The woman shivered in the oversized trench coat, hiding her ruddy-tinged hands in the deep pockets. Standing to her left was a man, not one she had known for a very long time. Actually, she couldn't recall if they had ever met.

"Do you want to hit this?" The man brought a cigarette to her cracked lips, watching the smoke plume around her sunken, ghost-like face. "It will make all those problems go away." Go away.  She yearned to say those words, but they stopped at the edge of her tongue. "Yes," she agreed, accepting the smoke.

Placing the filter between her lips, she inhaled like it was natural, as if it was...

expected.

On the opposite side the parking lot, a woman walked with a child in tow—a little girl with big, green eyes and a pair of purple rain boots. The moment the woman's eyes met the couple, she drew her child closer, like a bear with its cub.

"They fear the unsullied," the man whispered, leaning closer to her, "and because of that worry, they will grow to hate you. Why do you think they take pets? They want to be catered but to also do the catering." A brush of fingers swept across the shell of her ear, and her legs shook under the weight. Before she could duck away, going off into the store like the other humans, he clicked his tongue.

"Until they put you to sleep. Soon enough, you'll become nothing more than another bedside picture or a jar of ash resting on a lofty ledge. The thought process of humans is unsettling; it can make them happy enough to worship or angry enough to kill." To kill. The woman smiled happily and handed the cigarette back over, not realizing that she had stained the bleak white. Strings of black hair split like rivulets down her shoulders, covered by the droppings of ash. But when she tried to blow the remnants away, they remained.

"Can we go inside?" She asked.

"Not today, maybe tomorrow?"

She noticed a different tone when he said tomorrow, which sounded restrained, tempting. Not his usual manner, she thought. Did he have a regular way?

"Do I know you?" She asked. "Not today, maybe tomorrow?" ------- Inside the grocery store, the woman and her child went through the checkout aisle. The woman was holding a jug of milk, and the child was carrying a pack of chewing gum. Harold, the store attendant, watched as the woman refused to get the gum before giving in to the child's tantrum.

Parents had no backbone these days, and he recalled a different time. A time where a yes meant no, and a no meant no. Good times, he thought. Beautiful times. He watched the world become filled with a bunch of useless pansies, wanting handouts and chewing gum. He, by no means, was a pansy. He was what his great-granddaddy would call "a real man."

"You ready to check out?" Harold held the scanner like a revolver; after all, he thought he made a good John Wayne. Hell, he might even be better than John Wayne -- too bad this town didn't take him seriously. "Yes," the woman said, snatching the gum from her child, "this is it." Harold scanned the items flawlessly. And as the fluorescent store lights beamed down on his bald head, he felt a genuine purpose. He would be under the movie lights one day, not far from today. "John Wayne, my ass," he exulted.

"I beg your pardon?" The woman juggled the boat of a wallet before handing over two perfectly crisp dollar bills. "This should cover it." Harold accepted the money like a vigilante taking the kindness of the people. His enormous belly jiggled as he shoved the cash into the drawer before he ripped the receipt off. "You have a wonderful day, mam," he said with a hero's smile, failing to realize his beer belly was bouncing enough to reveal some skin.

Harold noticed the woman shooting a nasty stare at his exposed stomach. Eagerly, he pulled down his maroon store t-shirt. "Sorry bout that, been trying to shed a few pounds." Harold watched as the mother-daughter duo exited the store.

He would be out of this discount price prison in two more days. He tapped his stubby fingers on the register and hummed a glorious tune of freedom. It was only then he noticed, in the corner of his eye, that weird couple that had been outside all morning. Weird folk, he deduced. Not from around these parts. "Probably don't even fear the lord, those types," he mumbled. But why were they approaching that mother and child? And what was in that guy's hand? This can't be good, Harold thought. This could be my moment. Grabbing the nearest weapon he could find, Harold marched out of the store with a broom that could be considered a sword. A sword of wood and straw, Harold valiantly snickered. In life, there were only specific opportunities to show the world who you genuinely are – and Harold had found his chance.

The rain-slick pavement did little to help the traction on his holey sneakers, and Harold did everything possible not to fall before his moment.

"Get away from them," Harold declared in his most exemplary manager's voice, "go back to the gutter where your type belongs." The couple came to a slow stop, their matching boots scraping against the concrete, and they turned to look at him. Harold felt like he could piss himself with the look they were giving. A look that seemed too feral to be human. "Humans are the most feral of all creatures," the guy standing next to the woman said, "look at his shiny head and thick neck. That's feral." Harold waved the broom in front of him like a shield bestowed to the best warrior. And for a moment, he longed to be back inside the discount prison, and it was safe there with the cash register and the emergency response button situated just beneath the counter.

The mother and child quickly tried to get in their van when the woman zoomed closer to them. So fast that Harold didn't even have the chance to piss himself.

Snap. A scream that pierced the air like a balloon popped with a needle with helium hissing. Harold turned to see the mother on the ground with her eyes almost out of her skull. He watched as the little girl desperately tried to shake their mother, but it was too late. It didn't take a doctor, a scientist, or John Wayne to see she was

gone. Harold rushed forward and grabbed the fragile child as if he was capable of protecting anything. And as he patted the girl's hair, reassuring her that help would be on the way, there was a laugh. Horrified, Harold asked, "are you laughing?" The little girl pulled away from his shoulder, sealing her glowing green eyes on him. A row of tiny teeth that appeared like little pine needles grew to be much larger than her mouth. Harold released his grip, trying to toss the girl far away, but she wouldn't

budge. "Not today, Harold. Maybe tomorrow?"


In the year 2033, where humanity has reached a place where the development in science and technology is in its best like never before. As a result all the countries in the world came together and formed a combined space expedition program named SpaceExplore. The Aim of this program is to colonize moon by 2050. In order to achieve the goal, SpaceExplore has sent several scientists and men from various fields to the moon and made them built a space colony and with this, it will help them in determining whether moon is suitable for habituation. So, SpaceExplore has requested all the countries to select a few people from their respective countries and in each year one person from every country will be sent to moon. The only task the people sent are given, and that is to survive and start civilization. And if the people sent every year till 2045, manages to survive without any complications, this program will be considered as success and by 2050 all the people interested in shifting to moon will be sent and the moon will become our second home. Considering requests from SpaceExplore the countries have picked a few people and made them prepare for their first expedition in space. As a result the selected few have to undergo 6 months of space program training and survival programs. Several years have passed since and the world is in 2043. The program seemed to go well and all the previous sent people have shown a consistency in their stay in moon. None of them reported sick or any illness. This sent a wave of joy all around the globe and people started to think of buying the lands in moon and this resulted in the real estate business and several other business coming in the picture for future stay in moon. The confidence in people have increased when even SpaceExplore also announced “the program is almost 80 percent success and within no time the human civilization will be reaching the moon.” “Now it is the year 2044 “January” and it is my turn to be sent to the moon”. “I am smith from New York. I work as Network Security Engineer for a reputed company. I am 26 years old.” “So, “bud” finally it is your turn for the moon?” asked my friend Dan. “Yes, bud” I replied nervously and also afraid. Seeing me, Dan started making fun of me and said that I am afraid of nothing and in return he also said “that I fear for everything and I am a scaredy cat.” The actual reason for me to be afraid is not because I am scared or else I love to stay in earth or not even that I miss my family. It’s because I know the truth. And I have got to know the truth just a day before. A certain something said by SpaceExplore last year in November was my motivation behind finding the truth behind the SpaceExplore program. It said that “the program is very successful and no person reported sick till now”. This statement was the reason why I had my doubts because people when in earth which is the most suitable planet for to live and still many people fall ill and many die due to some or other illness. But why everyone in the moon did reported no illness till now and it’s already been 10 years since the people gone there. Seeing everything to be going perfect did not make no sense to me. First I thought it was my assumption as a security engineer and also hacker. “Yes”. I also am a hacker and no one knows about this, not even my parents or best friends. It is my own dirty secret because I am no ethical hacker. I thought that I may find answers, if I find what exactly happens in the 6 months training program before going to moon. I also felt strange that SpaceExplore has a strict rule that the people once entered the training cannot come in contact with the people outside or vice versa. So, I decided to hack into SpaceExplore Database and find out the truth. I have tried to get into the system for the whole month and found it very difficult to penetrate into the system. Such was the security of SpaceExplore. Maybe that’s why no one has been able to hack into the system till now I though. Otherwise, he would have exposed all the things he found in it to the world. It is almost New Year and I decided to give up on hacking into the SpaceExplore and just then when I switched on the television, I found out that the guy who is a part of the system security in the SpaceExplore is none other than the security Engineer of my first company. I have always hated him as he was such a jerk. I decided to use him to hack into the system. I called him up and asked him if I could meet him for New Year. He quickly accepted and hence we met in his home and partied all night. Just what I wanted. I used his home Wi-Fi to hack into his system and placed a bug there. Next day when he logged in, I was able to get his credentials and it helped me to hack into the database. What I saw when going over the database shocked me to the core. And for a moment I couldn’t even think straight and whole night has passed and I still am scared to the core. I had taken leave from office as I was unable to digest what I saw. After finding out the truth, I decided to hide so that no one would find me and later expose the truth. So the next day I went to office so that no one would grew suspicious of me and started to prepare for my hiding and also to think of a plan to expose SpaceExplore. To execute the plan I need someone’s help to expose them and also help me with information and stuff. To that I need someone trustworthy and also intelligent. The only person that came to my mind was Dan and also he is the only friend I have. So, I invited Dan to my home next day to seek his help. He came to my home, I explained him everything and asked him to help me fight SpaceExplore so that many others along with me will be saved. The truth that I found was, “that the whole SpaceExplore program was one big scam and the people who were sent to where being killed. All the things about building space colony and sending scientists establishing of human civilization were lies. The database stated that we still don’t have the required technology for civilizing moon and it will take lots of money and time to create that sort of technology. It is only possible for us to go to moon only after the year 2100 only after everything goes well. So for SpaceExplore to achieve that they need Money in huge amounts. As the governments cannot provide that kind of money as they have their own countries to run and also their own pockets to fill. So SpaceExplore along with governments of different nations came up with a plan of fake Space program and make believe in it which as a result people will get drawn to it and will start buying lands on the moon and various business will start and can get money from people all around the world. Later when people question they always can say something happened in the last moment. As people are foolish and will believe anything media and government says. So that is the reason they picked one person per country because if they would choose more people that would raise in suspicion and also the people whom government selected were mostly orphans and someone with one or two family members alive. The reason being if they select the people of these categories they wouldn’t have any families that would want to contact them.” Even I was selected because I have no one expect my father who have abandoned me and got married, now lives with his wife. Dan accepted to my request and decided to help me. As I have only a week to go to space training program, we decided that I would go into hiding two days before as it would cause huge uproar and that starts questioning people. And after that based upon the situation we would find out a way to expose the truth to the world. If I had the copy of database I could have directly put it in the internet but the server didn’t allow me to do so as the policies and information protection system for the data are so strong and advanced. The day has come and I went into the hiding. But to my surprise there was no uproar in the media which seemed strange as normally media would come up to the houses of people who would go to space and try to interview them. And moreover I am the only one in the whole United States going for this year and everyone knows. The day has passed without any cause and everything was normal and I went to sleep. The next day when I woke up I was shocked seeing around. I was in the headquarters of SpaceExplore and didn’t know how I got here. I was tied to a chair inside a room that looked like a laboratory. And suddenly two people entered the room one was an official and the other Dan. Seeing Dan I understood that he is the reason I got captured and that he betrayed me as he was scared that government would harm him and if he told everything they might pay him ransom amount. Dan showed me the check he received from SpaceExplore and thanked me for telling him the truth so that he earned this money. He was about to go, just then some people with armored guns came inside the room along with a person. He is none other than SpaceExplore’s CEO Michael James. As soon as he came he ordered one of his henchmen to shoot Dan. After Dan got shot he turned towards me and said no one escapes from SpaceExplore after knowing the truth. At that moment I decided that even I would be killed, but to my surprise Michael ordered me to work for him in securing their Systems. He told that he would like to employ because he was impressed by me as I am able to penetrate the SpaceExplore Systems but in return I would be forever restricted from going outside and will be under 24 hour surveillance or else I can die right here. Having no other way I am struck here forever working for SpaceExplore. But I am also waiting for an opportunity so that I can expose everything to the world.                                                           The End


