“I love you,” Allison Carter said to the girl holding a knife to her neck in the gray alleys of the subway station. Underneath the sun, the towering buildings and the gleam off the windows in the reflection of Allison’s sunglasses, there was the caricature of what she thought New York was like. People bellowed on their phones, paced past her without looking up, shouted in the corners, talked to the wall, and fell asleep on the floor.

Every time while getting on the subway, ready to act confident and careless like she’s done this her entire life, Allison prepared for the worst. Of course in her last few hours in the city, that’s when she ends up against the wall with the demand she empties her pockets, and all she said was, “I love you.” The girl recoiled, “What.” “I…love you?” She scraped the knife further along Allison’s neck, “That’s a weird thing to say.” She tried to keep her eyebrows furrowed, but she was trembling. The veins in her neck twitched and her hands shook as they brushed Aliison’s face.

“Are you ok?” “I’m fine. Are you ok?” Allison shrugged, “I’ve been better.” “Yeah, that was kinda the point.” “You’re not very good at this,” Allison noted. It was not the best thing to say to someone threatening to stab her. She could’ve also mentioned how she only had twenty dollars on her, but she figured this wasn’t exactly one of her high points.

The girl in front of her dropped her knife, “Well neither are you.” “So we’re in the same boat then. I’ll continue my day and you can continue yours,” Allison creeped backwards. “I need to catch a train in…” she checked her watch, ”six hours.” “Six hours? And you’re just waiting down here?” “Yeah. I don't have anything else to do.” She packed up her apartment, the one she shared with two other students who replaced her the minute all her boxes were packed. Her parents sped to collect her belongings, and gave her one last day in the city to say goodbye. She had nothing left to do but eat a bagel, walk through the streets and feel anonymous for the last time. The girl rolled her eyes, “Ok, come with me.” “Wow, what a good idea.” “But my darling, I thought you loved me,” she challenged as she walked away without looking back. They ended up at a coffee shop with matching mugs of watery coffee in front of them. Allison put enough cream and sugar that she wouldn’t have to taste the bitterness. The girl on the other hand sucked black coffee through her teeth before asking, “So what’s your deal?” “What’s my deal?” “Isn’t that what I asked?”  Allison studied her like she was inside a test tube: wiry thin black hair, eyes the color of iron, gray and hollow skin, “What does that mean?” “It means who are you? Who is the girl who confessed her love to me?” Her words felt detached and mocking, and her movements were labored.

Allison folded her hands on the table, “I don’t even know your name.” “Gianna,” she said. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” “Does it matter?” “Wouldn’t you like to know who you’re talking to?” Without talking, ‘Gianna’ dug into her pocket and handed Allison her ID. Her name was right there: Gianna Monroe underneath a fatigued picture. She was from New York City, born and raised. Gianna took back her card and raised her eyebrows, “Your turn.” “Allison.” “That’s the truth?” “Do you want to see my license?” She shook her head, “So, Ally, what’s your deal?” “Don't call me that.” “Why not?” “Well aren’t you so inquisitive?” Allison said, sighing before answering the question. “No one calls me that.” “What should I call you instead? Lover?” Allison laughed, “Sure.” “Well then, my angel, why are you here?” Why was Allison there? She followed a girl who threatened to kill her and let her buy a coffee. She would either get a death powdered in snow, or entertainment other than the mass market paperback and pre packaged sandwich stuffed into her backpack.

But why was she in the city? Why did she crawl away from Wisconsin to a jungle gym for academic exploration:“Columbia.” Gianna quirked an eyebrow, “You go to Columbia?” “I went to Columbia. It was my dream school.” “And it wasn’t all it turned out to be?” “I dropped out. I went there because I got in, and that’s where all great people go. All people that do something with their lives outside of rural Wisconsin.” “What’s so bad about Wisconsin?” “You ask a lot of questions.” “I want to get to know you darling,” she said, a smile curling up her lips. “But please, if you want to interrogate me, I’m sure Miss. Columbia has wisdom to offer.” Allison was a criminal law major. They were supposed to teach her how to get the truth out of people, how to weave herself an entire new skin that no one could penetrate. If she stayed there then maybe she wouldn’t be ripping out her skull to display for a girl with concrete eyes.

