Salisbury steak for the mister.

Of course. Sheridan has always loved steak, especially on this lovely day--Valentine's Day. I make the most exquisite steak in town, that much he brags about every chance he gets. "I am just so lucky I met her,"  he usually adds. On my way to the market this morning, I saw several trinkets and what-nots solely dedicated to celebrating this day. I saw lots of children running up and down the town with red balloons floating above them. Lovers here and there share a moment of public bliss. Oh, it's a joy to see; it's a joy to love. This delicious weight of the tenderloin I bring home is a promise of one. How long have I been with Sheridan, you ask? Oh, it feels like it has only been a day. (If you can call three decades and a half a day.) Now, this makes me feel old. But, he looks as dashing as he was back when I first met him. Oh, I can tell you--those eyes can create wonders... Ehem. What cutlery do you think I should use this time? The wooden ones from my grandma? The silver ones Sheridan brought back from Canada? Or--yes.

Of course. These fancy Victorian-style ones we bought from our Roman trip! That trip was very memorable. One I often think about before I close my eyes. We were both in our blushing 20's. The wedding was just a few days ago. I was thrilled to be alone with him for the first time. (Not quite alone, though. There was old Martha and a bodyguard, of course.) He was wearing that dark green suit I always loved on him. I, to compliment him, wore my green halter dress and red shoes. Oh, the smile his face produced when he saw me was legendary. "You are the ginchiest in that dress, Emily."  he mused back then. You should have witnessed the way he even had to remove his sunglasses. It was on the fifth day of the one-week long honeymoon that we bought the cutleries. Old Martha scoffed and tried to take Sheridan away from the stall, saying it will be a proper waste of money for something that will be sitting in the cupboards. But, my Sheridan had more sense than that. He agreed with me and bought them fancy things without a moment's hesitation! Sheridan and I are both spontaneous. A match made in Heaven, indeed. These peonies will be perfect on the table. What do you think? Sheridan and I tend several peony bushes along the fence. He knows I am inclined to them, so he planted them in the '80s just to get me to stay with him. I kid, I kid. Oh--I need to get started on the Salisbury steak. Sheridan will come home by 8. I need to get this special dinner done before that. I also need to get chrome-plated, you know? I may be pushing 70, but this gal still got some classy chassis. You

can  stop grinning like the Cheshire cat. I

did  have a lovely body. Some used to say I can rival Marilyn Monroe herself, and that my eyes can put Lauren Bacall's to shame!

These ingredients are perfect. What do you think of these mushrooms? Aren't they beautiful? I should have gotten the ones in the can? No way, youngster. Call me anything you'd like, but I like my food fresh and as real as they can get. My Sheridan only deserves the best. No , I am far from worshipping him. The big guy up there only deserves that. But, I

do  love dear Sheridan. You cannot blame me. You have seen his pictures--he  is  a dreamboat. He is a principled, responsible gentleman. They do not make men in his model any longer. Women nowadays settle for boys who pretend to be grown up, and it is sad. Now, will you be a dear and pass me those eggs and onions? Thank you. Sheridan likes his steaks saucy. I, myself, am not too indulging with Salisbury steaks. I prefer the classic buttered steak with garlic and herbs. But, you see, even though Salisbury steak is the last dish I want to cook, I will still cook it every day if Sheridan only asks it of me. That's how I love him. That's how you should love: A compromising, unreserved love. Do you shake your head? Oh, I know. You had been taught to hold your emotions back and save some for yourself. I understand. This modern age is cruel to those who love. It grapples and chokes the slightest sign of love in anyone. This new world hates big love--but it is the only thing it needs. If you'll take a quiet moment in my chair and think about it, you will agree that only love can solve every problem in the world. War? If country leaders love each other, they would think for each other's betterment. War stops. Poverty? If only the richest men on earth love other people and not just his money, no one will ever be hungry again. I can say more, but this dish has simmered enough, and I have to get dressed. Do you mind watching the door for me while I go upstairs? Thank you, thank you. Oh--and do not turn the stereo up loud. We do not want to wake old Martha and ruin this moment with her spiteful remarks, do we? That's a dear. It is always a jolly moment when Sheridan comes home with just the great dinner I set up, and not her old tongue. I will be ready in a few minutes. There. How do I look? Stunning is an understatement! I kid, I kid. But, thank you, dear. You have been a real treat today, too. I hope you do not get tired of the old me. The steak! I still have to transfer it to the golden dish. No,

no . I will be fine myself, thank you. It  is  tradition to plate it all by myself. But, you can help with the candles. Sheridan loves candlelit dinners. Especially this one. And, there! Oh, this table looks wonderful. Thank you for your big help. But, I can take it from here. It is already 7:38. I do not want to keep you from your own Valentine's dinner date with...who was it again? Oh, yes.

Alex . I do hope you have a wonderful night. Yes. I will be fine. You have been a charm not to interrupt me with all my musings about Sheridan. I know you think it very silly of me. This evening will be perfect for us, I am sure. If only old Martha is not here to rain on my parade. Just like how it was in this photograph, where Sheridan decided to marry her instead of me. But, who was I to howl and cry? I was just their handmaiden. Now, off you go. Don't let my silly tears ruin your night. And remember: love unreserved. You deserve it. Good night, dear. Take care.


The ominous click of the door sealing shut was always the beginning. And Peyton hates it. This is when the monster comes Every night.   First, that creepy loud click; then the dark inky shadows creep closer and closer to his bed.  He jerked his soft blue flannel blanket over his head and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. ‘ You are brave, Peyton. You are a big boy. There isn’t a big scary green monster with ugly spiky black hair and glowing yellow eyes under the bed. Daddy killed him when we first moved here’

Peyton quietly told himself as he repeats what his mommy and daddy told him the night before. And he did believe them, he really did! It was just so hard to remember mommy’s brave words when that door, that huge dark heavy door, closed, Peyton frustratedly thought to himself.

He slowly lowered his blanket, which was currently also his impenetrable shield, so that his round deep brown eyes could peer into the solid darkness of the room. As his eyes slowly adjust , he watched the prismatic red, blue and green light shadows, from his cool new Halloween strobe light, dance across his walls. It was mommy’s idea to help him be a big boy and sleep in his own room at night. But he didn’t have too, he reminded himself emphatically.  if it is ever so scary that he can’t take it , then mommy said he can come in her room.

Mommy said , he thought stubbornly to himself, as he let his small lower lip pout slightly.  Even if daddy was a big meanie and said ‘ go back to your room Peyton. There isn’t a monster.’

Peyton mimicked as he scrunched his small face.

Mommy would let him , he proudly thought as he contemplated if he should head to mommy’s room.

Yes ! Yes he definitely needed to go to mommy’s  room , he thought as a small shiver ran down his spine.  He slowly lowered his protective blanket past the waist of his soft cotton Spider-Man pajamas and wiggled onto his belly to peer over the edge of his full sized bed, his soft brown curls tumbling onto  his forehead as his head hung over the edge. ‘ Coast is clear.. I think  .’ Peyton whispers as he tentatively lowered his small feet to the ground then paused cautiously to take another calculated look at his gigantic bedroom. The kaleidoscope of colors continue to make slow methodical circles around the room occasionally reflecting off the random shiny toy left on his floor. Then he saw it! The answer to his problem;

HIS SPIDER-MAN stuffy ! He squeals to himself!  It would protect him till he could make it to his mommies room. But he had to get to his Spider-Man and it is sitting next to his dresser across his room.

‘ Just great!

‘ Peyton groans as he realizes this monumental feat. This is going to require him to get onto the floor AND get to the dresser to get spidey BEFORE the stupid monster got his foot! It just wasn’t fair. Why wouldn’t mommy just leave the door open and the light on.

‘ Because you won’t go to bed my sweet boy ’ Peyton mimics as he remembers what his mommy told him before she closed that huge door .

Peyton glanced again at the lone Spider-Man toy and began to plan the safest path to the doll.

‘First we will tippy toe walk VERY slowly,’

Peyton quietly instructs himself as he lets the kaleidoscope light illuminate his path, ‘ to the dresser, pick up spidey, crawl over the basket of nerf guns, then run as fast as sonic the hedgehog to mommy’s bed.’

 Peyton announces in an exciting whisper.

‘ I got this.’  Peyton grins to himself as he delicately begins tippy toeing the first part of his perilous journey. Another small shiver works its way down his narrow shoulder’s as the chill from the hardwood floors began seeping into his small bare feet.

‘ Just four more steps .’ He exclaims as spideys soft red and blue fabric attire draws nearer.  His small fingers swiftly secure the doll’s soft fabric arm and clutches the toy to his chest with a sign of relief. ‘ Let’s get out of here spidey’

Peyton whispers as he begins tippy toeing towards his basket of nerf guns. ‘ Just 4 more steps.. 1.. 2..3..4!’

Peyton meticulously counted the way him and daddy practiced earlier.

‘ We made it spidey!’

Peyton celebrates as his body performs his fortnight dance with fluent ease, ending with an elaborate ‘dab’.  His small face crumbles into a fit of giggles as his slight frame doubled over in laughter. Once composing himself, And feeling quite confident since making it this far successfully, Peyton proceeded to gently place one foot solidly on top of his basket of guns followed by the next foot; each gingerly progressing him to his destination, the door. One hand firmly pressed against the wall and the other hand perilously clutches Spider-Man’s arm as his feet inch forward.

Suddenly there is a low whining groan followed by the collapse of the nerf gun pile.  A startled gasp barely escapes his mouth before Peyton tumbles off the top of the nerf guns and lands sprawling out on his hardwood floor. Every muscle in his tiny body froze as he realizes where he is and how perilous his situation was. ‘Don’t panic spidey. We are ok.’

Peyton assesses as his tiny hand feels along the grooved wooden floor to find his toy. Once he felt the reassuring soft fabric of Spider-Man’s arm, he looks around to see what his next move is. As his curious brown eyes look around, he discovers that his situation has gotten worse. ‘ This is bad spidey. So so bad.’

Peyton whispers in horror as he looks at his right bare foot that is millimeters from black spikey hair poking out from under the bed.

‘ RUN SPIDEY!!’