“Mommy, come here!” Tommy shouted eagerly, standing next to the sliding door opening onto the back porch. “Just a minute!” came his mother’s faint reply from somewhere inside the house. “Hurry up!” he yelled frantically, tapping his hand on the glass window. “What is it, Tommy?” she asked, coming up behind him. “Look!” He pointed out the window at a fluffy ball sitting outside the door. “What is that?” she exclaimed, peering through the smudged glass. “It’s a mouse head!” he replied excitedly. “Eww, gross!” Lucy gagged, peeking over Tommy’s shoulder. “Where could that have come from?” Mom wondered aloud. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out!” Tommy proudly exclaimed. “Really?” Lucy peered at him skeptically. “And how do you propose to do that ?” “You don’t need to be all mean, just cause I’m younger than you,” Tommy pouted. “Lucy, be nice to your little brother,” Mom gently scolded. “How about you offer to help him?” “No way!” she protested. “Leave me out of this! I want nothing to do with a gross mouse head that was left by who-knows-what on our back porch. How about you ask Justin? Aren’t dead animals more a boy’s thing anyway?” “Great idea!” Mom agreed. “Wait!” Tommy called out suddenly. “I want to do this by myself.” “Are you sure?” Mom questioned. “Yes!” he replied with a determined look on his face. “Well, all right, then,” Mom sighed. “But if you need any help, make sure to ask your dad or me or one of your siblings, okay?” “Ok, Mom! Now go! I have some investigating to do!” The little boy shooed his mother and sister away with impatient hands. “Ok, ok, we’re going!” Mom laughed. “Good luck!” “You’ll need it,” Lucy muttered under her breath. Ignoring his sister, Tommy turned and tugged the sliding glass door open. Stepping outside, he tiptoed over to the furry ball on the patio. “Well, well, well. What have we got here?” he murmured, walking in a circle around the ball to examine it from all angles. He pranced over to a cluster of trees near the edge of the backyard and picked up a loose twig lying on the ground. Running back to the decapitated head, he proceeded to poke and prod it with the stick. “Ew! Good thing Lucy isn’t here. This thing is gross ! Look, there’s even dried blood on the patio. Uh oh, I hope Mom doesn’t make me clean it up!” “Hey, Tommy, whatcha got there?” Sarah poked her head out the door, smiling at him. “A dead mouse’s head!” he replied proudly. Sarah’s grin quickly faded. “Gross!” she exclaimed, before hastily pulling herself back inside and slamming the door closed. Tommy laughed out loud. “Silly girls! Can’t handle dead animals. Anyway, back to business. I’ve got to find out where this thing came from. Hmm…let’s see. What could have happened? Someone in my family could have put it here as a joke. Nah, none of the girls would be brave enough and Dad and Justin are too busy to play a prank like this. What about Scruffy? Maybe he found it somewhere and dragged it here as a present. Better yet, maybe he killed the mouse! That’s it! I’ll keep watch on Scruffy! Here, Scruffy! Where’d that dog run off to this time?” Impatiently, Tommy jumped up, brushed off his knees, and ran around the backyard, calling for his dog. Not under the playset, not in the pool, not behind the bushes. Is he inside the house? Tommy darted back to the sliding door, pulled it open, and began running through the house calling out for Scruffy. “Hey, pipe down out there!” Justin yelled angrily from behind his closed bedroom door. “You pipe down!” Tommy yelled back in reply. “Tommy, dear!” Mom called up the stairs. “Can you please be a little quieter? Grandma is trying to sleep.” “Again?” Tommy sighed. “Ok, Mom, I’ll be quieter,” he called down to her. “Grandma is always sleeping. Hmm, maybe when she wakes up I can show her my dead mouse’s head! No, I better not. Mom and Dad will get mad at me if I scare Grandma.” He continued to search through the house, peeking in bedrooms, peering under furniture, searching through all the rooms. “Aha! There you are, boy!” Tommy ran eagerly towards the fluffy dog, sleeping next to the couch. “Were you the one who left the mouse head on the back porch? Were you?” The dog lay silent and unmoving. “Hey, Scruffy! Wake up!” The furry nose twitched a few times and Scruffy sleepily opened his eyes to peer up at Tommy. “I asked you if you were the one who left the mouse head on the back porch?” Scruffy blinked at Tommy and let out a bark before resting his head on his paws. “Oh right, you’re a dog. You can’t answer me. How am I going to figure out if you did this? Hmm, maybe you still have blood on your paws or in your mouth?” Tommy picked up the dog’s paws to examine them before cautiously peering at his mouth. “Well, I don’t see any blood there, so maybe you weren’t the one who left the mouse head on the porch. Let’s see…what else could have happened? Did the mouse go there itself and die? No, how else would it have been decapitated? Maybe a bird dropped it! That’s it! But how am I going to find the bird that did it? I can’t go find every bird in the neighborhood and look for bloody claws and beaks. Now I’m stuck again. Oh well. I’m going to go sit outside and think for a while.” The dejected boy slowly dragged his way towards the back door and sat down with a sigh. As he sat there, looking around at his backyard, he noticed some birds flying around. They flitted here and there, sometimes landing in a tree, sometimes grabbing some seeds from the birdfeeder. “I know!” Tommy exclaimed excitedly. “I can just watch the birds from here and see if any of them drop off another mouse’s head! But I better not wait right here otherwise I might scare the birds away. Hmm…I know! I’ll hide behind that bush over there.” Quickly, Tommy jumped off the back porch and darted behind a round rose bush planted at the edge of his backyard. He sat there a while, watching the birds flit to and fro, smelling the fragrant scent of the roses. Every once in a while, he yawned and shifted to a more comfortable position. I wonder why no birds are coming? Maybe they can see me still and I’m scaring them away. Or maybe they see the mouse head that I left… “Oops! I left the mouse head on the patio! I better to move that out of the way so that the birds can drop off a new one!” He squirmed out of his hiding place and hurried towards the fluffy ball. Picking up the stick he had discarded earlier, he pushed at the head until it rolled off the edge of the patio into the grass, leaving a faint trail of blood behind. “Uh oh. I didn’t see that. Oh well.” Jumping down next to the ball, he brushed some dirt over it in an imitation of a burial and then quickly ran back to hide behind the bush. For a few minutes, Tommy patiently sat behind the rosebush, yawning every once in a while. About five minutes later, he fell asleep, drowsy in the warm sunlight. Taking no notice of the animals’ activities around him, Tommy slumbered peacefully in the shadow of the rosebush. “Tommy!” A sharp call from somewhere close by roused the boy from his nap. “Tommy! It’s time for dinner! Come in and wash your hands!” Tommy yawned and rubbed his eyes. Sitting up, he looked around and realized his mistake. “Oh no! I fell asleep! And I didn’t see if any birds dropped off another mouse head!” Quickly, he peeked around the rosebush to get a clearer view of the patio. “Phew! No mouse head. That means the birds didn’t leave another one yet. But that also means I still don’t know who’s behind this mystery. Maybe I can sit out here a few more minutes to see if a bird comes. “Tommy!” Mom came to the door and peeked her head out. “Did you not hear me? It’s time for dinner!” “Just five more minutes!” Tommy begged eagerly. “I really want to see if a bird comes and drops off another mouse head.” “Oh, all right,” his mother agreed reluctantly. “Five more minutes. But after that, you come right inside, ok?” “Ok!” Excitedly, Tommy hunkered down again in preparation for his five-minute vigil. As two minutes stretched to three, Tommy grew worried that no animal would show up and he would be forced to go inside for dinner. Crossing his fingers and hoping with all his might, Tommy fixed his eyes upon the porch and stared determinedly. A faint movement in the bushes drew Tommy’s attention to the left of the porch. A shadowy figure crept out of the shrubs and danced up to the porch. Leaning forward to get a better glimpse, Tommy recognized the gold and white stripes of one of the neighborhood cats. Silently, he watched. Proudly, the cat pranced right up to the door and dropped a small bundle of fur. Jumping down gracefully, the cat ran back into the bushes and disappeared from sight. Popping up out of the rosebush, Tommy sprinted towards the porch, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Mommy! Mommy! Come here! Come here!” Dropping on his knees next to the furry ball, he gasped for breath. The sliding door screeched open and his mother’s head popped out, followed by Lucy’s. “What is it, Tommy?” his mother asked patiently. “I figured it out! I solved the mystery!” “You did?” Lucy asked incredulously. “Yes, I did! It was the cat all this time!” “How do you know?” Sarah asked, joining the crowd at the door. “I was watching from behind the rosebush over there,” he pointed to the right, “when I saw the cat—you know, the gold and white striped neighborhood cat—come out from the bushes over there,” again, he pointed in the correct direction, “carrying something small in its mouth. It jumped up here, dropped the ball, and ran back into the bushes. That’s when I ran up here, calling for you, and found this!” Four heads peered down at the bloody bundle of fur sitting in the middle of the porch. “Another dead mouse’s head!”