“Why are you taking interest in me?” “I plead the fifth” “Why did you try to mug me?” “Next question.” “You’re not very good at this,” the words were deja vu on her tongue. Gianna smirked, “I grew up here, and I don't want to leave. That’s the truth.” “I don’t believe you.” “Oh? What can I do to convince you?” “Don’t lie to me; You don’t have any reason to.” “Fine, since you know me so well sweetheart, you tell me what’s wrong with me.” “Fine,” Allison said. “You’re desperate for something. You’re disheveled and defensive. You don’t like to be anything but a mystery.” “Good, but you forgot the ecstasy addiction.” Allison coughed. She didn’t know how to react. “Not anymore. I’ve been clean for,” she counted on her fingers, “one and a half months, but my parents want to send me to rehab, and I…I can’t. I’m cut off right now, and I need to get my life together or…I don't know. Did that satisfy your curiosity?” “You’re not going to get back on your feet by stealing from someone.” “Not someone with Columbia level of student debt.” “I’m not gonna try to give you advice--” “Good. I never claim to get you, you never claim to get me.” “Are you always this hostile?” Gianned shrugged. “Do you think you have to fight all the time?” “Touche.” “No, answer my question,” Allison said. “After today I’m gone. I won’t lie to you if you don’t lie to me. I do love you, remember.” Allison got the impossible concrete girl to smile as she said, “My love, I will give to you what you give to me.” “What should I give to you?” “Your everything.” She reached out her hand. Allison took it, “Let’s pretend we’re lovers for today. I’ll pretend my life is grand as long as you’re in it.” “Deal.” Gianna said. “Have you ever been in love before?” Allison shook her head. She was in love with her future once: all the kids saw her as impossible, and she saw them as useless. She thought about how delighted they all would be when she returned with a backpack full of nothing.

“I haven’t either,” Gianna said. She studied the table, tracing stains with her fingers. Allison hated to admit it, but the words were smooth as honey. She thought of Gianna’s raspy voice whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and a tangible feeling of infatuation. She could have these solemn moments, instead of a rapidly approaching date with her hometown where everyone knew her name. Population: 15000.

Allison felt the brick walls close in on her. She couldn’t escape being underground, “I’m suffocated,” she said. The concrete girl looked at her, “Then let’s leave.” She grabbed Allison’s hand and began to lead her out. “Wait, but don’t we need-” “I’m taking you to the top of the world,” Gianna said. “When you think back to this moment, you’re not going to remember the bill you didn’t pay.” The entire city was laid out in front of them. They were above the clouds, above the sprinkles of snow. The people were ants they could crush between their forefingers, and cars looked comical speeding along. All the yelling, the beeping, the wind, the chatter, the white noise they learned to dance to faded into they could only hear their own breath. “I’ve never been this high before,” Allison said. “What does it feel like?” Gianna was leaning against the metal wall in the center of the terrace, the one with the entrance to emergency stairs they ran up minutes earlier.

“This is the reason I came to the city,” Allison said. “I wanted to be on top of it. I wanted to know the buildings and the streets. I wanted,” she could see the horizon away from the city, the bridge that connected it to the rest of the world, she could see the sun gleaming into her eyes, “all of this.” Gianna came up next to her, putting her elbows on the safety rail, “You could’ve had it, you know.” “I can’t go back to that place.” “Do you think you can stay here?” Allison searched for an answer, searched for anything that yelled into her face. She waited for the sun to give her an answer. She waited for her concrete girl to stop asking questions, for silence to fall over them. “I don’t know.”

“That’s hard for you to admit.” “What about you?” “I almost jumped off this building when I was high.” “What?”

She stared off into the distance. The sky was bright with the foreshadowing of afternoon. “I was eighteen and I dropped out of community college. It wasn’t for me. I couldn’t sit still in a classroom, I couldn’t see myself working a 9-5, I spent all my money on molly. I kept walking until I found myself here, and I thought it was a sign that I should give up while I still have my dignity.” “So why didn’t you?” “I was sitting here in this exact spot, looking at everything. I felt like I was a part of an indescribable chaos, and I could burrow myself in it long enough to find some sort of meaning.” “Ah yes, by mugging someone to avoid rehab.” Gianna laughed and looked at her, “I’m fine with being a fuck-up, as long as I can sleep at night and be somewhat fulfilled.” “You’re not a fuck up.” “Tell that to my parents.” “My parents would love for me to be a fuck-up. They don’t want an extraordinary kid, they want someone they don't have to worry about. They were overjoyed when I told them I was going home. I couldn’t take the pressure so I gave up. How pathetic does that make me?” “You’re not pathetic. You’re nineteen. You’re not going to end up anywhere you don’t want to be,” she said. Allison wiped her eyes to make sure there were no tears; She never let herself cry. “What did you want to do?” “I wanted to go to culinary school.” “Why didn’t you try?” “Nothing in my life mattered except my addiction. I have to take it second by second to get through the day. Finding my place in the world, listening to my thoughts, trying to believe in something was so much work. That stupid euphoric feeling was so much easier.” Allison weaved her fingers around Gianna’s. There was nothing she could say to make her feel better, but she could be there. “How did I make you feel when I pointed a knife at you?” “Sharp.” She thought back to that moment. She could only think about the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“I mean, how does vulnerability feel?” Allison replicated Gianna’s elbows on the railing, “I couldn’t die like that, in the middle of a place where no one knew me.” “You have a weird way of getting people to know you” Allison grinned, “It worked.” “Do you trust me?” She held out her hand: a sacred promise.