Peyton screams as he channels his inner sonic the hedgehog and races to his mommy’s bedroom.  With one swift turn of the cold brass knob, a strategic jump into mommy and daddy’s huge king size bed and heavy sigh of relief; he is finally safe. ‘ We made it spidey.’

Peyton smiles to himself as he cuddles into his mommy’s warm soft back. ‘ Peyton.’

Daddy says in that unpropitious tone that Peyton dreads.

‘ ITS A MONSTER DADDY !’

Peyton passionately explains. ‘ Then let’s go check so you can go back to your bed.’

Daddy logically decides

‘ Ugggggghh’

Peyton groans emphatically as Daddy lets him climb onto his back for a piggy back ride to Peyton’s room.

‘ Where is this monster Peyton’

Daddy asks sympathetically. ‘

under the bed .’

Peyton answers matter of factly. ‘ Then let’s check it out. ’ Daddy encourages softly as he turn the smooth brass knob and flicks on the light illuminating all of Peyton’s superhero wall decor; Spider-Man posters, Hulk figurines, Captain America plaques , sonic the hedgehog fat head poster; all of Peyton’s favorite heroes.

‘ Let’s look under this bed buddy.’

 Daddy reassures as he ruffles Peyton’s soft curly hair. the pair both squat down to their hands and knees and peer expectantly under Peyton’s bed. ‘ Be brave Daddy. We got this.’

Peyton stoically nodded as he firmly grips Daddy’s warm hand. ‘ We got this Son’

Daddy warmly confirms as they both lower their heads and discover the monster under the bed. ‘ ITS MY HULK STUFFY!’ P eyton squeals as he burst into uncontrollable giggles.


Please, don’t do it. Jenny thought as George bent down on one knee. She looked away. She couldn’t bear to experience the embarrassment of what was about to happen. How could it be happening? There were literally no signs leading up to this. Jenny thought to herself, okay, let’s see. I woke up, everything seemed fine. I slept fine. Except for the slight crick in my neck. No biggie. Okay…got dressed…wait. No, I didn’t get dressed first, I went to the bathroom, then contemplated taking a shower or not. I still had one more good day of hair which meant no need to wash it and I hardly broke a sweat yesterday so I can probably go today without a shower…okay, so no shower. Then, I got dressed, fed the cats and dog, made coffee, read for a bit, wrote some words…How did this happen? My day was going normal? Why would he do this? Jenny peeked toward George through the side of her eye. He hadn’t moved. Were there signs of this? He had been acting a bit strange the last few days but he’s always a little strange, so that can’t be it. We didn’t even have that type of relationship. I mean, we have sex and all of that but we don’t even talk about the future or marriage or kids or buying a house or living together for that matter. He’s allergic to all my animals so he never stays over. How can he ask me to marry him if he can’t even be around my animals? He doesn’t expect me to GIVE THEM ALL UP, DOES HE? That’s a total deal breaker. I mean, I wasn’t even wanting him to marry me but if he did ask…I would say no so fast if it meant giving up my…I can’t even think about it. But I am thinking about it. I can’t believe this is how my day is going. Why? Seriously, why me? I thought he had another girlfriend on the side? I think he does. Doesn’t he? What am I saying? Of course, he doesn’t have another girlfriend. Now, I’m just reaching. Of course, I’m reaching! What am I supposed to say here? How am I suppose to answer? I don’t want to embarrass him. He probably took a lot of time to plan. I haven’t even given him any reason to do it. I mean, I THOUGHT I was giving him reason NOT to for crying out loud.  I’ve done all the things to be great girlfriend material not wife material. Let’s see, I don’t bug him when he’s with his friends. I do all the sexy stuff his married friends say their wives don’t do. I answer his booty calls, even if I have a deadline the next day. I hope he doesn’t think great girlfriend equates to great wife?! Think about it Jenny. You don’t like cleaning. I know! I mean, I do the basics because, you know, I’m not a total slob and the cat and dog hair is really annoying, but dusting? Forget it! You aren’t much of a cook; although, you do make killer cookies. So true! I practically exist on nachos! I should have been a baker. Should have opened that bakery five years ago when I had the chance. Can you imagine where our life would be if I had opened the bakery? Well, for one thing, I wouldn’t be standing here replaying my life while hoping my boyfriend doesn’t propose to me in front of strangers, that’s for sure. Or would I? I can imagine it all now. I’m carrying a fresh tray of my award-winning peanut butter and jelly cookie bars to the bakery counter when Jack enters. He’s tall with dark wavy hair and blue green eyes. He’s the chef from the restaurant next door. He’s come for the mini dessert pastries I make for his restaurant. Good morning Jenny, he says, good morning, I say back smiling. I set my tray down and the side of my hand touches his. It feels electric. We lock eyes over the counter. Jenny, he says, I’ve never noticed how green your eyes are. He gazes intently into my eyes. How beautiful you look in the morning with your hair a mess and flour on your cheek. I hope this doesn’t sound forward. I know we’ve never dated or spent any time together beyond me picking up the pastries you bake but I have this overwhelming urge to take you in my arms and never let go. Oh Jack!, I say, trying to keep myself from fainting behind the counter. Jack takes my hand and leads me around the counter to the front where he is, scoops me into his arms and says, Jenny, I love you. I’ve loved form the moment I first met you. I just didn’t realize it until now. Please, do me the honor of marrying me. I can’t go a moment longer without you in my life. Oh yes!, I say, completely caught up in the magic of it all. Oh yes! I will marry you Jack! Then he kisses me just like in the movies, all soft and yet passionate. Fireworks go off in my head and people who I didn’t notice come into the bakery clap and cheer for us. Wow, that’s cheesy. I had no idea until now just how cheesy I am deep down. I cannot be that girl. No. The cheesiest I get is how much actual cheese I use while making nachos at home. That fantasy is so Hallmark. Not me. No way. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. It just can’t be me. Can it? Have I wasted so much of my life pushing people away with my animals and being good girlfriend material so no one falls in love with me and asks me? Am I not wife material? If I was wife material, I don’t think I would want George as my husband. He spends way too much time with his friends and never invites me along. He’s allergic to my animals AND he never sleeps over. I think he may have commitment issues or… maybe there’s someone else?! Of course! To think of all the times, I got out of bed, got myself sexy, and drove over to his house at 3 am just because he called and said he was horny and wanted me to come over. Well, that’s changing today is all I can say. No more miss nice guy. I mean gal. Next time he calls me in the middle of the night, I’ll tell him that’s what his hand is for buddy! Yeah. I’m going to start respecting myself more. Maybe go to the gym and start cooking healthier. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to the gym and nachos have all the food groups… so, ha! I don’t need him. I’ve got my animals to keep me company. I have plenty of work to do to keep me busy. Pretty sure if I called one or two of my friends, they would pick up and we could totally hang out. I mean, I’m pretty sure they would pick up. Whatever. I can make new friends. Meet new people and learn new things. I like this idea. A new start. New friends. New adventures. Yes. That’s what I’m going to do. From now on. It’s going to be out with the old and in with the new! I feel so empowered! I like this! I’m so excited, I’m not sure what to do first? Now, regarding the old. How do I break this new liberation to George? I don’t want to hurt his feelings even though he obviously hasn’t been too careful about mine this whole time I realize. Whatever I say, it has to be quick before he says whatever he’s going to say or ask and painless so neither one of feels bad. It’s not you, it’s me? So cliché. I mean, it isn’t completely wrong. He’s just not the right one for me. I’m ready to be free to meet new people and explore new things and he wants something else. Right? I’ll say, George, there’s someone else. He’ll become upset, I’m sure, and ask who. I won’t be able to tell him because I don’t even know if Jack exists in real life so that may not work. I can still say there’s someone else and that someone is me. Yes, I’m going to date myself and get to know the real me. I’m going to find out what I need to do to open a bakery next to a restaurant so someday I can meet the handsome owner/chef, fall in love, and live happily ever after. I’m sure he’ll be surprised and probably hurt but he’ll get over it. He’s good looking and charming and gets a long well with others. I’m sure another girl will come along in no time. It’s really better we get this out of the way now. Think of the time we would waste messing around when he could be with the woman of his dreams? It’s better this way. I believe it now. Okay, here goes. “George, I think we should stop seeing each other.” Jenny said as she turned toward George and looked down. He wasn’t on his knee anymore. He wasn’t even there. Where did he go? What the heck was going on? When did he leave? Where the heck did he go and how could he leave her standing there alone like that? “Jenny!” She heard her name being called and turned around. There was George walking toward her with another man. A tall man with dark wavy hair. “Jenny! Look who I saw across the park when I bent down to tie my shoe? My friend from college. He just opened a restaurant around the corner and waved me over to tell me about it. I told him about your killer cookies and he said he would love to try them. His name is Jack.” Jack?! A restaurant? Around the corner? Keep it together Jenny. Don’t blow it. This is your future…“Nice to meet you Jack. I make the best peanut butter and jelly bars you’ll ever have in your entire life.”


Fruit picking. One of my favorite things to do. Picking blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, anything. I don’t know why I like it so much, it’s just interesting. ~~~~~~~~~~ “So are you coming or not?” Michael asked me. “I already said no. There’s no way my mom will let me go with you. She’ll think we’re dating or something,” I said. “There has to be some way I can change your mind.” “There is none. I can’t come. Go invite someone else.” He sighed. “Fine Sara. Your mom always has to be such a party pooper,” he mumbled. At that moment the bell rang. It was time to go home. Everyone ran to the busses. It was Friday and they were all ready for the party that was happening on Saturday. Michael kept inviting me, but I couldn’t go. He was right, my mom really was a party pooper sometimes. “Don’t leave! The bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do!” the teacher yelled to the class. Of course, no one listened. I headed to the bus and boarded it. Michael didn’t ride my bus, but my friend Jayla did. “So, you going to the party tomorrow night?” Jayla asked as soon as I sat down. Ugh. Why was everyone so interested in that party?

