinkling of ice and glass. “Lemonade, girls!” Amanda called. Missy skidded to a stop and ran from the swing, Oscar close on her heels. Chloe turned to Zippy. Wanna come? Wouldn’t miss it. Chloe looked at Zippy before picking him up. Are you ever thirsty? Hungry? No, we stockpile adequate sustenance before we leave the ship. How many of you are there? We are hoping enough to make a difference. “Chloe, lemonade!” What is it you want me to do? Patience, Chloe. I've already given you a lot to think about. Just understand that I want to help, not harm, you or your planet. That's a relief. Chloe joined her mom and Missy at the picnic table. She sipped her drink and barely nibbled at a gingersnap, thinking. “Where’d ya go, Chlo'?” Chloe’s mother was staring at Chloe as intently as Chloe had been staring into space.

Missy’s concentration was being used to dip a cookie into her lemonade.  Her little voice echoed, “Where ya go, Coco?” I still think you’re wrong about my mom.  She’s great; you’ll see. Be my guest.   Zippy’s voice seemed to shrug. Chloe reached for a napkin. “Mom?” “Yes, Chloe.” “Do you believe in UFO’s?” “Well, I can’t say I really think about it. There’s enough going on here to fill my attention.” “Do you believe in aliens?” “Not having given any real thought to UFO’s, I would put aliens in the same category. I don’t know.” Zippy entered Chloe’s mind.

Good luck. Missy looked up. “What, Coco?” Chloe looked at Missy, puzzled. "What what?" Amanda reached over with a towel to wipe crumbs from Missy’s chin. Missy made a face as her mouth was cleaned. “I heard somebody say 'good luck.' Was it you?” Chloe stared at Missy, surprised. She heard Zippy’s voice again.

Ah, see? T he children are all waking up. Missy looked miffed.  “Not me. I’m already awake.” Chloe turned to her mother. “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it, Chloe?” “Something is happening, I’m not sure exactly what.” “Did something happen? Can you tell me anything more?” Tell her Planet Earth is at a tipping point. Chloe took a deep breath. “Earth is in trouble, Mom.” “Oh, honey.” Amanda slid closer to her daughter. “That’s really not something that you need to worry about.” “Aren’t you?  Worried?” “Have you been watching the news? You have no idea how blown out of proportion things can get.” Chloe sat quietly, thinking. “This is different, Mom. These are things I know.” “Know? Sweetheart, how can you know? You’re letting your imagination run away with you, just like Chicken Little.” Missy dribbled lemonade, giggling. “The sky is falling!” Chloe shook her head, “You’re not listening. How can you hear me if you don’t listen?" Bingo! Missy was still giggling to herself. “Bingo.” Amanda cleared her throat. “Since your father left, Chloe, it’s just been us girls. I think we’ve done pretty well.  Remember what I told you? You really only have two things to think about right now.  One, be a good student in school. Two, be the best Chloe you know how to be.” Chloe sat quietly for another moment.

“What if there is no school?” “Chloe?” “How can I be the best of something if there’s nothing left?” *  *  * That’s when the sirens began.

“Let’s get in the house, girls, now. Oscar!” “Mommy, look at the sky!” Missy was pointing upward. The blue, cloudless sky had been blanketed with thick grey-purple swirls of pending gloom. The edges roiled with static and the low rumble of thunder. They gathered their things and hurried inside. Amanda turned on the television and was met with crackling static from every station. She held her dread at bay as she gathered candles, radio, batteries and settled Missy with a picture book and some crackers. Oscar would be wherever the crackers were. Chloe retreated to her room and closed the door. She sat on her bed holding Zippy.

What’s going to happen? The electric current between Zippy’s antenna crackled and spat.

The announcement's been made by the Panel of Elders that Earth currently is a doomsday planet. That’s not a surprise.