“Should I?” Gianna only grinned at her. Allison, against better judgment, took her hand.

“Ok, close your eyes” Allison shut her eyes and the rest of her senses consumed her. She could hear a plane in the distance, feel the wind through her hair, taste the sweetness of afternoon. She tightened her hands against the safety rail. “Let yourself trust me.” She took Allison, squeezed her fingers and led her up until they were both standing on the safety rail. Allison could hear the city underneath her feet. She went to peek open one eye, but Gianna put a hand over her eyes. She wrapped her other arm around Allison’s waist. “Now let go of me,” she whispered into Allison’s ear.

“What?” “You’re not going to fall. Hold out your hands.” Allison took a deep breath and began to crawl her trembling hands until they were reaching out on either side of her. She filtered the breeze, feeling the ecstasy of the top of the world. She felt Gianna behind her, her grip loose enough to let Allison float, but not fall. The air was sweeter, untouched by pollutants or tobacco or the stench of the throngs. She could fall at any moment, or the stranger behind her could drop her, but

she wasn’t thinking about that. Gianna pulled her back into they were both lying on the ground of the terrace, and they were laughing. They were at the brink of being corpses that fell from the sky like a forbidden snowflake. Allison looked at the hollow gray skin of her concrete girl, her eyes bright and wild and her thin lips open wide and vulnerable. She looked more real than she had all day. “Thank you,” Allison exhaled. She grabbed Gianna’s face between her hands and kissed her.

Gianna jerked away, “Why would you do that?” “I’ve never felt like that before.” “You’re leaving in a couple of hours.” “Yeah, it was just a kiss.” “ Just a kiss.” “Fine, it was a thank you. It was my first time I ever felt that…free.” “I’m not your savior, Allison.” Allison furrowed her brow, “I never said you were. I thought we were having a moment. The whole ‘pretend we love each other’ thing.” “ Pretending . You can’t do that to someone. You can’t …nevermind. I don't think the girl who dropped out of an ivy league when her grades dropped a little understands consequences” Allison imagined something physical: a strike of lighting, a crack forming in the pavement, a knife stabbing her neck, but there was only empty space lingering in between them.. When someone cuts deep like that, there’s nothing left to do but cut deeper. “You’re right. I hope you get the help you need. God, it will feel good to get out of a place filled with lunatics.”

Allison hiked her backpack up her shoulder and ran to the subway station.

Allison was back where she started, which she chose not to think of as metaphorical. She held onto her backpack strap in one hand, her ticket in the other hand. In a matter of hours she would be hugging her parents and sleeping in her childhood bedroom.

She shouldn’t have been so willing to put her life in someone's hands. She shouldn’t have let herself kiss someone she didn’t know. She still didn’t know who Gianna was besides her concrete girl who hated being kissed and loved getting inside people's heads. It was all so pointless and Allison shouldn’t have let herself get invested in a fantasy.

She should’ve suspected it when a voice yelled her name running down the stairs into the station, “Allison!” “You’ve come to apologize?” Allison asked; she wasn’t going to. “No,” Gianna said. “I’ve come to do this.” Gianna's hands were cold and familiar, trembling against her face when she kissed her. Allison promised herself she wouldn’t change her mind by looking at her, but she still let herself taste cracked lips. She would let herself bring her hands to Gianna’s face, down her neck, her collarbones, the curve of her waist to memorize this impossible girl, but she would not let herself think it could be anything. Allison pulled away and reached into her wallet, “Here. Please, get better.”

Gianna pushed her hand away, “I’m not taking your money. And I think…I think I should go to rehab.” Allison bit her lip. She didn’t know how to be proud of her. All she could do was smile and say, “Didn’t want to give up so easily?” “I don’t care if you don’t forgive me for insulting you. Don’t forgive me, hate me even, but don’t ever think of me as a stranger.” “Stranger? You’re my lover.” They both smile, and Allison hated them for it. “Do me a favor,” Gianna said. “If you ever want to come back here, don’t do it until you make something of yourself.” Allison doesn’t say anything. She saw the subway lights approaching, lighting up the gray hallway. Instead, she kissed her again. And again and again and again.

After she entered the subway car, and watched Gianna, after she got on her plane and got home, and after she became a lawyer and opened her own firm, she would think about Gianna. She would close her eyes like she was still on the edge. She would still let herself believe that she hated her, and she still would want them to meet again, so she could hold her close, kiss her again and again, and whisper “Thank you” to her concrete girl.