“I can’t go,” I said. Seeing I was frustrated, Jayla left me alone. For the rest of the bus ride, no one else talked to me, and I was happy about it. When I got home, my mom was waiting for me in the kitchen. “How was school today?” “It was good,” I lied. I had a horrible day. Everyone was pestering me about that stupid party, even my best friends. “Did you meet anyone today?” she asked me. I knew what she meant. She was very protective of me. My mom wanted to know if I met any boys. No matter how many times I assured her that I wasn’t dating anyone and wasn’t ready to date, she was always suspicious. Why would I date anyone in the first place? After all, I was only in eighth grade. Everyone else my age was in a relationship but honestly, my mom and I both agreed that eighth-graders are too young to date. “No Mom, I didn’t meet anyone,” I said. I hurried upstairs to my room before she could say anything else. I stayed up there and watched TV until it was time for dinner. “Dinner time!” my mom called. I washed my hands and went downstairs. My dad, who had just gotten home from work, was already there. “Hey Dad,” I said. “Hi, Sara.” For dinner, we ate meatloaf with macaroni and cheese. We made small talk as we ate. The whole time we pretty much just talked about the things that happened that day. I avoided telling my mom about the party. Even though I wasn’t going, if I told her, she probably wouldn’t let me out of her sight for the whole weekend. After dinner, I went straight to bed because I had nothing better to do. When I woke up the next morning, breakfast was already ready. After I dressed, brushed my teeth, and washed my face, I went downstairs to eat. No one else was there. My mom, who had already eaten breakfast, was up in her room and my dad already left for work. There was a stack of pancakes at my spot and I dug in. I spent the day staring at my wall and sulking. It wasn’t fair. I really wanted to go to the party. At seven-thirty, thirty minutes before the party started, I heard something hit my window. I looked through it and saw Jayla waving her hands. I opened my window and let her in. “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “You’re going to the party. I’m going to help you sneak out,” she said. I would usually reject that offer, but I really wanted to go to this party. Everyone else was going. This was my chance to become popular. Jayla helped me pick out what to wear. She gave me a makeover and we stuffed some pillows under my blanket. We climbed out of the window and walked to the house of the party, since it wasn’t far.

When we walked in, everyone was surprised to see me. “Isn’t that the lame girl?”

“Isn’t that the one who never shows up to anything?” I could hear them whispering about me but I didn’t care. I would prove them wrong. I was anything but lame. I looked around and saw Michael. He saw me too and started to come my way. “Hey, Sara. I thought you weren’t coming,” he said. “Jayla helped me sneak out,” I said. “Well then let’s make this the best party ever! We wouldn’t want to make your only middle school party lame,” he said. We danced, ate, drunk (but only soda), and talked. We were having such a good time and no one was talking about me anymore. I bet they all thought I was cool. That is, until one thing happened. My parents crashed the party. They knocked on the door and someone opened it, probably thinking they were a late guest. “Sara!” my mom yelled.

My dad was right behind her and I could tell that they were not happy. Trying not to make a scene, I just went with them. They yelled at me the whole way out and back home. “Why would you do that to us? We were so worried about you! We came in to check on you and noticed the pillows. Then we saw all the lights and heard the noise coming from the party. DO you know what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve gotten kidnapped, or maybe even worse,” yelled my mom. My dad just walked behind her the whole time, saying nothing. I could tell by his silence that he was mad at me. That’s what my dad did. When I was in trouble, he didn’t say a word. He let my mom do the talking while he silently stared at me with an emotionless expression. When we got home, I was sent to bed. That night I tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. I felt bad about what I had done. I should’ve just listened. I wondered what my punishment would be, or if I would be punished at all. The next morning, I went downstairs for breakfast, as usual. My mom was sitting at the table, waiting for me. “Good morning Sara. You’re father and I have decided on your punishment.” This was just like my mom. She always got straight to the point. I wasn’t too worried about my punishment because I thought it would just be extra chores or no TV for a week. Instead, it was far worse than I expected. “That boy Michael you like to hang out with, you can’t talk to him anymore,” said my mom. “What?” I yelled. “You can’t stop me from talking to my friends! It wasn’t Michael’s fault! He didn’t do anything!” “If I find out from anyone that you’re talking to him, you’ll be punished even further,” she said firmly. “That’s not fair! At least let me hang out with him one more time!” “Fine, you get to hang out with him one more time. Go ahead and call him after you eat,” she said. I ate my food quickly and then called Michael. When he picked up, I started talking to him. “Hey, Michael. You wanna hang out today?” I asked, not wanting to tell him about my punishment yet. “Sure,” he said. “How about we go apple picking?” “Okay. I’ll meet you at the apple orchard in an hour.” I started to get ready. I dressed, putting on a tee shirt and jeans. Forty-five minutes later, I began to head to the apple orchard, which was within walking distance. When I made it there, I was early so I had to wait for about ten minutes for Michael to get there. Eventually, he did. “Hey, Michael. You ready?” I asked. “Yeah, let’s go.” We walked into the orchard. We paid at the counter and began to pick apples. At first, we picked them in silence. After a while of silence, I tried to make conversation. “So, you got anything planned for next weekend?” I asked Michael. “No. Do you?” “I don’t either.” We went back to silence. As we picked, I debated telling Michael about how this was the last time I would talk to him. I decided to tell him because he deserved to know. “Michael, I’m so sorry for not telling you about this earlier. This is the last time I’ll be able to talk to you. When my parents found out that I snuck out, they banned me from talking to you.” Michael looked shocked. This was a lot for him to take in. “Why me? I didn’t sneak you out!” he said with vexation in his voice. “You should run away with me.” I was shocked. Why was he so serious about hanging out with me? I mean sure it was sad that we couldn’t talk anymore, but it wasn’t something to run away about. “Why would we run away? It isn’t that serious,” I asked him. “If you stay, your parents won’t let you do anything. They’ll run your life, and when you disobey them, they’ll punish you more, until you can’t talk to any of your friends,” he said. I thought about this. What he said was probably true. “I’ll go,” I said. “I just need to go back to my house and grab a few things.” I left Michael standing there. I ran out of the orchard and to my house. When I made it there, I peeked through the door. My parents were nowhere in sight so I climbed up the stairs to my room. I quickly grabbed my backpack, emptied it out, and shoved a few of my belongings in there, including my phone, some clothes, some pictures, and etc. I ran out of the house and back to the apple orchard. Michael was waiting for me. “You ready?” he asked me. “Yeah. Where are we going?” “I don’t know yet, but we have to get as far away from here as possible. We walked down the street and eventually, night came. Michael and I walked in darkness. When we got tired, we went to sleep on a bench, as if we were homeless. Actually, we kind of were. In the morning, we went back to walking. We were starving, but I had forgotten to bring food. “How are we going to get food?” I asked. “We could beg.” “I’ve got a better idea,” said Michael. We walked to the nearest store. When we got there, Michael told me about the plan. “We're going to steal. Grab as much stuff as you can and stuff it in your bookbag,” he told me. Usually, I would never be on board with stealing, but there were a lot of bad things that I did lately. I was starving, or at least it felt like it, I would do just about anything for food. We went into the store. I walked to the canned food and snack aisle and stuffed as much stuff as I could into my backpack. Michael walked around the store, pretending he was interested in buying toilet paper. When my bookbag was full, I exited the store, trying not to look suspicious. Michael came out soon behind me. When we were far away enough, I sat on the bench we slept on and emptied out my bag. Michael looked through everything I got with me. I got some Debbie Cakes, canned beans, canned ravioli, and other canned goods. Michael and I opened a pack of chocolate brownies and dug in. Cars passed by us with their drivers staring at us. One man walking by even gave us some loose change, thinking we were homeless. After eating, we continued walking and as we did, I thought. I wanted to go back home. I regretted running away. Back home there was food, water, shelter, and my loving, protective parents. No matter how bad their punishments were, they loved me. We walked all day. When night fell, we had a conversation. “Tomorrow, we’ll be far enough to find somewhere to stay,” he told me. “Where will we go though?” I asked him. “I told you I don’t know,” he said to me, clearly frustrated. We talked some more, but we couldn’t think of any place to stay. We decided to just sleep on it. That night, I waited for Michael to fall asleep. When he did, I took most of the food out of my backpack and left it on the bench for him. Then I took the bookbag and left. I was going home. I walked for a few days, until I was nearing my home. I was almost there when I passed the apple orchard. The police were there and they saw me.

“Are you Sara Akodoa?” they asked me. “Yes, why?” I asked. As soon as those words left my mouth, I felt stupid. My parents probably called the police when I didn’t come back. Now they would question me and I would have to tell them about Michael. “Sara Akodoa, you are under arrest for theft.”


A reflection of the azure-blue sky must have been the last thing the ring-necked pheasant saw before he flew into my floor-to-ceiling panorama window. I heard the house rattling thud and rushed to my balcony where I found the stately bird looking like a pile of pretty feathers. Sadly, the angle of his neck, and his half-opened vacant eyes told me he was a goner. It was a distressing moment, for sure, but the home chef inside me soon pictured a steaming, crispy-skinned entree stuffed with apples and brown rice. The living and dying were done. Only plucking, cleaning, stuffing, baking, and eating remained to provide a proper denouement for the handsome bird's life story. At least, that’s the way I saw it at the time. Eating, no matter how scrumptious the meal, can’t be called dining if you’re eating alone. My gourmet meal had to include last-minute company. My dream companion was any woman who looked ravishing in candle glow. However, keeping it real, I settled for my next-door neighbors, the Van Winkles-Al, and his wife Val. I’d sensed that the neighborhood thought of me as an oddball, and I could see how a fifty-year-old bachelor moving into a big house, in a gated community could come across that way. This sad occasion was my chance to show them what I really am: a gracious, congenial, humorous, gourmet chef. I got Al on the phone and after a long hesitation and a whispered exchange with Val, he accepted my invitation for dinner. He offered to bring wine, but I told him I had two bottles of Petite Syrah, which goes well with pheasant. “Just bring yourselves and a hearty appetite.” We ended the call on that cheerful note, but I must have been unclear about the time. Al and Val showed up much too early, as we shall see. I carried the carcass to the backyard, where I’d covered the picnic table with newspapers then sat down and began ripping the feathers off the drumsticks, rump, belly, and back. The downy feathers from these parts come off easily, provided the bird is still warm. I never scald fowl before plucking because hot water pre-cooks the skin, making it tear and lose moisture; spoiling the presentation. With the feathers plucked, except for the head, wingtips, and tail, I went to the kitchen to set the oven and get a sharp knife, to open the torso, and a cleaver, to chop off the head and lower legs. I checked to make sure I wouldn’t need a trip to the store and found I had plenty of bacon to wrap the bird which is a tasty way to keep it nice and juicy during roasting. I also grabbed a plastic container for the giblets. The heart, gizzard, liver, and sweetbreads, dusted in white flour and pan-fried in garlicky olive oil would be tomorrow’s delectable luncheon ─ big plans.  On my way back I heard the doorbell. When I opened the door, I was stunned to see my guests standing on the porch wearing obligatory smiles. They could probably tell that something was wrong by my startled expression, but I gathered my composure and extended a welcoming hello. “Come on in. We’ll hang out on the patio while I do some final prep. We can talk and get acquainted while the bird is in the oven.”