Are we all going to die? Not necessarily. This can all change with certain steps. Did you notice when you said your mother wouldn’t listen? Listening is the beginning of wisdom. You know that, just as your mother once did. She’s lost touch. With what? Herself. Can she get herself back? She’s all there. She just needs to see it. You can’t do it for her but you can help. Chloe’s door popped open. Missy bounced in. “I want to help.” *    *    * EKK-&#@ lingered after the other project members had dispersed. He looked out into the vastness of space, relishing the natural calm of the universe, glad to play a role in keeping it that way. SPEC-%^+ joined him at the window, handing over a celebratory flute of spirits and raising his. It might be a little soon to celebrate. But our calculations were correct. All the feedback supported it. You know, this study was never about whether earth is headed for self-destruction. The concern’s always been to prevent neighboring or visiting lifeforms from being annihilated along with it. It still seems only a matter of time. So what have we been doing all this time? The adults are still in a state of contamination. Some have potential but, for the most part, the Earthlings have dug a hole for themselves, their own black hole, as it were.

Does anyone really believe the under-developed humans can save their planet? Who knows?  We’ll need to keep a close eye on them, in any event. With a model ZIP-321 in most homes, they may come out of this intact. Let’s just say it‘s too early to celebrate. Well, then, let’s recalibrate. Here’s to peace and harmony. And high ideals. Cheers! *  *  *

Amanda knocked on Chloe’s door. “Chloe? May I come in?” Chloe grinned at Missy. “Come in.” “The storm’s over. That was so sudden! I’ve never seen anything like that before.” That was just a warning. You should tell her. Missy ran to Amanda and wrapped her arms around her knees. “It’s a warning, Mommy.” Amanda scooped Missy into her arms and kissed her cheek. She then turned her attention to Chloe. Chloe patted the space next to her on the bed. Oscar ran past Amanda and jumped on the bed, wagging his tail furiously and settling in close to Chloe. Amanda sat on the other side of Oscar with Missy in her lap. “You should listen, Mom. I'm not good at explaining . . .” “It’s not you, Chloe. You always amaze me with your super smart questions and wild imagination.” “Not so wild this time, Mom. That’s what I was trying to tell you.” “I’m sorry, Chloe. Life is a busy blur sometimes, for me anyway, and I think for lots of people. I get stuck. If I didn’t listen to you, it’s because I just didn’t have room for anymore.” “Anymore what?” “Anymore anything.” Missy looked up suddenly, stricken. “What about me?” Amanda pressed Missy’s sweet, sticky face between her hands. “There’s always room for Missy.” Chloe appeared to be listening to something. When she looked up, she smiled. “It’s a good start, Mom. We’re headed in the right direction."