You probably haven’t thought of pixies since you saw pictures of cute little creatures in pointed hats and shoes dancing around a ring of toadstools in your childhood story book. That's how we've been illustrated on cereal boxes, cookie boxes and all kinds of tacky souvenirs and posters for years. It’s very annoying to see the way we’re depicted in popular culture. Humans are not the only one who get tired of being stereotyped. Allow me to explain. We are but one of many types of supernatural beings from the family of the little people. Humans imagine us but cannot see us. We are distant cousins to leprechauns. Do not get them started about being depicted as wee men in green suits. They’re sick of it, especially on St. Patrick’s Day in the United States when many people use the day as an excuse for getting drunk on green beer and making fun of them. Fairies, by the way, are not cute little Tinkerbells. That’s the Disney version. They’re liable to enchant people and steal babies, substituting one of their own if people forget to put a piece of iron in the crib.       We are also known as pixys, pigsies or piskies, depending on where you are. We originated in Cornwall, Devon, Dartmoor, Scotland and Ireland, mostly boggy, misty, mysterious places with lakes and mountains. We do not belong on nice bright Mediterranean beaches. We are often helpful but sometimes mischievous. In the old days, we liked to help with the harvest, milk the cows or clean the house at night. In return, the milkmaid might feel one of us steal a kiss. One of our favorite pastimes was to ride the horses at night for fun. The farmers used to wonder why the horses were tired and sweaty, with tangled manes in the morning, though we never harmed an animal. We’re not as sensitive as our cousins, the brownies. Never give them gifts or try to name them. You may have heard the story of the housewife who left a suit of clothes out as a present for the brownie as thanks for the chores he’d done. No? Well, that brownie was so insulted that he took off in an instant and was never seen again. She had to do her own housework from then on. We’re not dangerous, like the will-o-the-wisps who haunt the marshes and like to lure travelers into the bogs to drown. The worst we would do is to lead travelers astray in the forest. We’re also distantly related to boggarts and bogles, but we don’t like to talk about that branch of the family. Boggarts and bogles are nasty for the sake of it. I’d recommend hanging a horseshoe on the door and sprinkling salt on the doorstep to keep them away. They’ve been known to cause mayhem, even going as far as to eat people in extreme circumstances.        But times are changing, and it is becoming harder for the family of little people, pixies and their ilk, to exist. Sadly, there are not so many fields and forests for us to inhabit now. Cows are milked by machines and there are no more milkmaids to tease. A few hikers still get lost in the forest but almost everyone travels in their planes, trains and cars. Horses are harder to find. And yet we pixies and our relations, immortal and ageless, endure.       Humans like to think they are in control of everything. They burn and build, raze and pave, without a care for the natural world they are destroying, heedless of the consequences. We like to remind them now and then that they are not as superior as they think, with all their technologies and conveniences. We have been amongst you since humans lived in caves and huts. Human stupidity and arrogance has not changed since then. It’s fun to take a human down a peg every now and then. The gadgets they use nowadays make it easy. Do you own a smart speaker? We pixies have been around since the beginning of time, but we keep up with developments in technology. It’s fun to make Alexa suddenly start speaking in the middle of the night. We enjoy your reactions. It’s even more fun to watch when she cannot understand you. Humans are usually red faced and yelling by the time Alexa has asked them to repeat themselves four times. When we got travelers lost in the forest, we’d turn a sign or two around. Now Siri helps us to confuse you. Has she ever led you round in circles? Probably a pixie behind it. We have fun with planes and trains too. We never cause accidents. But we’ve been known to mix up luggage and change the departure gate at the last minute. I’d suspect pixies if you’re trapped on a train that stops for forty minutes for an unexplained delay. Has your internet suddenly gone out and a document disappeared before you could save it on your laptop? Pocket dialed someone? Pixies have become quite tech-savvy. We’re good at hitting “reply all” on those work emails and laughing as we watch the fallout. Probably our favorite is the “hot mike”. It’s fun to watch the high and mighty try to explain the inane statements they inadvertently broadcast.        We have some other modern tricks too. Do you wonder why you always have an odd sock or two left over after you’ve done the laundry? Have you ever locked your keys in the car or locked yourself out of the house? Put your hot tea in the fridge and your ice cream in the oven? You might be distracted, or the pixies might be nearby. People talk about someone being pixie-led as if it were an insult when someone is absent-minded. But we pixies know how to enjoy a sunrise and a sunset. Getting lost, whether in the forest or on the highway, may lead you down unexpected paths to options you would never have thought of otherwise. We will live anywhere but we do prefer nature. Do your best to save it before it is all paved over, for you and for us.