Trying to think of what we could talk about for the next two hours made me nervous, especially when Val offered to help with the cooking. I hadn’t mentioned that the main course was window kill and that I’d be removing its bloody innards and chopping off its legs as we chatted and joked. Before I had a chance to respond to her, we’d stepped onto the brick patio. I was startled − transfixed − not able to process and react to what I was seeing. The pheasant was standing in a pile of its own plucked feathers; looking at us. However, “looking at us” does not begin to put across what the naked bird was doing. He was communicating − speaking volumes with facial expressions and body language. With his half-opened beak, a slight cocking of his head, his brow knitted (not furled), and a subtle hunching of what passes for shoulders, he was asking a question as old as life itself: “What the fuck happened?” He could not have made himself any clearer - even if he had mastered human speech. I turned and watched the color drain from my guest’s horrified faces.

Gathering my wits, I moved quickly.  That’s when the confused bird spotted the knife and cleaver. Putting two and two together, he let out an infuriated squawk and flapped his bare wings, ready and willing for a fight to the death. Val and Al disappeared, scurrying home sometime during the ensuing violence. The pheasant got in one painful peck to my nose before the table upended and the plucked feathers and newsprint scattered across the patio with the goose-pimpled bird screaming screeches that could be heard for blocks. I finally subdued him using my greater weight and wingspread. I tied his legs together and hung him upside down until he mellowed out. My cheeks were badly scratched and my favorite white chef’s jacket was ripped to shreds.   Holding a bloody dishtowel to my nose, I called the Van Winkles, but I have not yet had any response to my nasal, muffled explanation on voice mail. I should have made up a story instead of trying to make sense of what really happened. On the other hand, I doubt if even J.K. Rowling could come up with a story that could put me in good graces with the Van Winkles, or anyone else who lives within squawking distance. The Wildlife Rehabilitation Hospital assures me that re-fledging has begun and that the pheasant is well on his way to a complete recovery. Lucky him. He’ll soon be released back into the wild and I’ll still be cooped up in this gated community where everyone still thinks I’m an oddball. The End


We live on the salted river. ‘Mimaeno’ the ancestors call it - ‘the woman who wept’. It stretches out along the horizon as far as I can see, flowing all the way from the land to the skies. The sun rises at its head and slumbers at its tail, following its movement with the same devotion as my people. I think it must wrap around the whole world, the way a snake strangles its prey. The river born from death only breeds death: the water is undrinkable and the fish who swim there are toxic. Yet we are the descendants of the river God who splintered into a million fragments under the weight of his own cruelty, so this poison became our life-source. Many years ago the river God fell in love with a mortal woman who collected water from his domain every day. He offered her sweet words of love and tempted her with divinity but she refused him. She had a lover who she would not betray. Humiliated, the river God stole her away in secret, in the middle of the night, feeding her his immortal blood to forever trap her by his side. To fully cast off the shackles of mortality she slept for one hundred years, trapped in a realm of nightmares as her humanity battled the blood of a God, and her village, her family, and the man she loved all turned to dust. Yet unbeknownst to the river God, she carried the seed of her lover inside her, a child both mortal and divine, who grew slowly in her stomach until the day she awoke. The woman had barely taken her first breaths as an immortal when her waters broke and her labor began. Alone, she struggled for many hours to bring the last remnants of her lover into the world, but the moment she held her child in her arms, the river God returned. Furious that his would-be wife had borne another’s child, he wrenched it from her arms and threw it into the river. Without hesitation, the woman dove after her child but was only able to watch as the river God crushed the child to death and scattered their bones beyond the hope of discovery.

The woman was devastated and in her agony, wept for one thousand days and nights, raising the river out of its banks and salting the land around it. A great famine followed the flood and many families who couldn't bear the hardship jumped into the deep and violent river to end their suffering. For one hundred years the river’s banks were soaked in blood. Finally, her wretched tears had fallen for so long that her immortal obsession overpowered the river’s spirit and it recognised her as its new master, offering her one small bone of her child’s body and shattering the very soul of the God who tormented her. But the woman continued to weep, searching desperately for the rest of her lost child. Every year the river breaks its banks and floods the land, bringing death, destruction, and famine. In order to atone for our ancestor’s sin and placate the grieving Goddess, we owe her one thousand years of repentance by remaining by the salted water, living off its morsels, and offering our bodies in sacrifice. Once our debt is repaid, the Goddess will be freed from immortality and the barren lands will flourish. Or so the elders promise. As a child, cold and starved in the depths of winter, I had the wicked thought that the Goddess had long abandoned our people. Her final act of vengeance. I knew I would be drowned if I ever dared speak those thoughts, yet the Goddess did not strike me down. Her power was not omnipotent. When the sun rises highest in the sky, we meet on the river’s banks for prayer. Young children clutch their parent’s legs to prevent being swept away by its vicious current. Chief asks for forgiveness from the Goddess, then one by one we submerge our heads into the waters. I let the salty water sting my eyes as I search the murky depths of the river. Unfortunately, the rapid undertow stirs up the silt sitting on the streambed, making it impossible for me to see. The older men and women had lined their arms and legs with shallow cuts before prayer, their willingness to suffer indicating the sincerity of their worship. Pale red-brown tendrils rise from the limbs around me as if the contamination of their souls was being washed away by the Goddess. I didn’t know where the evil went after leaving our bodies, it seemed to sink to the bottom of the river and fester, clinging to the Goddess herself.

Sin .

I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand, until my wickedness floated away, blessed pure by the hands of the Goddess. Kerhene will come soon. We fast from sun up until sundown for three days and offer flesh in sacrifice to the Goddess, to repent for the original sin. Every year my mother carves the symbol of Mimaeno into the same position on my arm to signify both my repentance and devotion. In a few more years the marks will scar permanently and I will become an adult. The wound hurts but I am not allowed to cry until the river ceremony. Our tears belong to the Goddess. When day turns to dusk and insects fill the air my people scream and cry as we cross the river, performing a death ceremony to commemorate the Goddess's loss. The especially devoted cut their hair short in offering, the same way an adult offers their braid to their lover. Once the main procession has crossed, children between five and ten must swim the river alone to prove their worthiness. If they are lost their lives are unmourned as their deaths signify their inutility to the Goddess. The river is wide and its rapids hidden and deadly. My brother was lost. My mother cried for the river but I saved my tears. I waited until the moon rose high in the sky and climbed the tallest tree I could find, hiding as far away from the Goddess as I could. The river below reflected no stars as if every light in the sky was sucked into its darkness. Such a cold, violent death. How could she swallow him whole? I knew our tears belonged to the Goddess, but that night I cried only for Alem. There was nothing more he owed the river. Out of breath, I rose to the surface gasping. Others remained submerged, lost in prayer. I watched as one by one they surfaced, death-touched and rejuvenated all at once. This will be our last prayer in these waters, next sunrise we’ll travel downstream towards the wider sections of the river, ready for Kerhene. I like our migration for the summer months, the longer days and false docility of the river means I am permitted private prayer in the evening. When the air is warm and the night is quiet, I leave the camp to plunge my head into the cool water. Near the banks, the water is slow, worlds away from the deadly currents in the river’s center. I can see clearly through the lonely waters. I know that the Goddess is still searching for the bones of her lost child. But on moonlit nights, when my head is buried in the river’s embrace, gazing at the bones piled high in its waters, I have to wonder: how many more bones does the river need?