Suddenly, upon finally waking to my surroundings, I was a serial murderer. I could only tell this by two things—of course, it’s not detrimentally obvious at first; it took a few moments, a few breaths, a few blinks, and then I noticed the incessant dripping sound. Vexing me. Drowning me. Calling me. The space I’m in, wherever it was, was dim and cramped and horrible. I blink, blinded with static-y swarms, and identify the dripping; it sprouted, red and copper, from the length of my arms and pooled around my fingertips before drooping into a large metal puddle. The smell was disgustingly delightful; like the smell of coins and death. It was certainly not from myself. I felt desperately at my own skin in the half-dark, the dripping carrying on with merry and boiling my nerves. There were no incisions, slashes, gouges, lacerations, bites. No amputations of any kind, no oozing blisters, nothing I could find or feel. I felt wonderful, in fact, and that itself was a horrifying discovery. The second piece of evidence that condemned me was the location and mangled body at my feet; while this should’ve been the first, I supposed, it was not nearly as damning as the dripping was, which still persisted. I wiped excess blood away, flung it ladenly off my arms, and still it stayed in a steady tune. I turn my attention to the body, to the room. The box room was tight and suffocating as it was, and there was only a door on one wall, a tiny nightstand, and a ratty bed. There were no windows which was a relief. I was certainly looking unattractive covered in blood, I thought. The corpse, if it can even be called that, was torn open, and gore spattered over the floor and walls and me. It was unidentifiable. Certain parts, such as the index, middle, and ring fingers were missing; so was the left ankle and foot and most of the facial structure. The stomach was cut open and the organs seemed unnatural in their places, almost as if they’d been stirred about in the skeletal cavity. Veins, mostly major arteries, had been stripped delicately from the flesh and laid out in a fragile pattern around my feet; it looked like a cluster of branches dripping blood as rain, and then splayed around the body like murderous wings. The hair was also gone, the skin sliced loose, and the limbs looked posed into that of a final prayer. There were no clothes, but still the heap of flesh seemed to be wearing them. I couldn’t comprehend it. With great caution, I inched over to the nightstand and fumbled with the lamp’s switch to be further enlightened. The sight, now bathed in sickly yellow light, was even more ghastly than I had previously seen; blood seemed to seep forever into the floorboards, and the dripping still did not cease, in fact— drip, drip, drip— the dripping clung onto my mind like a vice. I felt queasy. I don’t remember what happened. How I got here, who this was. I could barely remember who I was, actually, what with this maddening sound. My eyes traced back and forth over the pattern of veins. They were so thin, and so very purposely intact. This was a practiced sort of thing. Serial murderer . At least it was artful. I neutralized my face and thought. I don’t really know what’s behind this door, where I should go, what I should do. I couldn’t be in charge of this body. Panic quickly arose—what would I tell people? The only way to clean myself would be with the bedsheets, and any wash basins would be sternly outside. I glared at the body. Clearly, as this had been planned, there was no true afterthought on getting away innocently. With mild irritation, I began stripping the bed, roughly scrubbing my arms and face and shirt with the threadbare sheets. I eyed the door, the corpse, almost expecting it to rise, clean itself off, and then jaunt back outside. When it didn’t move, and there was hardly anything but stains on my skin, I threw the bloodied sheets over it in horrid aggression. I stomped over to the door, careful to avoid the stream of blood and arteries, and gently twisted the bronze knob. It opened with ease, and with an air of satisfaction, I exited the room. I was on the second floor and met with a balcony overlooking the lame parking lot of a motel. At the entrance of the parking lot there was a sign that read, “ The Stainsbury Motel ” and a very subtle for sale sign. Charming. I glanced at the door—Room 23. The rest of the rooms, also at a quick look, seemed to be the exact same and count up to thirty. I made my way to the stairwell, thinking near fondly about the crime I just commit. It burned, red and iridescently, into my mind and pleased me with a certain degree of shame. I wonder if I have a public name, I think. It would have to be a good one. Something that marked my artistry. I was not responsible for the bodies, no, just the canvases they were made into. I wonder, I do, if I have a high body count, and the thoughts of each murdered piece excited me. I watched my footsteps down the stairs, hoping to not see bloody tracks, and played a game of just being silent. Crickets chirped, cicadas lowly hummed; wind rustled the deep dark wilderness. It was extremely far into the night, and the only light around was that of the slim, pale moon and dim orange lights. It was a starless night, with pale red lines clawing at the skyline, and my steps down the metal platforms seemed loud and cantankerous. Drip, drip . At the bottom of the stairs, I glared back up at the room. I could still hear the terrible dripping of the corpse through the floorboards and drywall and peeling door. It dragged on, endless, infrequent, darkly irking me. I ran a hand through my hair, my palm still sticky with crimson, and tried to locate the reception office. Wandering in the dim and damp parking lot did nothing to ease my mind, but it was fairly simple to find the reception; it was, objectively, the nicer piece of property on the lot, with pleasant yellow lights and wallpapered walls, wrapped with a shining veneer and a polished but worn wooden flooring. Upon entering, there was a mellowly colored rug in the middle of the room, a few old lounge couches, a payphone, and the aroma of deep caramel and forest rain. There was a decent L-shaped desk with a bored receptionist, and behind her a wall of keys that had a few missing here-or-there. I approached her and she looked up with a gleam in her eyes. “Hello, welcome to the Stainsbury Motel.” She greeted, nearly dry; but her interest, fleeting as it was, was piqued at a middle-of-the-night customer. I wondered how visible the blood stains were. “Hi.” I said lamely. “Where am I?” She gave me a look, incredulous, and started to say something, but—drip drip, drip drip— the dripping, horrible and squeamish, started again, and irritation fizzed like carbonation down my spine. It burst bright and wonderful through my skull, locked my fingers and toes into a stiffness, clamped down into my bones with its teeth. The dripping was awful. The receptionist mouthed words at me, and for a moment I allowed myself to imagine her as a canvas, too, cut open and bloodied. Another drip prowled in my ear and I felt more than sated and nauseous. “I just killed a man,” I confessed to her, abandoning my prior question. “I’ve made him so beautiful, and he haunts me now. How is that fair?” A distinct terror fell upon her. “Completely fair. How many have you killed?” I ran my tongue along my teeth in consideration. “I don’t know. It must be a lot, though; I’ve clearly had practice. You should come and see. It truly is beautiful.” “You’re a monster, a serial killer,” she cried, and she started to reach for the phone on her desk. I grabbed her hand and tugged it away, hysterical. “A serial murderer,” I corrected, “don’t call anyone, they’ll ruin it, I’m sure! I thought you might appreciate it. Find it wonderful. Find it inexorably gorgeous and intriguing. And wouldn’t you? Don’t call someone.” She paused, looked me over; with caution, she pulled her hand away and scratched vehemently at her throat. I thought, now, that she would come with me, that I’ve convinced her to look at the painting I’ve laid to completion upstairs. A part of her looked interested. A part of her looked horrified. I sympathized with her contrasted convictions. There was a silence that screeched between us. The stutter in dripping was certain to resume soon, and I found myself aching to have anything but it. I’d prefer screams, even, over the dripping. The receptionist’s eyes met mine. I prepared myself for another vexing drip. And there it was— drip, drip, drip, drip… Suddenly, with the fury of a wraith, the receptionist lunged across the desk and tackled me down onto the ground. Terror swirled with hues of resentment in her eyes, in her face; she quickly pinned me by my throat, resourcing from a well of strength I was oblivious to, and reared back to punch me. I, with hatred and betrayal, clawed at her hands in turn, and the grip she had heightened. I could not breathe; her eyes turned almost black and she salivated venom. She reminded me of a spider, almost, and dots began to dance cheerily in my line of sight. The receptionist screamed, bringing her other hand down to aid in choking me tighter. The dripping increased and my figure shook with the sound of it. “I’ll kill you,” she roared, an expletive on the tip of her tongue but never quite making it out, “I will kill you.” I fought. Drip . “I will! I will, I will! You horrid creature!” My sight started to wane, and still I fought. How she could act such a way when I offered her the nicety of such art would torment me forever. Drip drip drip . Ah, as would that. She leaned down, her voice poison in my ears. “Wake up, or I will kill you.” I sputtered for breath, watched the world start to crumble, listened only to the dripping, which went in a drip, drip, drip drip drip, drip… ... I awake with a gurgling yell, heart in my throat. My room is dark and cramped and hot. Shaking, I feel at my neck—my earbuds, a pair of white wired ones, had wrapped and tangled themselves around my throat while I was asleep. I remember feeling like I had been dying, the air squeezed out of me. Now I know why. The dream, fleeting as it is, horrified me to my core and I feel absolutely awful. I feel as though I’d been hit but a bus, actually. My mouth is dry and my fingers twitch incessantly and my spine spasms as if it is on fire. With great care I sit up and simply stare at the wall, trying to relax and reorient myself. Drip. My head turns, and on the floor of my tiny, tiny home—with only a peeling door, a nightstand, my ratty old bed, and a wardrobe—water spilled out into a large, gooey puddle as it seeped into the wooden floor. Drip, drip . As the dream starts to fizz away into nothing and I begin to shake off my drowsiness, I think to myself that I will most certainly go mad from the sound of the dripping.