“Hey you, get out of the premises, what the hell are you doing here, how did you get in, when the whole place is secured”? , the guard was yelling at a young boy who had trespassed into a restricted area. It was a British Defence colony, and the UK flag was flying high on the building with its vibrancy. This irked a lot for a 10 year old Indian boy who was a staunch patriot. He had planned a gate crash into the colony to uproot the British supremacy. He wanted to remove the flag and hoist our tricolour Indian flag and cry the slogan of Vande Mataram . Though he was just a kid his patriotism surpassed his tender age. He had planned this  with his little followers , kids of his own age .  It was a peak time for the Freedom fighters against the British rule. The Quit India Movement which was flagged off by the non violent comrade Mahatma Gandhiji. This kid was a follower of Gandhiji.  Though he hadn’t seen Gandhiji in person he had heard the stories about the Mahatma. He wanted to be a part of the freedom Movement hence he dared to trespass the British colony. Thomas who hailed from Kerala (God’s own country) , was the son of a fisherman named Samuel. Samuel was just a simple fisherman who had his meagre fishing business. He had a few yachts which he used for his fishing business.  Samuel was married Mary and they had two little children Thomas and Violet. Violet was the elder one and Thomas was her little brother. The children were completely different from each other. Mary was a brilliant and smart girl whereas Thomas was an average kid but had a very brave attitude. One day Samuel had ventured the sea with his yachts and to his good luck he got a big catch with most expensive eels, cat fishes, salmons, shrimps , prawns and lobsters. It was a very lucky day for him. Everybody was celebrating his success. Little did they know their catch would be decreased bit by bit by little hands of Thomas. “Hey Thomas what on earth are doing , why are you throwing the catch back into the sea. They are a priceless catch” screamed Samuel. Thomas was then a five year old kid and his pranks were endless. But today he had crossed his limits he had just emptied major part of the catch which irked everyone out there especially his father. Thomas ran to his mother for protection when Samuel tried to hit him . Mary consoled her husband saying, “Sam , he is just a small child he doesn’t understand all these things let me find out first why he threw them back into the sea”. “Thomas dear don’t get scared , will you tell why did you throw dad’s priceless catch back into the sea ,don’t you know he and his friends have worked so much for catching them”. Thomas replied in a faint voice,” Mom, they were withering in pain , they were dying , I couldn’t see them die , I just wanted to give them freedom . They were so happy when I put them back in water , they were back to life”. This was Thomas a gentle affectionate kid . He couldn’t see the fishes die out of breathlessness. Thomas learnt about Gandhiji in his classes , he was inspired by his principles and ethics. Though Thomas was in his tender age , he was more matured for his age. His pranks looked childish but his every action had a matured gesture. Thomas had made a group of his own where he would teach the other children about Gandhiji and his fight for freedom. He had made up his mind to hoist a tricolour in the British colony which was a very dangerous move. “Thomas , you are so brave and daring , I think you are the only one in our group who can hoist the flag barging into a British colony. “. His friends were encouraging him for this daring act. “Hey you , what are trying to do you spoilt brat , just step down else you will given a thrash on your back “ yelled a British officer . But Thomas was out of hearing he climbed the terrace where the British flag was flying , he pulled down the flag , and hoisted our Indian tricolour with a victorious scream Vande Mataram(Salutation to Mother India). His loud scream echoed the whole arena . The security pulled him down and thrashed him hard. He was left alive as many Freedom activists appeared and they attacked on the security guards. Thomas survived with bruises and injuries. But his dedication and patriotism did not die. He joined the Quit India Movement conferred by Gandhiji . He went places along with his young team to educate people the necessity of Freedom from the clutches of British supremacy in India. The Freedom activists were thrown behind bars by the British Thomas was a juvenile , he was send to remand home . Though he was a young lad he was a true freedom fighter. India gained Independence in 1947 . Thomas was conferred the youngest freedom fighter and he was given the highest Honour. “And here we present to you the Great Thomas Kurien the youngest freedom fighter of Indian Independence” , said an elderly aged person who was seated in his armchair and narrating a story to little children who had surrounded him to listen to his stories. “Grandpa, were you so brave in your younger days , did you hoist the flag and scream aloud Vande Mataram?” asked Mala the youngest granddaughter of Thomas. “Yes dear , I didn’t budge a bit when the British security guards thrashed me.” “Oh God grandpa you are such a brave soul, you are pride of our country” “Granny, you are so lucky to have such a brave husband “,said Pinky one of the grand daughter’s of Thomas. “Yes, very lucky indeed, your grand dad is a very brave man, he was going to school one day and he was pushed into a crowd of Freedom activists and he was in jail for a few months. A very brave freedom fighter “thought Fanny. She whispered in his ears “Stop cooking cock and bull stories to children they are growing up they might find out  your fake identity”.