I didn’t ask the question, where am I from?... but once. Until she was gone! The look on her face didn’t say: I don’t know. It said have I not done a good job? Barbara was the oldest of twelve children. So, caring for others was expected and necessary. Growing up in the thirties, her parents worked for the local market owner. My grandmother Rainey, my mom’s mother worked as a maid in the Pair’s house. As a child, I remember mom telling the story of her birth on the floor of that store. She would say that grandma had to pay for the loss income during the birth and clean up, because a black woman contaminated the floor of a ‘’white’s only’’ establishment. Maybe that is why she hated going to work for the same family. When grandma could no longer perform the required duties, mom took over the position. Cleaning the four-bedroom main house and the store, for almost forty years. She honored her mother’s debt or paid for her own, in that mansion until old man Pair’s death in 1972. Cleaning rooms and silver not used every Saturday. Monday through Friday cleaning the master bedroom, bathroom and kitchen daily. Preparing three meals for the lady of the house and her lunch guess usually, it was the daughter-in-law or the son.  Although the times were changing, the younger Pair man was still his father’s son. Thankfully, his wife was different and loved my mother. She asked mom to stay on as a caregiver for her mother-in-law and to do only what she needed to live comfortably daily. That got old quickly because just sitting wasn’t the kind of person mom was. The husband didn’t want to pay for a glorified sitter, something his nonworking wife could do. So, mom went back to cleaning both houses. Mom was hired by the wife to cook a soft diet for both of the mother-in-law. Her mother was in a nursing home in the next town over. One day, when she had another engagement, mom surprised the staff by showing up unexpectedly and witnessed abuse against her mother and called the police and the daughter. My mom was most comfortable taking care of people all the time, my dad told me. That was one of the things that he fell in love with. She became sick soon after their wedding day. She had the measles, got diagnosed as a diabetic and loss a pregnancy. This was dramatic and caused depression. She wanted children of her own, so they adopted me. The Saturday cleaning job and cooking was not enough for her to maintain the life she’d become accustomed to, when I started school. The bus driver realized my mom would follow her through the entire route until we reached school. She was given an ultimatum, stop following or get a job driving a school bus. So, by the beginning of summer school, she was employed by Greensville County school system. I hated waking up at 5am to leave by six. We didn’t return until almost six pm on regular school days. I was not happy with the schedule but I didn’t have any choice. Our leisure days of lunch in Petersburg and shopping were no more. I didn’t want to share her with anyone else either. The young me didn’t appreciate her love of children and their wellbeing. All I could see was things that I was the sole recipient of were now being spread out between me and others. I guess you don’t know what parents who care go through. It wasn’t until I had children that I understood. Or at least I thought I did, well… Who she was to me, to my family and to those that knew her was very different. Of course, she was the only mother I knew growing up. For many years our relationship was tested. I even once declared I’d never be like her, doing jobs I hated just to put a roof overhead and a meal in our bellies. After, my daycare children all started school or moved; I needed to create an income that worked with my youngster’s schedule. I learned two things quickly, 1) having a family, will make you do whatever you need to, and 2) apologizing to your mother is very hard. You see, I had to humble myself and ask for tips on being a good bus driver. I remember mom laughing. She drove bus 18 for nineteen years.  At her funeral several people came up to tell me that they would miss her but I expected that, just because it is what you say. I knew a bunch of folks would have comments good, bad or indifferent. There was one though that floored me, the biggest thorn in my side in school; she hugged me and said “your mom is the reason I’m alive today. When I got pregnant, she talked to me and let me stay with her for a week, when my mom kicked me out.” I don’t know how she really fixed her face to say that went through my mind and tears rolled down my cheeks. She continued to squeeze me tightly, so all I could do was listen. Her next sentence really stung. She said “your mom regretted her actions so much after you left, she told me.” “I think that’s why she helped me get straight and go back home.” After hearing her out, I said “okay, and?” as if I didn’t know what she meant. I just didn’t know what I should say. Do I strike back, with my son will be 40, this December! Would that throw the appropriate shade? Or do I just except the apology from the grave? Knowing that I already knew what she had just said was true, because mom splurged at Christmas. My two-week old son reaped a king’s bounty on December 25, 1982. She even promised a new Cadillac for his 18 th birthday. Unfortunately, that son lost two grandparents inside of a year. My mother passed around his father’s birthday when he was thirteen and the only grandfather he had left; five days after his 14 th . You don’t have to know your birth parents to know where you came from, just look in the mirror at who you are now. So many individuals will be represented every morning. Your birth parents, your adopted parents and the village that influenced the YOU that you’ve become today!


Mohamad, an emaciated, desolate and kneeling man. Waiting for humanity to become extinct. The last one standing, alone, with an extremely powerful blizzard in front, in the middle of a deserted cabin among the mountains surrounded by snow. An avalanche passed over the cabin days ago. The surroundings are full of white dust that the lonely man tries to release in order to get out and no longer feel that claustrophobia that involves living locked up, without help. He knows it, he recognizes that there is no one else alive in the world. That apocalyptic end was not expected by the most conspiratorial being in the universe. One survivor in billions. He is undoubtedly special. How do you know? When the earth is empty, it is palpable. Not the slightest howl of a wolf or the singing of birds. Nothing. A deathly silence that snatches all hope of life. Finally, he manages to displace the disaster and the door is free to leave. Those zero degrees Celsius does not matter much to him because he has nothing to lose, and nothing to gain either. The survivor's eyes suddenly widen. Perplexed, stunned and trembling body. A miracle is presented in front of him. Open arms of a being in a ski mask that, without resentment, runs in terror, imprisoned by fear and the incessant cold, and offers a comforting hug to that one, the apparent last survivor. — Who are you? — asked Mohamad. —I don't know, but I'm glad I'm not alone — says the young man with a trembling voice. Both enter to rest from the low temperatures. Mohamad at that moment understood that two was better than one. He feels much more secure now, knowing that the gloomy loneliness is no longer a part of his life. The company of someone you don't know is an unrivaled accolade. Both get to work, and prepare to make an expedition, in search of more survivors. The side of the snowy mountain is more beautiful once you see it in total solitude. The Survivors thought as they climbed with the meager strength their muscles gave off, their boots stuck in the mud and hail brushing their faces. — Starving. — Says the young man who met Mohamad minutes before. He is relieved that he is not the only one. There have to be more people out there. — How did you resist so long? — Mohamad asks with his white beard shivering from the low temperatures as they both slowly walk aimlessly. —I don't know ... — says the young man. An answer that left Mohamad with a bad taste in his mouth. — What is your name? Don't tell me you don't know. — You'd be surprised, sir. — You don't you know your name? — No. — So what the hell do you know? — Head down, the thin guy continues on his way being part of his uselessness. They arrive to a frozen lake with crystal-laden trees all around it. Just by looking closely at the water, they could see how frozen it is — Come on, let's go sideways — says Mohamad. The young man does not move. — What are you waiting for? The sun is setting. — he insists. The boy places his pale feet in the icy water, before Mohamad's stunned gaze. — You're one of the bloody lucky ones to survive an apocalypse, and do you want to die now? Look, the water, there is smoke everywhere. — I do not feel anything. — says the boy. — What? — I do not feel anything. — he repeats. He dives deep into the lake and begin to swim. Mohamad can't understand what he is observing. Glanced up. — Am I already dead? Is this paradise? The head come out like a needle in a haystack. The boy's hair was damp and sparkling more than ever. — Get in the water! — He exclaims to Mohamad. He hesitates. — Tss, stay there. Do not go out. I will follow. — Get in the fucking water! — yells the boy, who in a matter of seconds between his hands get a fish the size of his body. — Give me that fucking fish! — he exclaims and run to the shore, threatening to jump, but still imprisoned by the fear of dying of hypothermia. — Go on, cunt! Mohamad jumps. The water is not part of the rest of the environment. It is an unstoppable shield that moves away from the coldness outside. It is placidly warm. The bearded man can't believe it. — What the hell did you do? — he asks — I do not know! — Then what the hell do you know!? — Mohamad lunged forwards, and they both frolicked in the water for the huge fish. A relief in the midst of the catastrophe. —Can you get another one? I don't know why I'm asking at this point. — I think so! Sharks, dolphins, fins. Figures Mohamad had not seen for a long time. Everything is peaceful, there is no danger. — A fucking whale! — Mohamad shouts when he sees at his side an orca approaching like a cat. It does not hurt. — Let's get out of here. I want to eat. — We won't eat. — What the hell are you saying? — We won't eat. — I heard you! Why won't we eat? — These beings are our friends. — Are you kidding me? The young man dives into the water and swims in perfect sync with those he calls "friends." Sea creatures that in natural circumstances would probably have eaten them in seconds. He resurfaces with something in hand. — Algae! — he exclaimed. — Whatever, give me that crap. —Mohamad found nutrients in that nature that he considered ruthless until a few hours ago. He looked at the young man and wondered mentally who his companion really was, and why he survived the apocalypse. A reason to understand why they were chosen. For now, he only peacefully acknowledges that he has the power of water and sea creatures on his side, and a strange fellow adventurer who are probably most likely to cause him more than a nuisance along the winding path to discover the truth of their aparent loneliness.