It was a dark and stormy night. Really stormy. Amos had never seen a storm like it in all his years. Thunderous waves crashed against the rocks as he fought to secure the boat against the pier. With every wave and gust of wind she tore against the ropes, wrenching to be free. He did his best, the wind whipping the constant rain into his face and blinding him. It would do. It would have to do. He could do no better. He looked up at the light beaming from the top of the lighthouse, followed its steady arc across the water. The dark of the storm was powerful, but not as powerful as the light. Where there was chaos, the light was steady. Where there was danger, the light was safety. Amos nodded at the light. Aye. All was well. He picked up his lantern and climbed the stairs towards the lighthouse, fighting the wind to move at all. He could see no more than two steps ahead until the arc of the beacon passed over him and lit up the stairs like daylight, before just as quickly passing on and leaving him in darkness. The wind howled and tore at his clothes, blowing his macintosh open. He put the lantern on the step to close and fasten his coat again. Suddenly, a gale near blew him off his feet and lifted the lantern as easily as a fallen leaf in the breeze. Amos watched the light float weightlessly up, curve twice, and start to fall towards the rocks below before being lifted again and hurled into the top of the lighthouse tower. He heard the distant crash of glass as one of the windows shattered. He crawled up the last of the steps on all fours. The voice of Old Lawrence, the previous lighthouse keeper, echoed in his head. “Take it slow. Rushing makes for accidents.” As he reached the top and felt his way to the door, the beacon of light passed over him again. Aye. All was well, for now. He had to use all of his body to push the door closed on the storm. Finally safe inside, he took off his wellington boots and hung his macintosh and wet weather hat. They dripped water onto the stone floor. He took the towel, almost clean, that hung nearby and wiped the rain from his face and hair. As he had been trained him to do, he updated the logbook. Boat secured to pier. Beacon room window broken in storm. Lantern destroyed. He pulled on his knitted woollen cardigan as he made for the stairs. 20 years ago Old Lawrence had warned him, “Never run up the stairs. No matter the emergency. Take it slow. Rushing makes for accidents.” Amos had made the mistake of ignoring this advice only once, and never again. The stairs were steep and narrow and any misstep could cause a long and nasty fall. His hip still ached in weather like this, and every time it did he was reminded. Take it slow. Rushing made for very painful accidents. So it was that it took several minutes for Amos to reach the beacon room and inspect the damage. As he neared the top of the stairs, he could hear the wind howling through what should have been a solid plate of glass. If the storm broke the huge kerosene lamp, the light would go out.

He opened the trapdoor into the beacon room and, as always, was briefly blinded by the brightness of the light. Aye. All was well still. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the broken glass on the floor. Thankfully, only part of the window was broken and most of the pane of glass remained in place, although with ominous cracks through it. What was left of his small lantern lay battered and bent near the fuel pump. The wind whistled loudly through the hole in the glass, and he could feel the whole room shaking in the strongest gusts of wind. Rain pelted sideways through the window onto the giant lantern that provided the light for the beacon. Amos methodically made his way around the lamp, inspecting it closely for any damage. It was basically the same as his little handheld lantern, which now lay unrecognisable at his feet, only at a much larger scale. He caressed the gas chamber, fuel line and kerosene gas tanks with his fingers, feeling for cracks and leaks his eyes would not see. Slow. Take it slow. It was essential they were not damaged, or the lamp would dim. The lamp could not dim. As he inspected, the focal lens continued to rotate, lighting up the sea through the storm and periodically lighting Amos at his work. He would close his eyes each time it passed over him, as Old Lawrence had taught him to do, so it didn’t blind him. He was so in tune with the rhythms of the light, it was like blinking to him. He turned his attention to the window. With every gale force gust of wind, the whole lighthouse tower moved and the cracked pane of glass shook. It would not hold through the night. The window would break and the full force of this storm would assail his lamp. The light would dim. Amos wiped the rain from his face as he sought for an answer. This light had burned for 99 years, it would not go out on his watch. The wind howled, shaking the pane of glass, the cracks threatening to shatter everything. Can’t replace the window. Even if he had a pane of glass big enough, which he did not, it couldn’t be done in this storm. Old Lawrence’s training came back to him. “If it’s broken, fix it. If you can’t fix it, patch it up until you can.” Patch it up, Amos thought. Patch up a six-foot-high pane of glass in a torrential storm. How do you patch up a pane of glass in a storm? Tape? Tape could cover the cracks, maybe they might hold. Maybe not. But the hole. How to patch up the hole? Something large enough, and strong enough, and it must be waterproof. He thought of his macintosh, dripping on its hook downstairs. Another gust shook the tower, and he watched one of the cracks stretch and reach the pane. Now. No time. He must hurry. Save the lamp. He turned quickly towards the trapdoor and tripped on the unseen broken lantern lying at his feet. As he fell, he reached out blindly to find purchase, save himself, and his hand desperately gripped the first hold it found. The pump handle attached to the two large kerosene tanks that powered the lamp fell with him, tearing the pump mechanism from its machinery. As he hit the floor, his eyes rested on the kerosene lantern, it’s glass shell now lying shattered on the floor, the still burning flame of its wick exposed. He smelt the kerosene gas. He heard the ‘whoooosh’. He knew what came next. Aye. Should have taken it slow. XXX Inspector Lawrence Todd stepped off the pier and looked up at the charred pinnacle of the old lighthouse. What in the name of all that is holy happened here? “They say you could see it 60 miles away,” Jeffery said behind him. “Like a comet, they say. Even the storm couldn’t dim it, and that was some mighty storm we had.” Inspector Todd, or Old Lawrence as most of the keepers he supervised called him, hadn’t seen this old lighthouse or Amos for almost 5 years. “Amos was a good man, and a good lighthouse keeper,” he said. “Check the logbook. He will have made records.” “And take it slow,” he called as Jeffery rushed up the stairs to the lighthouse. “Rushing makes for accidents.” Old Lawrence made his way slowly up to the beacon room. Take it slow, he remembered, just like Old Thomas had trained him all those many years ago. He opened the trapdoor into what should have been the beacon room but was now open to the bright blue sky. What was left of the beacon assembly was blackened and charred, the smell of fire and smoke heavy in the air. Old Lawrence took a knee and gently touched the charred remains of his old friend. Jeffery popped his head up through the trapdoor. “I found the logbook,” he said, handing it to his senior officer. “Wow. The whole lantern assembly has gone up!” Old Lawrence opened the logbook to its last entry. Boat secured to pier. Beacon room window broken in storm. Lantern destroyed. “Well. That about covers it, Amos,” he thought.