A police car sat at the end of the alley with the passenger door still open. Two officers slowly crept down the alley inspecting every nook and cranny with their flashlights. The call had come in only a few minutes before they had arrived at the end of the alley from sheer luck of stopping at the Korean restaurant around the corner for some spicy beef noodles. The rookie, who had left the passenger door open, was thinking of his noodles in the back of his mind. His partner would have a talk with him to ensure he doesn’t make the same mistake again but for now he hopes no one jumps in the car seeing it exposed as it is. A skittering across the alley caused the officer driving to come to an instant stop so the pair could investigate further. They had both seen the movement and knew it did not look like anything they had seen before. This drew extra caution from the officers as they delved further into the alley to find the culprit who had interrupted their noodles. Tahurqes tried not to make a sound as he knelt between the buildings where he had stopped. The sudden appearance of the police car startled him delaying the activation of the device he wore on his side. It was not a device from this planet although it had been built here. It had been built by a man simply known as George, but it was not his real name. Tahurqes did not have an official name for it but planned on calling it the chameleon upon returning home. The chameleon had nothing to do with his mission Tahurqes was on, but he hoped it would bring him prestige which could help bring George back home from his exile. Tahurqes, who was going by the name Timmy, had been on a research mission for the past year and tonight was the night he was planned to return after being picked back up by the original vessel which had dropped him off last year on New Year’s Eve. This was the best night due to the celebration helping to cover an unidentified craft being in Earth’s atmosphere. The fireworks added to the cover and made this night perfect. Unfortunately the current state of the country, not to mention the world, made it more difficult to navigate to the preassigned meeting place. He now felt he was being hunted for being out past curfew which is what led to his current predicament. He currently found himself wedged in between a pair of buildings partly hidden by a dumpster. He was also just realizing the dumpster was for one of the buildings he was tightly hidden between and, unfortunately, ended up being a seafood restaurant. Normally this would not be a problem due to the temperature remaining below 40° Fahrenheit except for the fact in such an alley the multitude of vents from the various businesses kept the temperature above 70 the majority of the time. This led to the unpleasant aroma extruding from the dumpster which had begun to assault his nostrils. He unconsciously wiped tears from his eyes as he discovered the negative effects of hiding behind a dumpster of two-day old seafood. Even though he loved shrimp, he never had a taste for fish, crab, or lobster and the smell made his stomach begin to churn. After the year he had on Earth this further cemented his opinion he would rather spend a year on some sideways frozen tundra of a planet, like Uranus, living at -300° being pelted with methane ice crystals instead of doing this again. He had determined humans are their own worst enemies. They would not only fail in any attempt to cooperate with an alien species, such as the Khodnix from Throxirah, but they will be the victims of their own demise one day. Most of them would deny an alien race even existed, others would create some new religion and persecute anyone who did not believe this was the “one true” religion, and more still would claim it was a setup by the government to control people. Tahuqes, or Timmy, had learned much about humans during his year on Earth doing research for the governing body of his home world. He was fascinated by the amount of freedom some parts of this world enjoys while others are persecuted, imprisoned, and even killed over the slightest thing deemed illegal by the government or any other group in a particular region. Timmy had concluded humans claimed to have less freedoms with the more freedom you give them. Deep down there is the ingrained traits of greed and corruption in all of them and it is a personal choice to overcome those desires to do good on this planet. Unfortunately the majority of the time the bad seems to outweigh the good and those who wish to improve the planet for everyone seem to not make a noticeable difference in the end. The sooner he was away from here the sooner these humans can go on living their self-destructive lifestyles in a rapidly approaching tragic end. Finally unable to take it anymore, and on the verge of losing everything he had eaten a few hours earlier, Timmy placed the helmet to his suit on his head and fastened it in place. The fresh air from his life support system kept the unwarranted scent from reaching his nose allowing him to focus on avoiding the figures of authority slowly approaching down the alley toward his current location. A glance at the chameleon showed he had plenty of power left to avoid detection when needed. He silently praised George as he flicked the switch on the device, blending into his environment, just before one of the flashlights shined between the buildings. This was the genius behind the chameleon. He remembered the day George had showed it to him and the excitement he felt seeing it work for the first time. He had admitted to himself before as to what doubts he had if the device would ever work but knew if anyone could make it work George could. He felt bad for George even if he never told him so. Fortunately for George, he was exiled with him wife Alice whose real name in the Khrodnix language was Ghruttonxs. Their daughter, upon reaching the age of maturity, which is 62.8 human years on their home world, had went out to enjoy parts of the galaxy as all kids do at that age. Khrodnix aged much slower than humans due to time moving much slower on the planet of Throxirah. She had a run of bad luck when she chose the wrong group to head out with and ended up on Earth which is forbidden unless a decree was issued by the head council. This group, however, did not have any sort of decree and decided to party here on Earth for a few weeks due to the excitement they found in the destructive nature of humans. The group had no trouble while on Earth landing and leaving again three weeks later without detection. Even the humans they interacted with had no idea they were partying with aliens who soon discovered they could get just as drunk from Earth made alcohol as the humans did. On Khrodnix there are certain chemicals mixed into the alcohol to prevent one from getting drunk. This was not considered by the group as humans were still considered primitive by advanced races and avoided at all costs the majority of the time. George and Alice’s daughter returned home, and the group said nothing of their venture to Earth for fear of the consequences upon being found out. The problem arose two years later when their daughter discovered she was carrying a half human fetus in her womb. This caused an uproar throughout the planet when it was discovered. It was also discovered later George and Alice knew about their daughter going to Earth and the child she was carrying. She was given one of two choices for her punishment for disobeying the ban from travel to Earth and for copulating with a human. The latter had no laws forbidding it but was inherent on the first therefore compounded the penalty. She could submit to feticide and serve the allotted time in prison set by the laws of the head council or face permanent exile to Earth where the child could be raised as a human and no mention of his true maternal lineage at all. She chose exile but once it was discovered George and Alice had knowledge of the pregnancy previously they were also sent in exile under the guise it would best suite the child to have more of his family around him as it seems more important to humans than to the Khrodnix. And so it was the trio set off and lived for sixteen years on Earth as a happy family a few months before the birth of a half human half Khrodnix child to be named Greg. No Khrodnix name was given due to the family being exiled to Earth under the premise they would never be able to return to their home world. Khrodnix resembled humans closely enough to be able to blend in with little effort which helped them live on Earth undetected. Greg, however, had turned out to be much smarter than any of the children around him on Earth. This was blamed on having Khrodnix genes mixed in with the human ones expanding his intellect. He recently celebrated his sixteenth Earth birthday, if he aged the same as humans that is, and had already graduated high school and college with his first degree. He was already planning on an advanced degree and discovered he had his grandfather’s knack for electronics as well as physics and biology. He also had a keen sense of observation which allowed him to discover many things he should not have. This was not a problem until the arrival of his grandfather’s old friend Tahuqes in the form of Timmy. Greg knew something was not right from the moment he first met Timmy and voiced this to his grandfather who assured him Timmy was an old friend. He claimed Timmy was as human as himself which helped relax Greg temporarily. Timmy stayed hunched behind the dumpster having a mental flashback to all of this as he enjoyed the fresh air from his suit keeping the unwanted attack at bay. He then thought to the day George showed him the chameleon in his garage after he had successfully tested it for the first time. It had only been a theory on Throxirah, but no one had succeeded in making a functioning until before George decided to tackle this in his garage one weekend. Unfortunately, at the very moment George flicked on the until and seemed to disappear into the wall behind him Greg had walked into the garage. Timmy and George had thought he was still in town much to their surprise. Timmy had been fast in closing the door behind Greg, but this did not help clear up the confusion in his mind upon seeing his grandfather disappear. His worries lessened when George turned the unit off and reappeared as soon as he saw the door open and Greg walk into the garage. As Timmy was thinking of this, he noticed the lights had moved further down the alley and started to consider if he could move across the alley undetected. He was about to move when he suddenly realized something he had never considered during the tests he and George had conducted with the chameleon. Would he still cast a shadow from the lights flashing on the police car at the end of the alley? If so, he would surely be noticed by the pair of officers at the far end when his shadow was cast across them. He moved over in front of a window to verify the chameleon was still working and saw the colors of the building behind him blend around him perfectly hiding him in what little light he could see in the reflection. He wished there was enough light to see if there was a shadow on the wall behind him. He decided it was now or never. As luck would have it, or his bad luck as he called it, one of the officers turned around and shined his flashlight back down the alley at the same moment Timmy decided to make his move across the alley. The officer saw a slightly darker spot move across the alley making it appear as a spot in the middle of the alley was becoming distorted moving across the alley to the other side. He yelled for his partner as he drew his weapon and took a shot missing Timmy who had already slid beside the building hiding himself from view. He questioned if this year would ever end or if he would miss a chance to leave as his window of opportunity was set to close in a couple more hours. He checked the time and realized thirty minutes had been wasted as he waited for the officers to reach the far end of the alley. Little good that turned out to be for him as they were rapidly approaching his new hiding place with the certainty something was hiding there. So much for the city of brotherly love as this lockdown was much more serious than he originally thought it to be. The officers began to turn the corner where Timmy was sure to be found even with the chameleon hiding him. This new alley he was currently hiding in was much too small to allow anyone to pass without having to bump into him. Even if he remained perfectly still, he could not move far enough out of the way. Timmy suddenly remembered his weight transference device allowing him to scale the wall to the top of the building he now stood next to. He was unsure if he could move out of the way fast enough before he was caught and arrested, or worse. He definitely did not want to be shot by Mr. trigger happy heading his way after being shot at once. Timmy was certain the officer did not realize he had put a hole in his own patrol car with that shot but knew the car would survive better than him getting hit with a bullet. The officers turned the corner just as Timmy was about to make his move and he knew it was over for him. He was just about to turn off the chameleon and surrender when the sound of glass shattering came the direction the officers had originally came. Both turned and ran back toward their car to see what had happened and Timmy saw the time to make his move. Quick as could be, he pressed the button to activate his weight transference device and scaled the wall before either of the officers returned to continue searching for him and was at the top of the building in under fifteen seconds. He ran to the edge to see what had shattered and saw the back window of the police car broken with a rock lying on the trunk. Both officers looked around for the culprit and Timmy looked down the street just in time to see Greg disappear into a store at the end of the street avoiding detection from the officers. Timmy walked back across the rooftop and made a mental note to personally thank that kid if he ever saw him again. Maybe he should see about smuggling some books from Throxirah to Earth for Greg to really learn from. With a short jump he began sprinting across the tops of the buildings, running toward the designated meeting spot for the ship to pick him up for the trip back to Throxirah. A boom overhead startled him for a second until he realized it was midnight and he had made it. Two more blocks and he was home free. He saw a light and thought his ride was here until he heard the blades of a helicopter cutting the air above the buildings and saw the light shining around from rooftop to rooftop searching for him. He then noticed it wasn’t shining directly on the rooftops but between the buildings to assist the original officers in their search. It was not hard to avoid the helicopter as it moved on to his search. He landed on top of one of the tallest buildings just as he heard a church bell start to announce the new year. At the same time he heard people cheering and beginning to celebrate as fireworks began erupting overhead as everyone bid farewell to this awful year with the hope of a better year to come. It was at this same moment Timmy saw a faint glow around him and felt an unfathomable number of atoms in his body split and instantly transferred some 70 miles upward to the spacecraft awaiting his arrival. His last thought before leaving Earth was of the officers who would never find him this, or any, night. Timmy opened his eyes and saw a familiar sight. It was the last thing he saw before he was sent to Earth for his year of research. He turned around and saw the engineer who had transported him smiling. He asked how it went and Timmy replied he never wanted to go back to that planet again. He honestly could not wait to return to bring George and his family back home where they belong.