‘Thence ill-favored creatures, Elves and giants, orc-neas , Came into being… ' — Beowulf Niki had never seen an orc before. She was taken aback by the grayish, mottled-green skin; the huge, hulking outlines of their bodies, and the massive tusks and fangs that protruded from their mouths. But the pointed ears looked a lot like hers, though more pronounced. Though she had been raised among humans, her half-elf heritage couldn’t be hidden without maiming her ears, and so her human mother had simply instructed her to wear her hair long. Sometimes, when the strands parted, people commented on the unique shape before she could cover them again. She’d heard stories about orcs—tales of murder and revenge and conquest. That was why the orcs had to be driven off when they came too close to men’s lands, and the vassals at Hedegaard Keep had, upon receiving reports, mounted their warhorses and rode out to rout and put down as many of the horde as they could. When orc patrols were seen, the lord’s men never hesitated, and they brought back gruesome trophies. The stories were best told at night by a fire, but during rests between playtime she’d swapped half-heard stories with the other children at the Keep—the stories always had a dark but thrilling edge that fascinated them. The stories of knights overcoming entire patrols on their own were sung in the Great Hall, even by those vassals who had been there for some of them. Strange that the thing separating her from being a regular human being was also shared by these grotesque creatures. Her ear points were more subtle, thankfully, and easy enough to conceal, but unmistakable. She’d never imagined orcs sharing such a feature. She couldn’t comprehend everything, but it gave her a cold sense of disquiet. As far as she knew, she was the only person the orcs had taken prisoner—the rest were dead, wounded, or driven away from the Keep. The only other captures were bags and parcels of dry foods, bolts of cloth, and some tools and weaponry. The orc bandits had also taken two carts—she’d used to ride them into town with some of the staff occasionally—to transport the goods. Each cart was pulled by one of the lord’s horses. She’d managed to keep them calm; the horses were not trained for war, only transport and easy riding, and that might be the only reason she was still alive. The orcs didn’t seem patient enough to win their trust or temper them. Of course, if she hadn’t been in the stable, helping the stable hands give the horses their food and water, she might have been able to run away in time. Dawn had finally begun to show faintly. Taking an old road, under a thick canopy of trees, it took a little longer for the morning to glimmer through the leaves. Niki could see ahead of her much better, but she could also see the rough, leathery creatures that had abducted her and their heavy weapons. To distract her, she kept her attention on the horses and carts, mindlessly petting a flank or checking a wheel to avoid their grim visages. They continued all morning, stopping to make her feed the horses and give them some water, and allowing them a little rest. They also ate some of their contraband, nearly a quarter of it in less than an hour—apples and berries, salted rabbit and poultry, deer and cheese and thick creamy milk, and barrels of cider and beer. She was too sick in her stomach, and her hands too shaky, to try to eat. No one offered her anything. In the late afternoon, they brought her and the stolen goods to a camp set near the foot of a steep rock face protruding with boulders and overgrown with moss and brush. Blackened metal grates over outdoor fires cooked pots of food or plain meat on the bone. Several tents were set up, and from the looks of the stacked crates and half-emptied bags piled outside them, they’d been here a while. Hideously large dogs or wolves slept in some tent entrances or paced outside and barked excitedly at them. She couldn’t properly contain the horses, who’d never encountered wolves nearly as tall as themselves, and much larger in body. She was commanded—by a harsh combination of indistinguishable yelling and hand gestures—to stay near the carts, while the orcs unloaded the plunder and met in the larger tents. She heard bits of rough dialogue—it all sounded like arguing to her—and caught some orcs putting away the items. She had to assume the bandits’ share had already been taken at lunch. She didn’t see them receive any allotment of the rest. In the later evening, Niki was taken into one of the large tents. Several orcs sat on the floor, on skins and furs, but a large, old orc—darker than the rest, wearing a thick, metal band around his head—told her to approach. At first, Niki froze. She’d understood the command, dry and gruesome but in her own speech. When she hesitated, the older orc repeated, “Come here,” in its gravelly, ancient voice. She slowly approached what she assumed was the king or chief, hands gripping her smock tightly, head ducked low. “You are elf?” the older orc said. She shook her head stiffly. The older orc conversed in their aggressive language with another in the tent. Then it said, “Show me.” He pointed at her head. She pulled back her hair—possibly admitting her natural enmity. Orcs and elves had often warred in the past, though living among men she didn’t know much about it. “Half-elf,” said the elder. “Mother or father?” “Father,” she said. He stood up and said raggedly, “I am Carguk. Orc-lord of the Dugorim . These—” he indicated the others in the tent, “my Buomaugh . Good soldiers.” Glaring into her with his piercing beady eyes, he said, “Your name.” “N-Niki,” she stammered, “of Hedegaard Keep.” Ulf, Hedegaard’s lord, had been her uncle. He had never acknowledged her as his niece, never spoke directly to her, even after her mother’s death. Niki’s mother had engaged in whoredom with a forest elf in her youth—all Niki was permitted to know about her father. But she’d been allowed to keep her mother’s rooms and many of her possessions, if not her title. She missed that tepid kindness now, surrounded by these brutish creatures. “You know the meaning, ‘Nee-kee’?” the Orc-lord said. “I don’t know.” While she had a ‘proper’ name, Yanne, daughter of Olfa, her mother’s pet-name was what she had always been called. “Elvish,” said the Orc-lord. “Poor Elvish. Man is worse than Orc, speaking Elf tongues.” She said nothing. “Elves and Orcs share lineage,” the Orc-lord said. “Long ago, the same ancestor—the only reason they spared you.” Then, “You may stay. You are like us.” She met his gaze and said, horrified, “No, I’m like my mother. I’m like my father.” “You are like the men?” it said. “You were treated the same?” “I was—mostly.” “And elves? They take you in?” “I was never—I never got to know them.” “Men see lack of blood,” the Orc-lord told her, “and Elves. But Orcs—we see the blood, even one drop. You are like us.” He said more, in his heavy, halting speech, all of it beyond her understanding as she tried to reconcile what had happened. But she gathered that she was being dismissed ceremonially. Two Orcs—huge and brutish, even among their own kind—flanked her. “Uloth,” the lord said, pointing to the one on the left; at her right, “Bashuk. They give you their tent.” Feeling like a prisoner, yet escorted like a guest, she was walked to a small tent, one she would expect was not big enough for one orc. Yet there were two sleeping mats, accompanied by a shared low, backless seat, pottery, and other personal items. From the tent posts, simple doll-like figures made from straw hung on twine. Bashuk said some command, pointing at the interior of the tent. Niki dropped onto a rug of animal skin. They left her alone. She dug her fingers into the soft skin and fur—bear, most likely. A great accomplishment for a hunter or knight—yet she imagined an orc didn’t flinch in battle even against a wild bear. At some point, they brought her food on a thin wood board, in well-used tin—the same food they had just stolen. It was the same food always sent to her mother’s room. From the same kitchen, hunted or purchased by the same staff that served Ulf of Hedegaard. Not knowing, perhaps, how much she could eat, they had erred on the side of caution and gave her enough to last for days—a salted shank of deer meat; half a chicken, eggs, and other ingredients cooked inside; both cider and beer. She swallowed down what she could. As she’d not eaten all day, she managed to consume more than usual at one meal. She drank more of the beer than she would have normally because she wanted to fall asleep and forget everything. But at some point, after sunset, they nudged her awake and made her come outside, growling, and gesturing and moving her along. Groggy, head, and eyes cloudy, Niki put together that they only wanted to show her around. She’d never been told the orcish peoples made fires, or cooked food—or that they used tools beyond weapons and lived in tents. She’d never heard of young orcs, but now she saw a few as they walked. The females were harder to spot, being about the same size and proportion as the males, but the chests sagged more among the “women.” Of course, they spoke harshly and were physically imposing, and fearsome, but they also spoke, and had names, and made things. The stories the knights would tell, about slaying entire groups of traveling orcs—how much were embellished? Did the knights even know what they were doing? Everyone they passed stared, but when her guides explained things, there seemed to be immediate acquiescence, though some continued perturbance. But there were no objections. Apparently, the lord’s decisions were final. And a little bit of a point to her ears was proof enough. . . . The ceremony was quick and held in the Orc-lord’s hall tent. The Orc-lord had assembled eight of the tribe, four on each side, and directed her to stand in the middle in front of him. Everything he said was in orcish, and every chant answered by the other participants was orcish. Only at the end of his speech did he say, “You are like us. Same blood. Very deep, it is the same.” She recoiled as they all unsheathed daggers or hunting knives and cut across their wrists—letting the blackish blood pool in a wooden bowl that was passed around to each. Even the Orc-lord cut his hand and let his blood drip into the mixture. She was given a knife. “Sis-ter,” came a rough, barely understandable voice behind her—not from the Orc-lord but one of the warriors present. “Cou-sin.” She didn’t make any noise. Tears came, as she pressed the blade against her flesh, across the forearm, and let it sink into her skin—let it start to twinge before she pulled the blade across the arm. A red line appeared. As the blood continued to build, she felt a sting of pain, too late. She didn’t cry as she held her arm out to let the blood fall into the bowl. The Orc-lord made each of them step forward and announced their names. Two she already knew. The others were Shelur, Uloth, Shagdub, Shamog, Durz, and Lagakh. To her, they were just sounds, but already she was seeing distinctions between them. The names weren’t necessary. The Orc-lord introduced her to the eight: “Urzulg.” She didn’t know what it meant. But she never knew what Niki meant, either. They took her outside and showed her to the entire tribe. . . . Wrist still wrapped in a bandage, though it had healed a long time ago, she followed the others in the woods, across a shallow trickle of a stream. Covered in a layer of muddied clay, even her into the strands of her hair, and to the nibs of her ears, she blended in well with the forest and her brothers who walked ahead of her. They were hard to keep up with but without her dress, her shoes, a walking cloak—all the usual amenities—she moved quickly and made up the distance. She was dressed like an orc—male, female, they all wore a few modest pieces of cloth, and the armor they made for themselves. She didn’t know how to make her armor yet, and she didn’t fit any of theirs, so for now she wasn’t weighed down at all. There were five of them in total. She wasn’t nearly as strong as any of them, but everyone contributed to the tribe, so Urzulg had to go on hunts too. Already she could wring a rabbit’s neck and shoot with a bow. “Ghob-uloth ,” the leader said. “ Mog, Bashuk sharog. Bolar grak murzush .” “ Xurukk ,” they all answered. One of them had picked her up, so she could see over the ledge ahead, where the valley was filled with grazing deer. “ Sunuguk !” - Ulfim .