Her bladder nearly let go with the boom and searing flash of light. Another peal of thunder came close on its heels rumbling and crackling across the sky, and then the torrential downpour kicked in. Tiffany was going to get wet one way or another.

Fortunately, the relentless lightning lit up a stone bridge thirty feet in front of her. She sprinted as best she could to the abutment leading down. Scrambling, she lost her footing and slid on her backside in the mud, hoping all the while to be able to stop before reaching the wettest thing of all, the river. She grabbed onto a passing branch threatening to spear her to pivot to a stop under the bridge. Hailstones peppering the water added to the banging and sizzling and rocks being moved around by the rushing stream. She listened, bent over, holding her sides and catching her breath. The house was not very far at all, but she needed to wait out Mother Nature’s snit. Tiffany dozed for a while, but then a movement caught her eye - a white something disappearing around the other side of the bridge. It wasn’t her dear sweet white terrier Oggie who refused to leave his nap. She hoped the something was too small to be dangerous but could not control her curiosity and found herself following it around the corner.

There Tiffany stepped into the dark and a much more vicious slide than last time but mercifully away from the river. This one had rocks and branches covered in a slick carpet of moss. She twisted and bounced, anticipating a broken arm or leg, or sprained wrist from the passing limbs and vines. Then she arrived with a thump, did a half cartwheel and stopped, her breath in little swirling clouds.

A voice from the cave or wherever she was said “I trust you have an invitation.” Tiffany rubbed her eyes to adjust to the dim light of one candle and found herself staring at an illustration from her book, complete with chequered waistcoat and folded umbrella. She blurted “If you are who I think you are, you’re a fictional character that does not exist in real life.” The white rabbit responded “Why do I have to be who you think I am? I could be anybody. You could try asking me a question to eliminate who I’m not… I’m not you, for instance.” “Of course you’re not me,” she responds “You’re a rabbit and I’m a girl. That’s not going to get us anywhere. If you are who I think you are, then… where is your watch?” “What watch?” “Your pocket watch?” “Oh that old thing. That was years ago. How do you know about that? Now I have this to keep the time,” and he removed a cell phone from his waistcoat pocket. “Look! This keeps perfect time! And the calendar reminds me of when I have to go.” Hardly had he finished speaking when a loud marimba tune rang out. “Oh dear, oh dear, it’s six o’clock!” The rabbit disappeared. Tiffany picked up the candle to illuminate a small door and followed the rabbit scurrying through the wood. Arriving, she found him seating himself at a table with a tablecloth, cups and saucers, a mouse that appeared to be asleep in a cup, a short odd-looking man wearing a top hat with a price tag in its hat band, and a hare with straw on its head. The hare jumped up, glaring at the rabbit and asked angrily “What’s this you’ve brought with you?” “Not what, who .” Tiffany responded huffily. “Why don’t you ask me who I am? I should know.” “Yes, you should know, but do you?” the hatted man responded. “That’s the real test.” “I didn’t come here for tests, I came to get out of the dreadful thunderstorm, and you’re not being very welcoming. My name is Tiffany, and if I remember correctly your names are White Rabbit, Dormouse, Mad Hatter and March Hare.” “See, you said if you remember correctly, which throws it all up in the air. In fact, you’re just about as wrong as anyone can be. In fact you are so wrong, you’re almost right!” “That does not make sense! Nothing makes sense here. You’re not real characters. You’re illustrations from a work of fiction!” “We should know what our names are just as much as you don’t,” the hatter snapped. “You’re very uneducated. It’s impolite. I go by IM, pronounced eye em for Irrational Milliner; this is the June Hare as time stands still for no-one not even you, and this, he poked the mouse who opened one sleepy eye, is Hazel.” The hatter stood. “It’s time to move around the table. Move!” “Mr. I.M.? I'm impolite? You haven’t asked me to sit down yet, let alone have tea.”