Trigger warning: sexual harassment We are sitting in David’s kitchen drinking tea. We do this every workday morning between 8.05 and 8.45. I rinse out the dregs and smooth away the tannin stains before I put the tea bag and boiling water in his cup. When I put David’s drink down for him, it knocks against the table top, and a tide of light brown liquid slops over the edge of the cup. I want to go and get a napkin to clear it up, but that will annoy him. “Why did you go there? Why did you agree to have a cup of tea with him?” The tea that David’s talking about has got nothing to do with the tea we’re drinking now. Because I like tea. Because he’s an important client and I wanted to work with him. Because why not? All of those are true. But I know David well enough now not to give any of these answers. He is unusual in that he’s consistent: I can often tell how he’ll react. “I didn’t think anything of it.” I say. “But why go to his house? I don’t get it.” He puts one arm around me and the other hand up to touch my forehead. His finger traces a parenthesis across the skin, except it’s not really a parenthesis because it’s turned at 90 degrees: so like the mouth on a sad face. “Are you okay?” His eyes go funny; a bit glazed and unfocused, and he sniffs. “I’m fine. He tried to kiss me. That’s all. So I left.” I nod, to try and reassure him. It seems to have worked because he takes his arm away. I gather up my things quickly and leave. David’s house is just over the road from my work. It was more than that. Ray stood over me, pushed down on my shoulders and tried to put his slug of a tongue into my mouth. I shoved him away. For a minute he looked like he was going to stop me leaving, but then it was okay. I left the building plans there though, and I don’t know how I’m going to get them back. Now it makes me think of the times at school with Mr James. Whenever he came over to me, he leaned into me, letting out a curdled puff of stale coffee breath. Then he touched my shoulder, always underneath the colour of my school blouse. I can still feel the branding of his hand; it still feels like there are flames reaching down from my shoulder towards my chest. *** I start work right away while my colleagues pace out the triangle between their desks, the bathroom and the kitchen, fetching coffee and porridge. I’m straight into my diagrams; I look at the floating cubes on my computer screen, and double-check calculations to make sure that the supporting walls will do what they’re supposed to. I can hear conversations drifting between the colleagues. This time they are talking about a club night they went to at the weekend. They invited me, but it would have been too much; the music and lights would have ensnared me, whipped me around until I felt dizzy and sick. This is okay though; the conversation is gentle, lapping away at the quiet in the office. Usually they leave me to it, but sometimes they talk to me, like today. “How are the plans going?” Oliver says, ‘I hope you didn’t work on them over the weekend.’ He fiddles with the new fluff that has grown on his chin over the last week or so; apparently he’s growing a beard. The rules of communication are difficult. I tried to develop my own manual by observing different people: like algebra: IF a and b are odd THEN a + b is even. IF you are talking to someone and they laugh THEN you should laugh back It doesn’t work with people though. They are inconsistent. Smiles and laughs can mean different things even when it’s the same person doing the smiling or laughing but at different times. So instead, Mum and I developed a strategy and she gave me some bullet points. I imagine the list she wrote in her neat squat letters: make eye contact, nod at the person talking to you, and don’t ask too many personal questions. And the most difficult one: don’t bang on about one subject for too long. “Here I’ve used structural analysis to make sure that the intersecting bridges in the hotel can safely support their loads.” I point at my screen, then carry on talking about my big project. Oliver is nodding and smiling; looking directly at me so I make eye contact with him. I hope I haven’t overdone it. “Interesting,” he says. “I don’t know how you do it. You must have a brain the size of England.” “Oh no, it’s not difficult. This program helps a lot.” I am about to show him some of the calculations when I realise I’m breaking the cardinal rule that I told Mum I would follow: Don’t bang on. I pull it back just in time, and stop talking. Mum said everyone is doing the same thing, making it up as they go along, except it’s a bit more challenging for me. That’s all. According to her, I think a bit differently to other people. Not better, not worse, just different. That’s all. *** As it’s Monday, we have our team meeting. The four of us from my office file into the meeting room, the other three clasping cups of coffee to their chests. I sit in my usual place opposite the clock. Daniel, our boss, comes in with two cups of coffee, one for him, and the other he puts in front of me. He does this every week, and he always says the same thing to the colleagues: “Tanya always has her head down working; not like you lazy fucks.” Then he and the others laugh, and I smile. In the meeting we go round the room to give updates on our projects. I get ready to invoke the strategy Mum and I put together, making sure my update lasts five minutes and no more. I use the second hand on the clock opposite to time myself: another tool in the battle not to bang on. Today I do it with around ten seconds to spare. Now I just have to ask the questions I’ve prepared on my colleagues’ updates to show I’m interested: a member of the team. They’re not the questions that I want to ask which would be about steel girders and weight bearing walls. I’m like an archaeologist scratching at the earth looking for ruins, except I scrape through graphics and measurements to find the perfect design. Even though my colleagues are, like me, structural engineers, they don’t have the same urge to dig into every detail. So I’ll ask them about the timetable for the work and what the client is like. I realise Daniel is asking me something. “How did the meeting with Ray go?” I pause. According to my strategy, personal questions are out of bounds; although what happened at Ray’s house is personal to me so maybe we can talk about it? I’m not sure. Before I get a chance to speak, Samantha cuts in. “You were brave going there, Tanya. He’s a sleaze.” Samantha is the loudest of my colleagues; we don’t talk to each other that much but she’s always been okay with me. “I’ve heard that, when he gives women a business card, he puts a condom behind it and hands that over as well.” I try and remember if he has ever given me a business card, but I don’t think he has. Samantha hasn’t finished, “And Leonie’s been to meet him three times. At his house.” All of the heads in the room turn to look at Leonie, my other quieter colleague. “I think we should take your points outside the meeting, Samantha. It’s not appropriate to discuss it here.’”Daniel turns towards me. “Was it okay Tanya?” He’s looking at me strangely; I can’t tell what he’s feeling. Everyone else in the room is looking down at their hands. “I left the plans for the bridge there. I need them back.” “I can get them back. Don’t worry about that.” *** Afterwards, the others go and get lunch but I stay in the office. I need that time to recover from the team meeting. My counsellor once asked me to describe how it felt to be me, which is strange, because does anyone know how it feels to be themselves compared to being someone else? But then she said I could write it down. It feels like I’m trying to sing a song but my timing is off. When I sing a high note, everyone else has moved on to the next note, which is lower. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch up with them. I can’t fall in with their rhythm. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. And that’s why I need this downtime. Everything’s quiet for twenty minutes, and I can feel my nerves calming down and my reserves of patience being replenished, until there’s a tap on the door. It’s Daniel. He comes in and perches on the edge of Samantha’s desk, and looks at me. “If anything did happen with Ray that made you feel uncomfortable you can let me know, and I can figure out what we should do.” I don’t say anything. “And if you don’t feel comfortable telling me, you can always write it down, or type it out. It’s only with your permission that I’ll take any action on it.” I still don’t say anything. “Or you can speak to Sue if you would prefer.” Sue is Daniel’s wife. I nod. He leaves the office, and I go back to studying the diagrams on my screen. I get another ten minutes on my own, then Leonie comes in and sits at her desk. She is quite new; I know she’s been struggling with the work. I smile at her. “I wasn’t hungry,” she says, “so I came back.” She stops talking for a few seconds, and I carry on clicking my diagrams and calculations. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she says, “What happened with Ray? I know I shouldn’t ask but he did some things that made me…….feel uncomfortable.” I think she’s saying that he did the same thing to her as he did to me. “I don’t mind you asking. He tried to kiss me. He tried to push his tongue in my mouth. David, my boyfriend, he asked me why I went to his house. He isn’t happy that I went there.” I don’t know why I’m telling her about David. “And what did you say to David?” “I said I didn’t think anything of it. But that’s not true. It’s because I wanted to work on the bridge project for Ray.” She nods, and then rubs her eyes with her fists. “People ask me the same thing, especially because I met him three times. I can’t tell them the truth.” ‘Right.’ “I went there because he made me feel pretty. Then I went back because I thought it would help me with the work here,” she looks down at her desk and shakes her head, “and then because I was too embarrassed to say no to going there. After that it was too late.” She sighs and looks towards the ceiling with watery light blue eyes that look like they will overflow her eye sockets and run down her face. People don’t always act rationally. Or at least they don’t do what is in their best interests, even though they may think they are acting in their best interests. And that includes me. I nod to show I understand, “That’s okay. He shouldn’t have done what he did to you.” *** That evening after work I go home to the house I used to share with Mum until ten months ago. She had been ill for three years by the time she died. That time went by both slowly and quickly. Some things are the same as when it was her and me together; I still cook the same meals on the same days; Monday is macaroni cheese. And my bath time is still at eight every evening even though I don’t need to have it that early any more; when she was alive, I had it at eight so that she could have a bath at nine. But lots of things are different as well. I didn’t meet David until after she had died. I go into her old room and sit on the bed. I play the swan theme from Swan Lake on my phone: that was always our soundtrack. When I was much younger, maybe eight or nine, I’d dance to it in elaborate swoops and pirouettes, twisting and diving around the living room. It was one of the few experiences I had of moving to the same rhythm as someone else, even if that someone was contained in a shiny compact disc. Sometimes Mum would join in; she’d sway and occasionally a clumsy leg or arm would come careering out and I’d have to dodge it; she wasn’t a graceful woman. Later on, especially as she became weaker, the two of us would just listen to it together. Now I listen to the music alone, but I don’t feel alone. I have the notes that she and I worked up; we designed them so that I’d be able to manage better once she wasn’t around. They are contained on a neat patchwork of post-it notes, in different pastel colours, stuck to her bedroom wall. I look at them most evenings. I think she would have been pleased at how I managed today. I have one more thing that I need to do though. I fetch my laptop from downstairs: I will write down everything that happened with Ray.