It was 7 a.m., the alarm on my phone went off, like it does every morning, at this time. That was when I usually took my jog around the block. It was my daily ritual, but it has been avoided over a month now. I hit the dismiss button on my alarm and turned to my left side, staring at the wall. I was extremely exhausted, from tossing and turning all night. "I can't keep doing this," I said to myself. "I must try to get motivated." So, I gruntly made my way up, from my bed, my feet hit the floor and I stretched. The silence through my home, filled the air. My first thought, was coffee. "This should help me get motivated." I had plenty of time to myself, before I had to go to work. I was a custodian, at the highschool in my town and I didn't have to be there, until 2:30 p.m., when school was let out. I took my coffee, dug out my journal and bible, to spend some quality time, with Jesus. It was also another thing I tried to keep up on, as much as possible, but today I found it was very hard to concentrate. I apologized, to Jesus and dragged myself back to bed. I layed there. My mind wouldn't stop racing. I had images of him, replaying in my mind. His smile, his smell, what he was wearing, his blue eyes, dark hair, and the mole on his shoulder, still so fresh in my memory. I couldn't get him out of my head and tears began, to run down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, "I just can't keep doing this." I grabbed the remote, to turn on the television, to help distract me. I usually turned on something silly to help me laugh, when I was extremely down in the dumps. Even, that couldn't help, to get him off my mind. The coffee didn't help me, because before I knew it, I fell back to sleep. When I woke up, I was even more groggy, then before. I looked at the time wondering if I had over slept, but it was only noon. I couldn't wait to get to work, to keep myself distracted. I hopped in the shower. When I was finished I got ready for work, grabbed some food, and I decided to head to work early. I usually was an early bird. I would rather, be there early, then arrive late. When I got there, I knocked on the door waiting L, for an employee, to let me in. I was only a sub- custodian, so I didn't have a key fob, to enter the building. They usually expected me, so I didn't usually wait long outside. Kathy heard me, from the custodial room. "You look rough, Cindy. Couldn't sleep again?," she asked. She walked to her chair, to sit down. I sat in the chair at the end of the table. "No, I kept tossing and turning again. I woke up with sweats, from night terrors." Kathy sighed a deep sigh, "I know you been through hell and back, but you should seek professional help... you can't keep living like this." I knew she was right, but I had a hard time opening up. "Your right, Kathy." That's all I knew what to say. I asked how her day was and dropped all the issues, I had built up in the back of my mind. When the bell ringed, that was my cue to head to my closet and get started on cleaning the rooms. I normally liked my job, because I was left alone and able to do my job in peace. Recently, I don't want to be alone much anymore, because my minds been wondering a lot. I was in the science room cleaning off the desk. The kids were learning about crime investigations. They had a dummy doll layed out on the floor, with caution tape squared off around it. There was a set up of a crime scene, to where the kids had to figure out, what had happen to this dummy doll. The scene made my head twirl, a flash back of his body laying lifeless on the ground. I lost my breathe, when I heard a noise, from behind me. "Did I scare you?" My coworker Mike said, as he giggled a little. I pulled myself together, "Yes, you did." I smiled back at him. He and a couple of other co-workers, liked to pull pranks on me, from time to time. They think it's fun, usually I get a kick out of it, but I haven't enjoyed it over a month now. I didn't let them know that, because they didn't know my story. I only opened up to Kathy. "How are you? Do you need my help?," he asked. "No, I am okay. Thank you though." I said. "No problem, just holler if you need anything. I leave at 5:30." He responded. "Alright." I said. He walked into the hall and scurried off, to his next location. After I collected my thoughts, I quickly cleaned out that room, as fast as possible to move on to the next. The rest of the day seemed to drag. I tried my hardest to keep my mind a way from my thoughts, but something always seemed to get my mind right back to it. For instance, the next room I was cleaning, this teacher had a battery operated fish on a plaque, that when you pushed the button it would sing "Don't worry, be happy." Which made me think of him. He had one hanging on his wall, that I remember I would push and dance, to occasionally. It would make him and I smile, when we were feeling down. Chills ran down my spine as memories flooded my mind, I just stood there. I had to break out of this trance. "I will never get my work done," I said to myself. I forced myself to press on. I moved onto the next room and I heard Kathy's voice trailing through the hallway. "Cindy, its lunch time. Are you taking lunch today?" "Yeah." I headed out towards Kathy. "I'm suprised your taking lunch today, you haven't taken it all week." "I really needed a break today." "I understand that, all to well." She said. As we were walking to the room, she was talking about how her area was more messier then usual. When we got there she took out her lunch and threw it in the microwave. "How's your night going?" She asked. "I dont know...it's just, everything I see reminds me of him." She looks at me with sympathy. "Your situation is tough, I wish there was something more I could do for you." "It's okay, just letting me vent helps. I know I must seek professional help though." "Yeah, that might do you even better." The microwaveable timer went off and she took her food out and stirred it up. She sat down at her seat. "Your situation is tough, because you have known this guy for a while online. When you met him two months ago, things were pretty great and they turned sour quickly. The way that he died, didn't help your situation any better...it would be very difficult, to get over." I felt the tears bottling up to my tear ducts, it was hard to hold them back." I know, it's just every thing went down hill so quickly, Kathy... I am sick of the nightmares. I'm sick of being mentally and emotionally exhausted." Kathy nodded her head at me, with sympathy in her eyes. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and said, " and I know, I won't overcome this, without professional help. I know I need to stop procrastinating it, but I am scared." After Kathy was done chewing up the food in her mouth she said, "and it's okay to be scared." "Thank you for the reinsurance, Kathy." We moved onto a different subject. She talked about how she was boxing up some things, to have a yard sale. That helped keep my mind occupied, for the time being. Before I knew it, lunch was over. It always went by quick. A half an hour isn't very long. "Well, back at it." she said. "Atleast we are at our half way mark." "True story." I said. We went our separate ways and continued our work. It was dragging and tough, but I made it through, yet another night. On my way home, I turned up the music in my car, to drown out my thoughts. Ironically, "Don't worry, be happy" blasted into my ears. My heart felt like it stopped, his wide smile and big eyes, were glaring at me. I turned the station immediately. I could not wait to be out of this car and to be home. When I finally reached home, I locked my car door behind me. I usually hit the button twice, until I heard the beep, just to make sure it's locked. From a distance, I saw someone. I couldn't believe my eyes. I must have been in another one of my dreams, because the someone was him. I thought he was dead, but here he is, right in front of me on the street, smiling at me. I just couldn't believe this was real, because I thought he was dead! He picked up his hand and waved at me. I panicked and quickly headed towards the door, of my apartment complex. He began to run after me, "Hey, wait up! I have a present for you," he said. I fiddled around with my keys too quickly, I dropped them on the ground. Before I knew it, he was there blocking me. "I thought I'd never see you again," he said. I was backed in a corner fearing for my life. I was once again, face to face with my stalker. "You were dead...I seen you lying on the floor. I seen you being taken away in the body bag." "No, that was my twin brother Steve." "What!?," I said. I was pretty speechless, at this point. "You see, I do think outside of the box. I wouldn't be able, to have seen you again." He brushed his hand against my face. Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I missed our last night we had together. It was very romantic." He said, with a smile on his face. It looked demented. "It wasn't romantic for me," I said. "It was dirty and gross." "It didn't seem that way to me, as far as I am aware, you enjoyed it." "I was begging, for who I thought was you to stop!," I said nervously. "You killed my brother Steve for this?," he said." I thought you would be thrilled to see me." I couldn't say anything I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. I had no idea if he had any weapons. I had no idea, what was going to happen next. "If I didn't use my twin brother, as a decoy... I wouldn't be here with you, tonight. " "No! You would be locked up in prison!," I said bitterly and angrily. "You never even told me you had a twin!" "I knew he would come in handy, one day.," he said laughing. "With you killing Steve, you assumed I was dead, so you wouldn't come looking for me." "You know what you did was wrong. You're sick in the head!," I said. "Hush and follow me.," he grabs my arm. I began to fight back. "Let me go!" Once again, I was reliving my nightmare. When I thought it was all over, it got thrown back into my face. I was scared, worried, this might be the end of my life. I was standing face to face with a man, that was once my friend and the friendship turned dark quickly. Once his true colors, began to show. He became obsessive, angry and demanding. When I pushed away, he pushed more towards me. Stalking me all hours, from day to night. Even after I put a restraining order on him, it didn't stop him. He continuously harassed me. I'm in tears, trying to pull away from him. He continuously drags me up the street, only God knows where. This is the end, for me I thought. Until, I heard someone call out. "Hey!," a man screamed at us. "Let her go!" But Luis squeezed my hand tighter and dragged me faster. "Help, please!," I begged and screamed. The unknown man reached us pretty quickly, I was broken free, from Luis's hand. My whole body was trembling, as I dialed 911. The man was built and seemed very fit and active. He held down Luis, until the cops arrived. Luis watched me the whole time he was put in hand cuffs and while sitting, in the back of the police car. He watched me, until he couldn't see me no more. "I went even more into a break down, that everyone was on my case to go see a counselor. This is why I am here, today to tell you my story." "Begin, whenever your ready.," my counselor said. I took a deep sigh in, "One night, Luis got me alone with, who I thought was him, but it turned out to be his twin brother, instead. Apparently, his twin brother, was in on it. Luis told Steve, he was going to get some action from a chick that night, but he was wrong. I killed him while I was trying to defend myself. Turns out, who I thought was the right man, was the wrong man. So, I was face to face with Luis, once more. Something that, I didn't expect would happen. I thought, I had killed the right guy. I relived my nightmare all over again, because Luis fed me so many lies. My trust is blown out the window. You think you know a person, to find out you didn't, even really know them at all." The counselor writes some notes on her notepad. "How are you sleeping?" I looked out the window, "Not good since Steve's death, but it got worse, after realizing Luis is alive." "But, he is locked up in Jail, Cindy." I took a deep sigh, "Yeah, of course he's in jail...for now, but he is still out there, living and breathing. I know, when his time runs out, he'll be back on the streets...searching, lurking and waiting for me to come around.