There was a story about 2 strangers who started as friends. One afternoon Guada was walking down the streets where she used to be walking 20 years ago with someone very close to her heart. Every steps she makes leaves a huge smile in her heart as she walks down memory lane...... Young Guada was calling her friend Lambert, they were on their way to the cinema where the rest of their friends were waiting, when she looked up to the signage they were at 15th street, a few more walks and they will arrive to the cinema. Guada and Lambert grew up together, every summer they make the most if it to hang out since they study in different city so they only see each other during summer days. Guada was sharing to Lambert how college life is so tiring and she can't wait to graduate since they have this plans that when they graduate college they will travel the world. Lambert gave her a sweet smile. When they arrived at the cinema, their friends were so excited to meet them, they hugged each other tightly, it was a tough year wweeww so glad im home and with you guys, and they all agreed, when Guada noticed this new girl they were with, when she was about to ask, Lambert grabbed the hands of the girl and introduced her to the group, "Hey guys by the way, this is Voila my girlfriend" everyone was shocked, specially Guada, they never know that Lambert was seeing someone else then. While everyone was greeting the girl Guada was left at shocked, she don't understand why she feels hurt about Lambert introducing a girl as his girlfriend, it shouldn't matterbshe saud to herself and moved towards them and pretended to be okay. While inside the cinema she cannot focus on the movie, she kept asking herself why do i feel this way? It feels so weird everytime I look at them  so close together and why didn't Lambert told me about this girl, we were bestfriends. And tge questions keep coming into her mind. After the movie Guada decided to go home, the rest of her friends will be going to their favorite dinner in town, but Guada lost her appetite so she said goodbye to her friends and walked herself home. While walking sge can't stop thinking about this girl Lambert introduced as his girlfriend, it bothers her alot, and while she is walking she reminisced all the times they were on these streets of their hometown, how happy they were, sharing all their secrets with each other, having late night walks to the park, and so many more. But now it became so much different. And Lambert started to be distant to Guada, until sunmer was over she never heard about him. One afternoon when she was walking back to her dormitory she saw Lambert at the gate, he was holding a huge box, he greeted me with a cold hello, and he handed me the box without any words he walked away. And that was the last time she saw  him. She decided to not open the box, she never wanted to know whats inside of it, she was angry for awhile but now it was already 20 years ago, she is now a lawyer and been traveling the whole world, she decided to visit home and check on everybody, she throw a small party where closest family and friends were invited, everyone was so happy to see her, since Lambert ended their friendship she never visited home so often so she get to see most of her friend back home. The night was filled with laughter, good music and sumptuous food. When the party was over she sat on her bed took off her shoes and was relaxing a little bit when she noticed the box Lambert gave her years ago, she now decided to open it. She placed the box on her bed and slowly opened it, the box was filled with all the stuff of their memories together as friends, from tge first chips and soda they ate, to every cinema tickets they watched, to their favorite cassette tapes, their matching t-shirts, to the sneakers she bought him on his 11th birthday and all the cards she sent him and the letters too, it was all there no wonder the box was huge. As Guada was looking through all the stuff she can't help to ask why, many years of friendship and he decided to throw it all away. One afternoon, a day before she will be leaving her hometown, she went to their favorite cafeteria, and was surprised to see Lambert there. He seemed to never aged a bit, she pretended to not see him and go on eating when He approached her. Do you mind if i share table with you? Whe she looked around the place is full of customers so she said "yes of course" he does not seem to recognize her at all. She was wondering if he was with someone but no one approached the table Lambert started talking " how do you find the food here?" great, she answered with a smile and they started tobtalk about so many stuff, it was like the old times when they talk about so many things, sharing stories over dinner, Guada felt so comfortable and Lambert too, when they were done eating, Guada said goodbye first since she has to prepare for her early morning flight, Lambert accompanied her to the door, and Lambert said " it was great sharing table and stories with you, you remind me of someone so close to my heart before." Take care Guada replied with a smile and a teary eyes." While she was walking back home she was smiling but a little but teary eyed, remembered all the times they spent together before, how best of friends they were and how strangers they are now, maybe that is what life supposed to mean, come and go. The end-