The Villagers I was a replica of my father and his father and his father’s father. And from me came a village. Close-knit and formidable. I only have memories of my younger days. I remember racing through the grooves and valleys of the land. I would look up and for miles and miles the walls of the valleys would stretch with no end. My grandfather told me countless stories of what lies beyond the valley and what was waiting for us at the top. My grandfather was larger than life. His charisma and personality were magnetic, drawing those around him closer than close. He always traveled in a pack, and I had never seen him with less than 20 other villagers surrounding him. They traveled through the valleys fearlessly. They knocked down the walls of the valley throughout the night and burrowed themselves in the makeshift holes during the day. These shelters made for good cover from the enemy, the men in white. One day, my grandfather and I took the East valley rather than the West on our way home. He was excited because we had a village that was nearly ready to activate our plan and wage war against the men in white. So, although the East was filled with the enemy, he didn’t mind taking the risk. By this time, our village had knocked down enough of the valley’s walls to make a small town rather than many small burrows separated by more walls. In our town, we prepared for the war that would take us to the top of the land and free us from the hand of the enemy. For months, villagers disappeared daily without a trace. But, the enemy couldn’t stop us from growing at exponential rates and forming bonds that were inseparable. I stood shoulder to shoulder with my grandfather when we heard an unfamiliar sound. It was a steady streaming of liquid, but the thickness of the fluid created a soundless splash. “Wait here” my grandfather said as he handed me the bags and scaled the walls to see what was lying beyond the turn of the valley. The men in white were peculiar and evil so who knew what they were creating. The smell burned the inside of my nose and made my head spin. I heard his beating footsteps before I saw him. A look of despair and defeat ran across his face. It was unfitting for who he was. He yanked my arm, and my feet began to move at a pace I didn’t think possible. My legs gave out from underneath me as we reached the gates of the town. He kept moving. Later that evening, my grandfather stood with hunched shoulders behind the podium, gripping its sides. “This plan was set to activate a few months from now, but I’m afraid we will have to move tonight.” Gasp and hysterical cries rippled through the crowd weighing down heavier on my grandfather’s shoulders. “Soldiers, you will leave your families and meet at the gates of the village at 04:00. You will not be a millisecond late as we are moving on borrowed time.” He turned his head and left the stage. How did this happen? I slept through my alarm. I looked at my watch as I ran through the thickness of the night, 04:03. Surely, I would see him at the gates. He wouldn’t leave me. I arrived 10 minutes later, breathless and alone. They were moving fast and out of sight, but luckily, I knew the route they were taking and a faster way to get there. I hiked up the walls of the valley, hoping to reach the first checkpoint with just enough time to fall in line. It was 05:22 and I sat on the wet land waiting for them to arrive, they were late. I walked down the route they were supposed to be coming up when it hit me. First, it was the smell; stronger than our first encounter. My head spun the path in front of me and I crashed into the wet walls of the valley, determined to reach the troops. Next, came the deafening noise. And then I seen it. Its formless figure dancing around the lifeless body of the troops. The fluid swallowed them whole, disintegrating them and leaving only the memories. Finally, I felt it wash over my feet and send a burning sensation throughout my body. My legs moved faster than my tears until I reached the gates. Although I had made it to town, the sound and smell still haunted my every movement. The land was wet and the streets were still. There were no homes to search and no young ones to hush. The enemy’s mark dripped from the shingles of buildings creating puddles and a reflection of a town that once was. It was all gone. I hated what they had created more than I hated them. The Men in White           We defended this land with great honor and the best of hearts. We worked with the land to produce life and contribute to the goodness of what was beyond the dark and static sky. When the villagers were few and first invaded, we fought together to get rid of them. We were preparing to continue the fight and strengthen our defenses. It first struck our homes, our families… it changed our lifestyles completely. Our troops began to call in sick to work. They returned days later, half their original size with sunken eyes and shaky legs. And then they never returned. The sickness raged through our community without remorse, leaving no evidence. There was only one to blame for this.           	As I looked at the land I once knew, a bullet of betrayal pierced my heart. This substance coming from every crevice and fold of the land was destroying us. The cries and outrage that resulted from the death of our community fell upon the deaf ears of the land as she continued to produce the fluid that killed us slowly, but surely.           	The few of us that remained walked the quiet valleys, aimlessly. We didn’t know why we had been spared from the grip of the enemy. But, still we resented this shapeless coward and hoped for its reign to end. The Land           	It had to stop. The burrowing and growing of the villagers. The fighting and wars that were soon to come. Our hand was forced, and we had to release it… for the greater good.           	We thank the one that lies beyond the land for the fluid. Beyond the Land           	“Okay, how ya feeling?” she forced a smile while gently yanking out my IV.           	“I’m doing great!” I felt horrible.           	“Good! Well, we don’t want to see you here anymore.” she said, handing me my coat. I don’t know what the first sign of the invasion was. My happiness that would turn to a sudden burst of anger or the pounding and aching of something burrowing its way deep into my brain. I was just happy it was over.           	I left the room and was surprised by an array of people in different color scrubs lining the walls and cheering me on as I was wheeled out of the hospital. I wanted to smile. But brain cancer has a funny way of making you feel incapable of using your mind to conduct your own actions. Chemotherapy was my nuclear weapon to wipe out the warrior cancer cells that had spread across the vast landscape of my brain. The docs said that some white cells in my body were wiped out too and that’s what was causing my sickness. But, my skin clinging to my bones and the ongoing sickness was worth ending the war happening in the grooves and thickets of my brain. I had taken back over my body. Every single cancer cell had been annihilated. I hoped.


I was 13 when she disappeared, presumed dead. And that day, a piece of me was rewritten. Taken, my destiny changed, and given back. My grandmother and I were always close. The closest, ever since my parents also met her fate. Though our relationship wasn’t like others. A duty has been passed down our lineage. Gone through generations. A gift. The Artist of Deities. This was who my grandmother was. What I am now. The role of a mortal artist with gods as their muses, gifted the freedom to draw blindfolded through sacrifice. In an old vineyard at the edge of a hill surrounded by trees, overlooking the most barren of lands that seems to stretch on for miles and miles, ancient muses dwell where others bleed. These gods grant our pleas, gift us blessings. Ancient beings of immense power. Though through great power comes great sacrifice. My grandmother left in my possession items and clear instructions on how to fulfil my role, my duty as Artist. Isolde, Artist of Deities. A blindfold. Stained with red blotches on one side and wrinkled at the ends. A notebook. I’m not allowed to see the pages that have been drawn on, and it’s said to never run out of space. As much as my curiosity kills me, the rules were strict, concise and clear with her. A blade, etched with carvings on the metal and stained with red in the grooves. And a pen, more a quill, possessing the smooth feel of bone. The ink is always provided for the Artist, it never has to be supplied. All were necessities to take out my duty. Whenever I needed to draw, I’d bring a sacrifice, something possessing a beating heart, to an old vineyard, surrounded by a forest, once again overlooking a barren land. I’ve never seen it for myself, only descriptions that came from my grandmother, and the Artist before her. No Artist of Deities is allowed to take off the blindfold once at the edge of the vineyard. To protect them who dwell. The offering is a gift for the gods, something to remind them one mortal still cares for the existence they give us. And when it does not suffice, one must present the heart on a bed of leaves from the vineyard, lathered in grape juice. An apology for inconvenience. But how do I know when to draw, what to draw, how to see what I’m doing? They guide me. Oftentimes taking over my body, my arms and legs, aiding me in dragging the sacrifice through the forest and before the vineyard. Helping me in ripping its heart clean from its body, oftentimes I can still feel it beat when my hand wraps around it. And after the life is taken and placed onto the worn-down altar and the Artist stands before it, they draw. Not the offering, but the gods. I can feel their presence lurking beneath the clouds in the sky. The smell of their not so simple existence. Copper bathed in citrus, something ethereal. Something light, like fresh laundry, and something dense, with a hint of cinnamon and a pinch of something burning. Everything in them. Every creation in simple presence. Sight doesn’t matter in this occurrence. A true artist lets her pen draw and simply follows it. Pen in hand, notebook in the other. Offering before me, with that before the gods. And the gods before me. My muses. Godly. Ancient. Ethereal. As for the vineyard, when you can’t see anything around you, you rely on your other senses. The leaves are lush and soft, as the grass the same, and the bark of the trees is so smooth. But the grapes are odd. Bitter but sweet, salty but sour. Chewing one felt like rocks grinding against your teeth, but is it not the smoothest and softest when you crush it in your hand? Without sight, the mind takes you places as well. I imagine the vineyard and surrounding forest so lush, so green, so bright and happy. Full of life, full of love. There are trees, green grass, the grapes are large and there are many, scattered across the land. Butterflies and birds and bees flutter and fly around aimlessly. The sky is baby blue. The gods are full of light. I depicted a perfect heavenly realm. And it was, and it shall be, if not for what happened. As the mind imagines and creates your biggest dreams, it also questions your very existence. Not only yours, but of those you interact with. Why the blindfold? To protect them, or myself? Why the sacrifice? A gift, or a feast? Why the drawing? A blessing, or an illusion of the truth? An Artist would never know unless they choose to see for themself. Even so, what happens then? Is that the fate my grandmother met? And what lies in those other pages of the notebook? What does the vineyard truly look like? What do they truly look like? I doubt I’d be the first in my line to question it, or find out for themselves, but I just needed to know. This time, with the sacrifice on the altar and darkness flooding my view, notebook and pen in hand, blade by my side, I tore the blindfold off. And I couldn’t see. Light flooded my view. But as the glow settled and the surroundings became clear, truth was revealed. The trees, the grass were dark brown, as if burned and stained with impurity. The grapes were shrivelled and dead. No animals. No life. The sky was dark and eerie. And the gods, the gods. They stood there, their forms shifting with both light and darkness that was neither sun nor moon, something far more ancient and sacred and an absence of it. They were and they were not. They were everything in one. Every horrid imperfection, every perfect ancient aspect, all of it. And there were many, crowding the sky. Some had conceivable forms, thin and brittle with limbs elongated and claw-like, some robust possessing skin fissured with hairline cracks and eyes harbouring hollow, empty darkness that devoured light and any absence of it. And now I knew the truth. Everything in one. Every absence and presence of perfection and its opposite, held in one vineyard in a blooded sky. And I knew there was no escaping it. And so I picked up the pen that had dropped to the ground. The grass was hardened and sprayed with red. And I drew. The gods themselves, as they watched me watch them. Draw them. Interpret them, in my own way with my own eyes. And my hand was once again guided by them, drawing their portraits on the page in red ink. Life and death, nothing and everything in one drawing. I stopped, the pen stopped, their faces still twisted with destruction. The sacrifice on the altar, and a body sprawled on the ground in the drawing. One more truth to uncover. As I flipped to the beginning of the book and beheld the first page, it was as I had drawn. The gods, as existing and non-existent as I had captured them with my own sight. And I flipped from page to page, each the same, each the same. Until I came to the drawings I had created. And there was a difference. There was something else. Something else lurking in the pages, barely noticeable. Me. I had been drawing myself in every sketch I had done since I was 13. Mostly I was just standing there, pen in hand, notebook in the other. But as I flipped to the most recent ones, finished in the past month, something became very clear. I was dying. Scripting my own inescapable death. Some, I was being torn apart limb by limb by the gods. Others, I was the one on the altar. And the rest were all just as horrifying as the last. Skewered on a tree branch, my head torn from my body with my own heart in my mouth. It seemed as if the role of the Artist was inescapable. Undeniably inescapable. A cycle that must be undertaken. There was no gift, there was no blessing. Only burdens, only a curse placed upon my family for their manipulative plans for power. Were they gods? Or rather forces of undeniable evil? Maybe these were the gods all along, and our depictions were just what we wanted to believe. And I don’t know what to make of my drawings, but what I do know is I must finish the one I’m carving now. Willingly or not. The sky is my canvas, the gods are my muse. And here’s the part where I finish my drawing, but I don’t think that’s grape juice on my page, and the hole in my heart says otherwise. They know that I know. And now it’s my turn to be the sacrifice. For the deities. … When they say curiosity killed the cat, they were right. … They also say the brain lasts for 7 minutes after you’ve died, replaying your best memories. Well I’m here now, and you’re here too. We’ve been here the entire time. And it’s safe to say not every life is perfect. I’m just a mortal artist and her godly muses, allowed to draw blinded by sacrifice and blessing, but cursed with burden.