“Tea? Someone’s out of touch. Of course, you can help yourself to a latte and biscotti…” But before Tiffany could point out there wasn’t any such thing to be had on the table, another loud marimba tune rang out and the White Rabbit startled. “Come on! She’s going to be furious if the game’s already started!’ “Who’s she?” “The Blue Queen! Quick. Follow me!” Blue Queen? Curiouser and even more curious. No, that wasn’t quite right . Tiffany and the rabbit traversed alternating black and white squares with weeds growing between them to arrive at a pickleball court surrounded by courtiers standing to attention. A woman wearing a crown with a scepter and a bejeweled blue gown, appeared about to serve to soldiers dressed in full uniform wearing ceremonial hats with long tassels that obscured their eyes clanking around with swords at their sides and one hand tied beyond their backs. ”Ah, there you are!” the Blue Queen stopped and shouted out. “Come here at once!” The rabbit scurried. Tiffany followed at a walking place as a show of defiance.

Arriving on court Tiffany noted that the blue queen was identical to the red one except for her color; the massive head and bad mood dominating all around her. The queen handed her a rolled up hedgehog, its little black nose and dark eyes sticking out. “Your turn to serve for me!” Tiffany trembled. “But your majesty, I’ve never played. I don’t know the rules…” “Nonsense, girl. Just remember the flibberty gibbet bounces once in the kitchen, and don't thripe!” The White Rabbit frowned nervously and nodded to Tiffany to get on with it. Tiffany punted the hedgehog over the net as gently as she could. A silence suddenly reigned. “Off with her head!” screamed the Blue Queen. Just to be on the safe side, Tiffany decided to run.


Disclaimer: This story may be triggering to people who have body image issues. The concept of obesity was very different in South Asia, where I was born and raised. The number on the scale was proportional to the number in the bank account— wealth and happiness would reflect on your body. Hence, me being slightly on the heavy side was not a stigma or a thing to worry about. On the contrary, it made me proud of my beauty. Relatives would fawn over my curves when I visited, and I was satisfied knowing that my parents were not worried about my lifestyle. They had enough to worry about: my dad’s business falling apart, my sister’s marital problems, and me living away from them. Without the ease of communication that exists today-I had to wait for months to receive my father’s hand-written letter and vice versa- they were bound to worry for me. At least my weight reassured them that I was happy in the foreign land. I hadn’t linked weight and fitness in my mind. To be honest, I just never gave it much thought. I was a mother, wife, daughter and sister- and each of those connections kept me busy each day. My weight, and its possible effect on my health, never crossed my mind. All this changed on the day of the incident. It was the year 1998. Back in the day, during my vacation, I would visit my parents and family in India. This was the highlight of the year; I would carry exotic treats like almonds, dates, figs and gifts for my relatives. It was the unsaid rule that any time you visit family, you need to take gifts for them. Thus, when I visited my family in the countryside, all the children would swarm the car when I went, knowing that I brought gifts for them from abroad. It was also established that summer equals weddings. Every time I visited India, I would be invited to all the weddings in my family, and sometimes I would attend up to four in a week. During that visit to India, I had gone to meet my sister who was living in Chennai, which was slowly evolving into a busy metropolitan city. The new concept of nuclear family was creeping into the city, which accelerated the apartment living. My sister had moved into a five-floor building and her apartment had all the comforts of a modern home but in “petite” size. The elevator in her building was considered a luxury in India. Though the amenities were not novel for me, I appreciated that my family too could enjoy them as I had been during my stay abroad. My sister came to the airport to pick me up, and during the entire car ride to her home, she updated me on all the events that I had missed over the year. My heart felt happy and my soul felt refreshed. I was ecstatic to be back in her presence. The sibling I didn’t appreciate growing up with, due to the close gap in our age, became one of my closest confidantes. The long distance between made us cherish the precious moments together as we navigated the challenges of adulthood. As we approached her apartment building, I was eager to freshen up- the excitement to arrive started wearing off and the exhaustion began settling in. While waiting for the escalator to arrive at the ground floor, my mind was processing the information I knew on these types of escalators. They were referred to as birdcage elevators since it resembled a bird cage- one was able to look out of the elevator car to the surroundings. This was different from the modern elevators with solid doors that I was used to in my building. The novelty of this elevator, and the loud noises it made as it came down, ignited a spark of trepidation but I couldn’t do or say anything. This was the usual route of transport to my sister’s apartment, and I was not ready to climb the stairs. Besides, how would I be perceived if I, the one who lived abroad and rode elevators daily, claimed to be afraid of this contraption? I got into the birdcage elevator, and rolled my bag into the gap. Since there wasn’t space left for my sister, she asked me to wait in front of her apartment, and told me that she would take the elevator when it went back down. I couldn’t show my hesitation so I just smiled and said “ok”. Before I knew it, I was closing the safety scissor gate and pressing the button for floor 5. I immediately reassured myself that this was a safe machine. I watched as the scene changed from the ground floor, to cement, to apartment 102’s entrance, to cement, to apartment 202’s entrance and so on. I turned to check if I had my passport in my bag when suddenly I heard a loud “THUD”, felt a strong jerk and the elevator stopped midway between floor 3 and 4. My heart stopped. I was in panic. I jingled the inner door of the elevator and it started to open. Then, it struck me-even if I get the inner door open, there wasn’t a way for me to leave. I couldn't climb up to floor 4 and wouldn’t fit in the space below to floor 3. I could feel the disbelief and desperation setting in. How do I get myself out of this situation? I quickly pressed the alarm and let out a scream for help. I don’t remember what I said, but it definitely sounded desperate. I kept shouting until I could hear a reply. My sister and a few tenants heard my shout and came rushing with the watchman (security guard was called this) to see the commotion. They were shocked to see me yelling for help in an elevator that was dangling halfway between floors. The security guard tried to bring the elevator down to the third floor but he couldn’t move it any further. So he opened the outer door manually, and placed a high ladder at the edge of the elevator. A ladder that I had to climb down. I could feel tears of humiliation gather at my eyes as I watched the many curious people gather to watch the dramatic scene. My struggle to climb down the ladder seemed amplified to myself and soon became an embarrassing tale that changed my life. It opened my eyes to the realities that life can throw on us at any moment. That was the first time I realized the value of being fit and healthy to overcome difficult situations such as these in life. I was thankful that it was not a more serious one. Neither fitness instructors nor Google existed at the time. I navigated my fitness journey by reading lots of magazines and through lots of trials and error. Two years after that incident, when a similar incident happened, I was able to laugh it off and was able to navigate it smoothly due to my better fitness. The number on the scale became a good indicator of my success- the kind I am proud of.