It all started about a week ago. It was a cold and stormy night, the streetlights held a distinct foggy glaze. Throughout the eerily quiet street, the noise of windows rattling in the forceful wind could be heard...  I’m kidding, obviously. Although last Tuesday night when this all started, there was a storm, just not a storm of the weather variety. I’d been following the news all day, everyone had. 6 boys now, all aged between 14-21, had been found dead in their homes. All of them were wearing the undeniably recognisable X.R.Y patented VR goggles and sleeves, as if they’d died right in the middle of a game; and they had. But that’s not the most curious part. What was even more intriguing and un-explainable was that at the moment they died, so had their avatars. So there I was sat in front of the television, crossed legged and making my way through a pot noodle, eyes glued to the screen as I listened to a news anchor report on the story for the eighth time today. See this was the interesting bit, since the story broke the news vultures had eaten up the weird and un-explainable circumstances of the whole thing, and every story since had been linking things together and talking crazy conspiracies. The police of course, had come out to say X.R.Y couldn’t have had anything to do with it and stated that it was impossible the two things were related. This only made things worse, as most people, including me, disagreed. There were now picketers outside their Office, screaming viciously for justice for “their” boys. There were forums that were full of theories, people talking about electrical currents, or the dark web and some even talking about magic, real magic, not just the kind you find in X.R.Y and that was just the real world repercussions. More importantly, were the things happening virtually. People around the world were darning their virtual reality gear and airing their grief online. There were virtual flowers bought from virtual stores laid down at the place where the avatars powered out for the last time. There were regular flowers, like lilies and chrysanthemums but they were nothing compared to the mythical bouquets most people would leave. There were snapdragons that actually snapped and breathed fire. Giant Venus-Flytraps that passed the time catching AI bots that inhabited the games’ land and FlameFreesia’s, with charcoal stems blooming into petals resembling flames, just to name a few. People were changing their names to “justice4thewarriors” and “NeverForget1604”, some avatars darned t-shirts bearing the victims’ faces, bought from some capitalist who runs a “Skins” shop. Some people had gone as far as changing their avatars entire likeness to one of the victims.  I on the other hand didn’t take flowers, or like some people even a live “teddy” bear, to their resting place, as I didn’t own that world. There was also no way I was going to spend my Xdollars on some tacky t-shirt just for the proceeds to go to the seller’s pocket instead of the families. Besides, I’d put a lot of hard work into creating my Avatars appearance. As inside the virtual world of X.R.Y, just like the real world before it became secondary in importance, appearances were everything. My avatar looked somewhat like me, and yet entirely different, where I was tall and brunette covered in freckles, my avatar was short and her mousy blonde hair, cut into a long bob was held in place by a baby pink headband. She wore clothes from a different decade with a pleated, tartan brown skirt and matching jacket and a pink roll neck underneath. She had knee high socks in the same colour with plimsolls on her feet, but I on the other hand spent my days in tracksuit bottoms and plain t-shirts, a standard uniform for most people outside the You-niverse . That’s what we called the virtual world, named after the company that made it; X.R.Y- short for Xtreme Reality You-niverse but everyone pronounced it like “x-ray”. But there was one thing the same about my avatar and I, our faces, although hers’ was almost cartoony, it held an uncanny resemblance to mine. Big brown eyes, a long sharp nose to match my sharp chin and cheekbones and a full pink mouth, made even more obvious from the amount of time I spent biting my lip. Which thanks to my X.R.Y issued You-Camera that hung from my game enhancing visor tracking and copying my every facial move, my avatar did too. You may think that my avatar’s look was pretty basic, especially considering I could be anything in a world full of 14 year old girls walking around as ten foot dragons with purple iridescent scales, and your old lady neighbour tearing apart worlds as a sultry witch that has thousands of boys drooling after her every move. Yet I was perfectly content with how I looked because it was perfect for my game play. You see, while most were off gallivanting on worlds inhabited by giants and fairies, going to battle with Players who duel as ancient wizards who can kill you with one flick of their magic staff, I had decided to pursue a different kind of online life. But I’m not the only one, the You-niverse , after all, was made and sold as a virtual world completely personal to you, you could fill your virtual space with whatever worlds you wanted as they were just one click (and Xdollars) away. When I was too young to fit into a pair of goggles, to keep me entertained my mother would leave me in the real world with only some headphones and a vast selection of audio books to act as my babysitter. I discovered mysteries as soon as I could choose my own books. I was three years old; listening to Nancy Drew as she discovered the ghost next door was just a weird old man with a vengeance, when I decided there and then that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Good old Nancy, the inspiration for my avatar, kept me entertained to the ripe old age of 7. But by then I had grown out of the basic format of those novels. You see, in the old world, where children went to school and learned to read and write above just the simple necessities, I would have been considered a child prodigy. So I would sneak out of my house, while my family were busy playing away, and walk to the crumbling old library, I would spend my days there reading all sorts of books, teaching myself any skill available. But mostly I would find myself in the mystery section. So that’s why, when I turned 14, and I got given my own X.R.Y world to make my own, I knew exactly what I would do with it. With the 100 Xdollars I received with my rig I bought 3 games. Murder Miss-Stories, Nancy Drew Files and Lady Killers. All the games were made by ladies and had a feminist twist and I loved every one, and I was pretty good at them, by 16 I had entered and won 100s of virtual murder mystery competitions and gained not only some big Xbucks but a lot of notoriety too. I was the most renowned Avatar in my field of worlds and in just over 2 years I’d become the main earner in my family. My career was in the virtual space but it put real food on our table. I was reminded of that, when my mother cleared her throat and muted the television, I turned around to hear her say “Candice, baby, don’t you think it’s about time you get to work?” Silently I took that as my cue to get up off the floor and go upstairs to my room, or what I call, my office. Inside, I placed my gear on and powered up X.R.Y. The first thing I saw when I logged in was my message board, this wasn't unusual for me; success garners attention after all. But one message pulled my focus, the name MattyPattyPal with the subject simply stating: Help me. It wasn’t the subject that really bothered me, it was the tag; I knew it because I’d heard it all day. He was one of the six. The message had been sent a few days before but I knew he was the last of them to die, just last night. With suddenly clammy hands, I opened it and began to read its contents. To NellieDray14 I need your help. My friends are dead, and I think I’m next. You only get one shot. Don’t blow it. MattyPattyPal The message contained an already purchased game, EdenofOrthal, the game all six boys were playing when they died. I had goosebumps all over my body; my breath was coming hot and fast, my mind was racing, Matty knew he was going to die and what did he do, he didn’t go to the police, he came to me. A mystery, a real mystery dropped into my message box, and I was going to solve it. But first I needed supplies. EofO was the most popular world inside the You-niverse for boys aged 14-28 being a PvP world where anyone was fair game. The story goes that a wise old wizard named Orthal was tired of Saxos, the world he came from, so he used his power to create a new world, an Eden if you will. As years past however, the evil Saxoners found a way to break through to Orthal’s Eden in want of killing him and taking his Land. Orthal used up the last of his powers to go into hiding, leaving behind clues for the revolutionaries to find him and stop the evil Saxoners. In the game, you get to choose who you’ll be: A Saxoner or A Rebel. But whatever I chose, I knew I’d have to be heavily armed.

I exited the message board and logged into The Corridor walking over to the Mall door, inside was the biggest shopping mall to ever grace the human world, well, technically. Virtual shops lined every inch of the world, available for anyone in the You-niverse . But to have what was inside, well that came for a price. There was a special store for what I needed called EquiptofOrthal, it had everything from wand making, to guns bigger than my arms. I went simple but efficient, sleek body armour, and easily disguisable but effective weapons. Before leaving the mall I made one last stop in preparation of what could come. Back inside The Corridor I set up EdenofOrthal and made my way towards its door. It stood out compared to my other world doors, covered in ivy and glowing under the crack, I reached out for the ancient doorknob and pulled, making my way into a whole new world. ***** I spent my first days talking to other players, asking questions and trying to make connections, but it was harder than I thought it would be. I wasn’t stupid, I knew why. I stood out, not because I was a newbie, because I was a woman. The statistics weren’t lying, but they didn’t tell me how uncomfortable I’d be here. Nobody wanted to talk with me, I wasn’t asked to join any quests, and you would think that meant I didn’t get challenged, but I did. On Thursday night, I was talking to a level 26 warlock about Matty, and I was finally getting somewhere. DionysisTheIII was telling me how he knew Matty and had been on a few quests with him, Matty apparently was a valuable player. Just as I was getting into the good stuff my avatar was thrown forcefully into a stone wall. “Woman, you do not belong here!”A hulking Ogre stood across from me, in battle pose and as I stood up he continued to talk. “You shall prove your worthiness, by battling me!” His voice echoed across the land as spectators began to watch on. I scoffed, indignant “I don’t want to fight you, I’m here to save you, all of you, people are dying and I am the only one trying to figure out why!” He was speechless, they all were, and one by one they all began to walk away, ashamed of their sexist actions, including the ogre, who mumbled a sorry as he left. DionysisTheIII patted me on the back stating simply, “good for you, he challenged me once, I lost,” as he walked away. ***** Things got better from there; on Sunday I spoke to some of Matty’s friends Stylis33 and Magnarok_AG, they told me that the last time they saw him he spoke of a secret quest he’d been invited on, and that he was nervous to “finish all this”. I left them straight after as I needed to think, once again I was covered in goose-bumps, luckily I had turned off my You-camera, as I didn’t want people to be able to read my expressions, while investigating. I had it, my first lead, and my Nancy-senses were tingling. This quest must be important. Monday morning as I logged in another curious message caught my attention.  Dearest NellieDray14 It is I, Orthal. I have been watching you, and I know that you are the one. You have been chosen to go on the quest of Orthal! Others have tried but failed to find me, you only have one shot. Find me where the stone meets the water. Good Luck The quest, this is what the boys were talking about, and that phrase “you only have one shot,” that’s exactly what Matty had said in his message! This was it; I was going to solve the mystery. I came out of the game and started to prepare. If I was right, when I lose this quest, the murderer will come here, I don’t know how yet but I know he will. I locked the front door and made sure not to put earphones on, just in-case. At the bottom of the message was a link, at first I didn’t understand why I had to access the game through it, instead of just through the door, but it all made sense once I clicked the link and it sucked me back into the world of Eden. I didn’t notice straight away but after a few seconds I spotted the blinking light that told me my You-camera had been remotely turned on. I had been hacked, and now, I was being watched. I made sure not to show I knew, carrying on towards the giant stone in the middle of river Geiffel. The clue led me there. As I got closer I noticed that the stone was actually an archway and I knew, to continue on, I had to walk though. That’s when I heard it, the click of someone unlocking the front door. My hand twitched as I went to grab what was in front of me but then remembered I was being watched, I had to wait for the right moment. I entered a dark alley as I listened to footsteps coming up the stairs. A shadow of a person appeared and I knew as I got closer to them, in reality, they got closer to me. Just as my door started to creak open I saw him, DionysisTheIV. That was all the proof I needed. In real time I whipped off my goggles and grabbed the gun I had ordered that day in the Mall. Quickly I turned around to face the killer, but what I saw made me hesitate. A young girl, perhaps my age stood in front of me holding a gun ready to kill, the other holding a phone, my face visible on the screen. The real world suddenly became a PvP zone and I knew, I had to shoot before she shot me. I held my breath, and pulled the trigger... ***** It’s been two days, and only now, does it all make sense. Sissy or DionysisTheIV, had been taken into an ambulance, shoulder bleeding. I rode with her, desperate to find out why, although I already had a good idea. Sissy had logged into the You-niverse for the first time and like me was excited to try her hand at some new games. But poor 14 year old Sissy wasn’t prepared for the misogyny that awaited her or the battle with an ogre that left her powered out and humiliated, she begged her parents for the 15 Xdollars that would buy her a new life but she knew this time when she came back to EdenofOrthal it would have to be different. So she came back as DionysisTheIV, the spelling mistake a clever tell, and she became a level 26 Warlock before realising it wasn’t enough. She needed revenge. She created a wormhole that sent people into her own mini game within the world and even managed to hack her way through to 7 peoples hard-drives with one link, turns out I’m not the only child prodigy around! She went on her very own Saxoner Killing spree. That was of course, until I got involved, she knew I was getting too close to the answer and so sent me the same email she’d sent the 6 boys hoping to get rid of the threat. But she underestimated me. Later, in the ambulance she would tell me it was only fitting she got caught by another girl and that if she had to go down, at least it was like that. And me, well I started getting far more requests for help after that, but I’d decided to retire from real life sleuthing and get back to the You-niverse kind. And that, is how I solved The Case of The Virtual Killer.