“It was me!” Jim exclaims as soon as he sees what is piled on the Deans desk. He knows what he’s saying, knows the consequences even before the words leave his mouth. There is no moment of disbelief or doubt in his mind. There is no question that Jim is going to do this. He will take the fall for this because if he doesn’t, the consequences will be unbearable. His friends stop shuffling in front of the Dean and freeze in shades of confusion and guilt as the prefects shove them to attention in their pyjamas. Adam turns his head to look at him out of the corner of his eyes, face pale in shock. Dave trips over his own foot, coordination a pipe dream in old joggers and a tee, no shoes on his sock-clad feat. He almost pulls Ian down with him as he tips over. He might or might not have done better fully dressed and in daylight, though Jim can't judge. The Dean misses none of this, her clear dark eyes flowing over them with barely hidden derision as Dave and Ian manage to get back to their feet. Her eyebrow and her lip quirk as the two teens struggle to keep each other on an even keel. She gives them a moment to collect their barely extant dignity before turning her attention to him. “ You are at fault?” The Dean asks, her tone doubtful. She crosses her sweater-clad arms and tilts her head, just so, and he knows she doesn’t believe him. Even in her casual clothes and bare face, she sees right through him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter that she is right to disbelieve him. Who’s going to prove otherwise? Adam was his first friend here, the first that hadn’t laughed at him, hadn’t called him by a girl's name. Dave and Ian, on account of no longer being the only queer kids, had declared him one of them. Friendship had come after solidarity, after shared slurs in the halls and the odd threat at recess. None of them have his academic standing, and he can't bear to know what would happen if Ian's parents found out about this. “Yes, Ma’am. This is all my fault.” Jim reiterates, absolute in his conviction. He meets Adam's eyes past the Dean's shoulder and tries his best to indicate that he should back him up. Adam frowns. Dave and Ian share a look, though only Ian seems to understand what he is trying to do. “Don’t be stupid, Jimmy,” Ian interjects. “You had nothing to do with this.” The Dean releases a frustrated huff as Adam and Dave look at Ian in disbelief. Jim looks from Ian to the Dean and to the scene of the crime, then back to Ian. Jim may have been lying, but claiming that he wasn’t involved at all was stretching the bounds of credulity. It might have helped if Ian hadn’t slurred his words. One of the prefects snorts inelegantly. Jim turns and glares at the boy, then remembers that pissing off a prefect probably won't help the situation at all. “Shut it,” he hisses at Ian instead, who hisses back wordlessly and rolls his eyes.