That sound. Crack! Sound waves wrapped around me like violent blanket as I watched the ground split apart and fall away from my feet. This scenario from two years prior was on repeat as I watched Haines, Alaska get nuked with a late season storm from the entrance of my Yurt. Snow fell like golf balls filled with helium, filling in any remaining exposed chutes high up in the mountains. I was back. Back for redemption. Back to prove that this particular line on this particular mountain in Alaska was not going to take me out. Narcissistic? Defiantly. But you need to be somewhat of a narcissist in my line of work. Big Mountain snowboarding is what I do and if your not overly confident then your not going to get a second chance like I am now. Two years ago Haines received a much higher than average snow fall and I was there to film back country snowboarding. This particular face of the mountain, I had my eye on for years, disecting each cornice, making sure I knew where every rock and cliff was. I had the run dialed. I knew when to make my turns and in which direction. Once the weather lifted and we got the okay from Avalanche Control to go up there, I dropped into my Garden of Eden and set off one of natures most humbling natural phenomenons. Crack! It’s an odd sensation hearing such an overwhelming, fear inducing sound and not knowing where it came from or where to look. It was a cracking sound that had no business being there. Like hearing “touchdown” at basketball game. It doesn’t make sense. I was physically struck by the invisible force of the sound wave. My spine tingled up and down. I tried to let out a yell but was interrupted. The mountain had one last thing to say before unleashing its wrath onto whatever lies below. “Whumph” The layer of fresh, soft powder and the hard, packed, older snow underneath acted as vocal cords and the mountain cried “whumph” as the air between the two layers of snow escaped as they separated. It felt like minutes but in reality, milliseconds had past when I knew what had happened. The entire face of the mountain had came loose and I set off a massive avalanche. Instinctively, I tucked into a ball to gain speed. “Maybe I can out ride this one”. But as soon as I made that decision, the vibration turned the once angel soft powder into solid, obscure boulders of concrete. I no longer had solid ground beneath me. I was in a white out. I couldn’t see up or down. I didn’t know if I was being sent over a cliff or tumbling down the mountain, my body acting like a Tomahawk. The only stimuli that was registering was loud, fast and white. Then dark. Then still. Then the silence. Peace. I had never been so relaxed, so content. Beep. I tried opening my eyes but, confused, I couldn’t. Beep. Beep, “What the hell is going on?” I can’t move. Beep. “Okay, What Hurts?” My legs are burning but I can feel my muscles tense when I try to move. “I’m not Paralyzed.” Beep. Beep. “What the hell is beeping?” Beep. Beep. Beep. Reality had returned. “I was in an avalanche. I was in an avalanche and survived but I’m buried.” How deep? Deep enough for the pressure to prevent my eyes from opening. Deep enough to confuse paralysis with being buried. The burning sensation in my legs turned into the realization that they were broken. I was rendered helpless. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP. “What is that!?” It was my beacon going off. Two feet above where I had came to a rest, Avalanche Control was searching for me and the final elongated beep meant that they had located my beacon that was strapped to my chest. Not a moment too soon because the volume of snow I had swallowed had melted and refrozen into a solid chunk, blocking my airway. I’m told that when I was pulled out of the snow I was blue and barely breathing. After CPR was administered, out came a 4 inch chunk of ice that had formed in my airway. I was evacuated by helicopter to the local hospital where I learned about my multiple broken ribs, broken collar bone, concussion, two obviously broken legs and the real reason why I didn’t die on that mountain that day. I set off one of natures most humbling phenomenons. The avalanche was 1500 vertical feet and 10 football fields wide. Avalanche Control was already aware and on their way before the slide had come to a rest. On top of that, in Alaska, you help each other out. It’s just what they do. So when word got to town about a big avalanche with a rescue operation, about 25 locals showed up high in the Alaskan back country on snowmobiles with shovels and probes ready to be directed to where they were needed most. That was two years ago to the day. Hypnotized by the beauty that is Alaska, I pull my face away from the window and rejoin reality. I’m back. The helicopter hovers inches above the peak as I hop out. I crave redemption. I’m a big mountain snowboarder and riding big mountains is what I do and I’m not going to let this particular line on this particular mountain in Alaska get the better of me. I know I’ve got this. Avalanche control, who is at the bottom, watching, knows I’ve got this. I shield my face from flying snow as the rotors of the helicopter pick up speed, inevitably leaving me behind on the mountain ridge that nearly took my life two years ago. Alone. Alone on this mountain peak, where few will ever get to stand, I step onto the Frozen cornice. My leg starts to tremble. I know this mountain face so well. I feel good! I’ve been building up to this moment for the last two years. Now is now! I reach down and tighten my bindings one last time. No turning back! I begin my descent. As I gain speed, the location of my first turn get larger. The turn that changed my life forever. Confidently, I dig my toes into the powder and lean back, making a personal, yet temporary white room of snow. Endorphins flooded my brain. I fly out of my room and my stomach hits the floor. A peculiar feeling it is, seeing a vision play out in front of you that's been previously burning into your memory. At the same moment I hear the grossest sound Mother Nature can produce. Crack!


On Thursdays, the library stayed open until 7.00pm. On this particular January evening, it was already dark outside, and when the occasional customer came in, the air, which blew in with them, was bitterly cold. It was quiet, not many people wanted to turn out on such a cold day to return or renew books, and much of the library’s business was now conducted on-line. Laura, a twenty-two year old, university graduate, the senior librarian, Mrs Selby, and Tom sat behind their semi-circular work station, idly chatting. At 6.45pm, Mrs Selby told her staff to ‘do a walk around the premises, and warn people that we’ll be closing in fifteen minutes.’ Laura and Tom set off in opposite directions, weaving in and out of the tightly packed shelves of books, peering into the various enclaves, which the bookcases made.            As Laura approached the historical fiction section, an offensive odour accosted her, and there slumped on one of the library’s padded chairs, head on chest, legs splayed widely apart in front of her, soundly asleep was Ruthie. In the winter, she was a regular visitor, in summer they rarely saw her. Generally, she caused little trouble; she would shuffle in, sometimes pausing at the main desk to chat, select a newspaper from the rack displaying that day’s editions, and then secrete herself away in a secluded corner. There had been a couple of occasions when Mrs Selby had been compelled to ask her to leave: once she had arrived with her lunch of fish and chips, evidently expecting to eat them in the area of her choice, another time, she had settled in her chosen corner, and pulled a bottle of vodka out of her tatty shopping trolley, swigging from it with relish. Mrs Selby’s polite requests for her to go elsewhere were met with a long stream of expletives, but she had gone.            Ruthie always pulled the shopping trolley along behind her. Today, she had a maroon crocheted beret pulled low down on her head, locks of salt and peppery hair hanging from it onto her shoulders, and a khaki mac encased her plump body, secured at the waist by a length of narrow rope. On her feet she wore voluminous, knee length wellingtons, and the gap between mackintosh and boots revealed a small expanse of purple blotched, bare legs. Laura approached her cautiously, the surrounding stink causing her to breathe through her mouth. She reached out and shook Ruthie gently on the arm, saying.            ‘Ruthie, wake up. It’s time to go.’            Ruthie started, opened her eyes, lifted her head and looked blearily around her, before asking.            ‘What time is it?’            ‘Nearly seven.’ At this, with surprising agility, Ruthie jumped to her feet, grabbed the handle of her shopper and shouted.  ‘Fucking hell, I’ll never get a bed in the shelter now! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?’ Mrs Selby, alerted by the shouting appeared protectively at Laura’s side, to hear her say, in a placatory tone.            ‘Now, now Ruthie. I’ll run you round there in my mini. It’ll only take us five minutes.’ Mrs Selby whispered to Laura.            ‘That’s not a good idea. She could attack you or anything.’ Ruthie’s hearing was apparently acute, because she glared at the senior librarian and muttered. ‘Stupid bitch.’ In any case, Mrs Selby’s objections were ignored, Laura walked through the library, followed by Ruthie and her trolley, grabbed her coat from the stand behind the librarian’s desk, shrugged it on as she left the building, leaving Tom and Mrs Selby to lock up.            The journey did only take five minutes, but it was an uncomfortable one. Laura soon found the stench of Ruthie sitting beside her unbearable, and so wound down her car’s windows. The cold air, which blasted in, as the vehicle sped through the nearly deserted streets, began to numb Laura’s face and hands. She compromised, heating full blast, windows half open. They arrived at the large church hall, which doubled as an emergency night shelter during the winter months. Ruthie hammered loudly on the hefty, double doors, and a woman cautiously partially opened one door and peered out.            ‘Oh Ruthie. It’s you. I’m sorry, you’re too late we’re full.’ Ruthie began to hurl an impressive and imaginative list of insults at the woman, who calmly waited, half in, half out of the door until she had finished. Turning to Laura, she asked.            ‘If I can find Ruthie a place in another shelter, would you be able to run her there? Laura nodded mutely.  ‘It’s doubtful, they’ll all probably be full, but I’ll ring round and try. Get back in the car. I’ll send Don out with a hot drink for you, whilst you wait.’ Ruthie and Laura did as they were told, Laura opening the car windows and occasionally turning on the engine to keep them warm. Shortly, a man bearing two steaming mugs of tea appeared and passed them through the window. As they sat, hands cupped around the warm mugs, gratefully sipping their tea, Laura attempted conversation. ‘Where were you born Ruthie?’ ‘Don’t know.’ ‘Have you lived in Clacton long?’ ‘Can’t remember.’ All her attempts were met with similar evasive answers, so she soon abandoned the effort. Instead, both women sat drinking their tea, staring blankly ahead. Eventually, the female refuge worker appeared beside the car, crouching down, looking in the window and addressing them regretfully, she said. ‘I’m sorry, no luck.’ Laura asked.’Can you think of anywhere else where Ruthie could spend the night?’ ‘No, not really. I can give her a blanket if that would help?’ ‘No, it’s ok thank you. We’ll think of something.’ Retrieving the mugs, the woman disappeared back into the hall. Turning to Ruthie, Laura asked. ‘Is there a friend or relative who could give you a bed for tonight?’ Ruthie remained staring ahead, but now tears streamed down her face, and huge sobs shuddered through her body. ‘No, no-one.’ ‘Where would you normally go on a night like this?’ ‘Shop doorway, or a squat, or try and lurk in Asda until Security chuck me out.’ Laura was appalled, she rented a room in a family home, and she knew that her landlady would not permit Ruthie to stay there. ‘We’ll go back to the library.’ They drove back, parked the car. Laura unlocked the doors, disarmed the intruder alarm and allowed Ruthie back into the building. Deliberately, to avoid other people realising that, they were there, she left the main lights switched off. They found their way to Ruthie’s historical fiction section by the light from the outside street lamps and the blue security lights. Ruthie flopped down into ‘her chair’, announcing as she did so. ‘Hungry’ Laura had anticipated this, and on the return journey had been thinking, which takeaway she could order, that would be least likely to give the game away in the morning that they had been there. The fragrances of fish and chips, Indian and Chinese meals all lingered. There was a lot of packaging with pizza, but she could nip out the back and throw it in the bin before Mrs Selby arrived. As she placed the order on her iPhone, she asked ‘Pizza do?’