“Are you boys quite done?” The Dean states, clearly indicating that they are, even if they disagree. Jim and Ian disengage their staring contest to look at the ground at the Dean's feet instead, chiming in with Adam and Dave when they reply in the affirmative. “Frankly, this is the stupidest waste of an evening I have been subjected to, and I don’t really care that much who did this.” She says, indicating the incriminating pile on her desk. “I understand that you are teenagers, and I understand that a certain amount of mischief is to be expected, but there are limits.” Jim isn’t sure how far past the Dean's limits a few ‘suggestive’ zines are, never mind that he is pretty sure they are on loan from Adam’s mom. Mrs Ghetty claimed that they were age appropriate when Jim’s dad had called her with his concerns. The Dean picks up the top copy, a relatively low-quality print of a pencil drawing, depicting two men holding hands under a black and white rainbow. She leans against the desk as she thumbs through the yellowed paper, then throws it back on the pile. “This is nothing.” The Dean says, tone stern and suddenly Jim realizes that she isn’t looking at them this time. She is looking at the prefects, Thomson and Frank, two boys a year up, assigned to patrol the boys' dormitory. They had burst into the room Adam shares with Ian and crowed at finding the four of them together, Jim not in his assigned single room, well past curfew and reading ‘illicit’ and ‘inappropriate’ materials. Thomson frowns in confusion from behind Ian, then strides forward and grabs a zine off of the pile. “But it’s porn!” he exclaims, not bothering to open it, just thrusting the paper at the Dean, barely holding on to it as if it might infect him with prolonged contact. The Dean turns an unimpressed eye on him, takes the paper from his hands and opens it. Inside there are pictures of queer couples, yes, but none of them are naked. The most contact they have is on page five. One man hugged another from behind in an intimate embrace, both fully clothed. They are standing in front of a house that looks like it might be in the countryside, and smiling. It is a good picture. Dave had needed to wipe at his eyes when he had seen it, had given it a long and still look, had turned and held Ian’s hand tightly, as they read the accompanying text. “ ‘The Queer Guide to Queer History; We’re still Here’,” she reads off the title page, then flips it back on the table. The Prefects shuffle behind them, suddenly unsure of the situation. Jim shares another look with Ian, equally bewildered. “You four,” she starts, pointing at the pajamaed boys with a wave of her hand, “can’t be meeting past curfew like this. Detention for all of you, and don’t do this again. Come see me in the morning for the particulars, and to pick up these zines once I’ve reviewed their appropriateness.” The Dean says in a clear dismissal, then rounds on the prefects as Jim grabs Adam and follows Dave and Ian out of the office.

“Now, you two, on the other hand…” is all Jim hears as the door closes behind them.


As Vicky towel-dried her hair in the swimming pool changing room, she stole a few surreptitious glances at her neighbour Sally. Suddenly, she felt horribly self-conscious in her high-waisted white pants and shapeless triangle bra, which didn’t even match; when had she stopped caring? Vicky was wearing underwear, but Sally – Sally was wearing lingerie. The hot-pink, fine-mesh thong lay snug against Sally’s tanned skin, the stringy part at the back disappearing between her pert, peachy buttocks. As Vicky rummaged in her locker for her clothes, she couldn’t help stealing another glimpse of Sally in the mirror, watching as she pulled a tight-fitting T-shirt over her naked breasts. Her breasts pointed upwards, like the smooth, raised heads of two proud sea lions looking out over the ocean. Vicky hurriedly pulled a sweater over her own breasts, which seemed to sag below the grey, threadbare fabric of her bra. Sally had moved in across the street six months ago, and Vicky had helped her to settle in. She’d taken her fresh muffins and lasagna, filled her in on who’s who in the neighbourhood, and shown her the ropes at the secondary school where their teenage daughters were now in fifth year. She and Sally had quickly become close, and Sally always had a new activity for them on the agenda. Last month, it had been yoga, this month, water aerobics. “How was shopping with the girls yesterday?” asked Vicky tentatively. Their teenage daughters would never ask her to go shopping. Sally was the cooler Mum. “Good, yeah. They had fun,” answered Sally, flicking a coat of mascara on to her already sweeping lashes and triggering a gnawing feeling in Vicky’s stomach. “I am not in the mood for this parent-teacher meeting tonight,” complained Vicky, changing the subject, and fighting the unsavoury feelings in her gut. “We should try to jump out early and grab a wine on the way home.” She looked hopefully at Sally, who was now fully dressed in her white T-shirt and snug indigo jeans. “About that, hun,” she said, pulling on a pair of tan-coloured suede heels and averting her eyes. “I have to take a rain check.” Her nipples nosed against the stretched fabric of her T-shirt, and Vicky once again thought of sea lions. She watched as her friend sprayed a dash of perfume onto her wrist then rubbed it against the other one. “I have a deadline for an article tomorrow, and I’m nowhere near done. Could you cover for me and fill me in?” Sally batted her eyelids sweetly. Vicky tried to hide her disappointment. She couldn’t very well say no, could she? She never said no to Sally. “Yeah, I guess.” “You are the best. That’s why I love you.” Sally pulled her into a tight hug, and she felt her friend’s firm, warm breasts nuzzle into her chest.