‘Can you get us some drink?’ ‘Sure, what do you want, coke, tango, Pepsi.’ ‘No, real drink. Like this.’ With that Ruthie, rummaged in her trolley and produced a half bottle of rum. She commenced swigging from it, smacking her lips appreciatively. At one point, she proffered the bottle to Laura, who politely declined. ‘Got any music round here?’ By this time, Laura was not only feeling sorry for Ruthie, she was also becoming a little frightened of her. Obligingly she found her playlist, turned the volume up and placed her ‘phone on one of the nearby low tables. Ruthie stood up, bottle still in hand, and began to sway in time to the music, which then developed into an enthusiastic boot stamping, arm waving, swirling dance. She joyfully cried. ‘It’s a party! I’ll go and find my mates.’ ‘No Ruthie, absolutely not. Just me and you in here.’ Ruthie continued to whirl and spin around, sometimes staggering slightly, until she fell heavily against a bookshelf, knocking it to the floor. Shelving and books all lay in disarray on the carpet. Books were splayed half open; spines pointing upwards, others had travelled a surprising distance across the floor. It was a mess, but the crash appeared to have calmed Ruthie, she collapsed back into her chair.

There was a tentative knock on the front door, and a delivery man peered dubiously through the glass doors into the library’s interior. Laura hurried to the doors and took the pizzas from him. She handed Ruthie her box, who opened it and began tearing large hunks off the pizza and stuffing them into her mouth with both hands. She ate ravenously, her mouth open, spittle and small pieces of food flying into the air. When she finished, she dropped the packaging, lent back and gave a satisfied belch. This developed into coughing and gagging, rapidly culminating in her leaning sideways from her chair, and depositing a large heap of vomit onto the carpet beside her. Laura was distraught, how was she ever going to clear this mess up before eight thirty in the morning. ‘Cold’. Ruthie was right, the heating had been off for some hours now and the temperature was dropping quickly. ‘Lots of stuff to make a fire with in here.’ Laura was cross. ‘How dare you even consider burning books! You’ve already damaged several valuable ones, when you knocked the shelf over.’ Ruthie regarded her with baleful eyes before uttering. ‘Cunt.’ Laura walked away, she needed some space to calm down. She suspected that, the only hope of retrieving the situation was for Ruthie to go to sleep. She knew that, they kept a blanket tucked under the desk, in case a customer fainted. She would cover Ruthie up, and hopefully she would drift off to sleep. Laura located the blanket and hurried back to Ruthie. She was gone! Panicking, Laura ran to the next aisle, and there she was lying on the floor, her head twisted at an odd angle. Laura called her name – no response. Ignoring the repulsive smell, she bent down beside her, there were no apparent signs of life. She put two fingers on Ruthie’s neck and was unable to feel a pulse. Shaking she got to her feet, went to her ‘phone and hastily dialled 999. The ambulance was quick, Laura let the crew in, who confirmed her worst fears, Ruthie was dead. ‘We can’t take her away.’ One of the crew explained. ‘We’ll alert the police, and they’ll take it from there.’ Soon the library was awash with police officers, uniformed men secured the front entrance with blue and white incident tape, white overalled forensics staff scooped samples of Ruthie’s vomit into containers and took photographs of her prostrate body. A female officer informed Laura that she would need to come to the station to be interviewed.

Two days later, a letter came from the coroner’s office requesting Laura to give evidence at the inquest into the death of Mr Fred Burton. Letter in hand, she immediately rang the coroner’s officer.            ‘I’m ringing about your letter, case reference 8113.’            ‘Ah yes, regarding the inquest of a Mr Fred Burton.’            ‘Well, that’s exactly it. I was expecting to attend an inquest, but for a female called Ruthie. I think perhaps you’ve sent me the wrong person’s letter.’            ‘Let me check. Your name is?’            ‘Laura Willis’            ‘Thank you. I’ve definitely got you down as a witness for Mr Burton’s case.’            ‘No, there must be some mistake. I was with a lady called Ruthie when she died on 28 th January, if that helps.’            ‘That’s the date of Mr Burton’s death. What is Ruthie’s family name, please?’            ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’            ‘Ok. Are you able to tell me where she died?’            ‘Yes, Clacton library.’            ‘Records show that’s where Mr Burton died. How strange. What I suggest is that you attend on Friday, it’s a legal requirement anyway, and we’ll sort it out then.’          ‘Thank you. Bye.’            ‘Bye, Ms Willis.’ So eight days after Ruthie’s death, Laura arrived at the County Council’s offices and found her way to the atrium outside the main meeting rooms. A middle-aged, suited man with a clipboard approached her.            ‘Good morning. What case are you here for, please?’ ‘That’s just it. My letter says Mr Fred Burton, case number 8113, but I didn’t know him.’

‘That’s odd. Can I borrow your letter, please? Let me find the coroner’s assistant and have a quick word.’ ‘I was with a lady called Ruthie when she died, maybe it’s a word processing mistake’ ‘Thank you. Take a seat over there. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ With that, he walked briskly off, threading his way through the milling groups of people. Laura cast her eye around, and saw that behind her there were chairs arranged along the length of one wall. She made her way over, found a space between an elderly woman, dressed entirely in black, and a young couple who were holding tightly onto each other’s hands. She sat and surveyed the space around her. The area appeared to be part of the original council offices and was impressive. The ceilings were high, and held up by large stone columns, the floors shiny and probably grey marble; the walls were adorned with wooden plaques, giving lists of past leaders of the council, and county councillors. There was also one recessed area, where a large statute of a bewigged gentleman stood, holding a scroll, and peering at it through half- moon glasses. Around her stood an interesting cross section of humanity: there were uniformed policeman, several smartly dressed men and women with document folders or laptop bags, people looking pale and drawn, others openly crying, some happily chatting and laughing. In other circumstances, Laura would have found the scene fascinating and enjoyed the experience.            Eventually, her clipboard man reappeared.            ‘Ms Willis, the coroner’s assistant says that you are to go into the inquest of case 8113 when called.’ ‘But…’ ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but I can’t discuss it any further. Please do as Mrs Winterton asks.’ With that, he turned away from Laura, walked off, apparently in search of other new arrivals. She remained where she was, and watched as case numbers were called, and several groups of people left the foyer, apparently to attend inquests. Eventually, case 8113, Mr Fred Burton was called and Laura stood and followed three other people into what may have been a court room or perhaps council chambers in a past time. The coroner, a woman in her early sixties, sat behind a desk on a raised diás. The three other occupants were: a woman who remained standing, a policeman and a young man who held a short hand pad, possibly a reporter from the local newspaper. The coroner made her formal introduction, and then continued. ‘This appears to be a straightforward case, so I’ll not prolong it any longer than necessary. I have the pathologist’s report, and his findings are as follows: Mr Burton was a fifty-seven year old man. Initial examination revealed signs of self-neglect, and his body was emaciated, his weight being only 101lbs. The primary cause of death was a cerebral aneurism, but the patient was also suffering from advanced cirrhosis.’ At this point, the coroner paused, looked towards Laura and said. ‘And now Ms Willis, I’d like you to stand and tell us about the night that Mr Burton died.’ Laura stood and deferentially began. ‘I’m sorry your honour’ (she thought that this was probably the correct way to address a coroner.) ‘I think I’m in the wrong hearing. The person I was with was a woman, and she was overweight and looked at least seventy years old.’ ‘Ah, I think that I can help with some of your confusion. Laura sit back down for a minute. Quite often when someone has led a neglectful lifestyle they can appear much older than their chronological years. At the start of his report, the pathologist notes that, before his examination could begin, it was necessary for him to cut away several layers of clothing from Mr Burton’s body, including two dresses and a jumper. Wearing excessive clothing like this could well have made the patient look as though he was bigger than he actually was. PC Bell if you would like to stand, please, I believe that you also can add some clarity to this matter.’ The policeman stood and read from his notes. ‘We found the birth certificate of Mr Fred Burton in the deceased’s luggage. Background checks revealed that Mr Burton had been discharged from a local children’s home in 1980, aged sixteen. Over the next couple of years he was arrested several times for minor felonies, such as shoplifting, being drunk and disorderly. Each time, he gave his address as no fixed abode. Then, in 1984, when he was twenty, he was again arrested, this time for assault. On this occasion, he was dressed as a woman, and insisted as being known as Ruthie. He remains a well-known figure locally, and we have been unable to trace a next of kin.’ ‘Thank you PC Bell, you may sit down now. Does that answer your questions, Ms Willis?’ Laura nodded. ‘In that case, if you wouldn’t mind telling us what happened on the night that Mr Burton died, but you can remain seated.’ Afterwards, Laura sadly realised that she, like so many others, had never truly looked at Ruthie. If she had, she may have realised that she was a man. Overall, she was glad that she had shown kindness to Ruthie on his last night. There was a consequence of her actions, following a disciplinary hearing; she was dismissed from her employment as a librarian.