It was already dark and after ten when Vicky finally left the school. The meeting had dragged on, and she’d gotten held up afterwards by her daughter’s teacher who wanted to discuss the details of the upcoming fundraising event. She regretted having offered her help now. If she had known half a year ago that she’d have a new best friend, she wouldn’t have taken on so much for the parent-teacher association. As she pulled her car into her drive, she noticed the lights were out at Sally’s place. Strange, she thought to herself. Sally usually stayed up until the early hours when she had a big deadline; Vicky always saw her reading lamp burning in the window of her downstairs study. Not tonight. As she ducked out of the moonlit drizzle and into the comforting warmth of her hallway, she heard the back door slam. “Johnny,” she called. The house smelled of cooking, and the dulcet tones of soft jazz music drifted down the hall from the kitchen. That was strange; Johnny never cooked for himself when she was out. He either made himself a sandwich or warmed something up in the microwave, but he never cooked, and he certainly never listened to jazz. She glanced at her wristwatch – ten-thirty – her husband was usually in the den with a whisky at this time of the evening, working on his model airplanes and avoiding their teenage daughter. She tossed her damp coat and swimming bag onto the hallway bench and made her way along the expensive parquet floor without even removing her shoes. She opened the kitchen door to find her husband reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. A half-empty bottle of Merlot stood on the table; there were no glasses to be seen, but the dishwasher was clunking and whirring in the background. He looked up at her, cheeks flushed, and pushed his thick-framed reading glasses further up his nose. “Hi, darling. How was the meeting?” Vicky paused in her tracks. Something wasn’t right here. “Did I just hear the door bang?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Eh, yes, I was just taking the bins out.” Johnny never took the bins out. Johnny never drank wine. Vicky studied her husband for a long moment, but he simply smiled and returned to his newspaper. She felt a pang of anxiety rattle her insides. They’d been a little distant lately, and they hadn’t had sex for months, but he’d never lied to her. Never kept anything from her. What was going on here? “Where is Ava?” she asked. Their teenage daughter was rarely home before eleven these days, and when she was, you could usually hear her shrieking about something from halfway down the street. “Out with Claire.” Claire was Sally’s daughter, and her and Ava were joined at the hip. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Vicky retreated from the kitchen. As she closed the door behind her, she thought she heard Johnny exhale a low sigh of relief, but with the silky voice of Dee Dee Bridgewater echoing in the background, she couldn’t be sure. She made her way to the living room at the front of the house, pulled off her shoes and sank on to the deep, comforting cushions of her cream sofa in the darkness. Glancing out the front window, she noticed that Sally’s study light was now on. She curled up on her side and reached to pull a cushion under her head. As she slid her hand under the cushion, her fingers brushed against a rough fabric that was in stark contrast to the soft velour of the sofa. She closed her fingers around the fabric and pulled it out from beneath the cushion. Even in the darkness, she could tell that it was somebody else’s lingerie. Bile rose up her esophagus, burning the back of her throat, and her whole body shook as she reached for the lamp on the side table. As the light flicked on, Vicky felt winded, like she’d just taken a solid blow to the gut. Dangling from her fingers was the hot-pink, fine-mesh thong from the pool. Sally’s thong.

It took fifteen minutes; fifteen minutes until her breathing returned to normal and her hands stopped shaking. She still felt sick to the stomach, but she knew what she had to do. She stormed up the stairs to the landing and charged through the door of her daughter’s bedroom. Flicking on the lights, her eyes darted around the silent room. It was in here somewhere. It had to be. On her hands and knees, she dug around under the bed until she located the black rucksack filled with spray paint. She snorted to herself; Ava thought her mum didn’t know that she’d been graffitiing the walls at the bus station with Claire, but Vicky knew everything. She pulled a can of neon-pink paint from the bag. How fitting, she thought bitterly. Not even bothering to close the door or switch off the lights, she flew down the stairs, out the front door, and marched across the street in her bare feet to Sally’s house. When she reached the front door, she didn’t hesitate for a moment. Her fury and despair had given way to a chilling calm, and she was focussed only on the task at hand. Taking aim, she pressed down on the nozzle and let the angry hiss of paint rage from the can. She took a step back to admire her work. The white wooden door on Sally’s front porch was now marred with a seething pink slur. Now everyone in the street would know what Sally really was. Nothing more than a SLUT. Vicky turned and walked calmly back across the street, oblivious to the rain and the cutting gravel beneath her feet as she crossed over her driveway. Back in her living room, she placed the offending pink items side by side on the coffee table before her. She was still staring at them ten minutes later when she heard a tentative knock at the living room door. “Yes,” she barked, her eyes still on the items on the table. “Mum?” came the tentative voice of her daughter from behind the sofa. She turned to see her husband and daughter standing in the doorway. “Vicky,” said her husband gently. “I met with Sally earlier, while you were at the PTA meeting.” Vicky stood from the sofa and turned to face her husband and daughter. What was going on here? This didn’t make sense. Ava looked vulnerable. Terrified. Nothing like her usual strong and rebellious self. “Ava has something to tell you, darling.” “ Ava has something to tell me?” spat Vicky incredulously. “Mum, I’m gay. I’m in love with Claire.” Her daughter’s voice was shrill and laden with emotion. Vicky felt herself begin to fall, hurtling into a dark, bottomless well. She didn’t understand. What were they telling her? “Come, let’s go to your Mum, sweetie,” said Johnny, steering his daughter round to the front of the sofa. Ava’s teary eyes fell on the can of spray paint and the hot-pink, fine-mesh thong on the coffee table. “Mum, what the hell are you doing with my underwear?” she screeched. “And why are your hands pink?” And suddenly, it all began to make sense. Awful, terrible sense.