MY PAL DANNY We were born within days of each other. My Birthday, was June 16, 1941; his, was July 7, 1941. I was just three weeks older than Danny, but he was a big baby, and I was a runt. We lived in houses that were practically back-to-back, just an alley apart. It was obvious we were destined to be fast friends. Our neighborhood in the 1940s was a haven for kids like us. Highland Park in Louisville, Kentucky was a special place to grow up. It was once a city, with a history dating back to the late 19 th century, then it was later annexed by Louisville. Those early years in Highland Park were the beginning of the railroads across this great country, and the Louisville and Nashville railroad, the “L&N,” was born in the late 1890s. With it, came Highland Park; it was just one mile from the L&N trainyard, and the little neighborhood grew as L&N grew. It was full of kids, as young men brought their wives and families to the neighborhood and got a job on the railroad. Danny’s father was a railroad man, as was mine. I dare say, most men on our street worked there, doing one job or another on the line, and in fact, practically the whole neighborhood was railroad men and their families. It was something all of us kids had in common, and we imagined someday we would be railroading as well. Danny and I went to the same schools. Throughout our time in elementary school, we walked to and from it, together. In later years we rode the city bus, going downtown to both our junior high and high schools. We saved seats for each other on the city buses. One of us would sometimes run late getting to the bus stop, but either of us would plead with the driver to “wait just a minute, please,” as we knew our pal would get to the bus stop any second.

In the summer, when we were young, we camped out in Danny’s backyard, only because he was the one who owned a pup tent. We also talked our mothers into allowing us to catch the city bus and go downtown to the movies, to the Rodeo theater, where the doors had guns for handles, and the features were always cowboy movies. That was something every boy loved back then. Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger and Tonto, Red Ryder, Tom Mix, etc., etc. Later, as we grew older, we rode bikes all over the city; we especially liked riding about five miles to Iroquois Hill, which was one of several Olmstead-designed parks; this one overlooked the city of Louisville. The city was much smaller back then, but it was a beautiful sight from atop that hill. We struggled as we pumped our bikes to the top, round, and round, up and up, until we reached the “tip-top,” right to the first lookout where we could see the entire city below. It would take us over twenty minutes to get to the top, but wow, when we arrived, it was so worth it. We never stayed long, because we loved coasting down that hill, faster and faster. My speedometer read 25, 30, and 35 mph, which felt like 100 mph, as the breeze hit us in the face on the way down. I still remember the fun of coasting down and praying a little prayer as I went. Danny turned into a big kid, and he played football in high school, while I played in the high school band. Still, we were buds, and I remember using my Cornet to save him a seat on the bus. That was before he began to drive his father’s old car, and I drove an old one as well, supplied by my sister and brother-in-law. My dad never owned a car; he would just walk to work or catch the Toonerville Trolley to the railyard. Dan and I would meet at the “Ranch House” for a burger, me in my old '40 Ford and he in his '49 Chevy. All the kids would drive around and around that place until a parking spot opened. We'd jump in one car or another and order food, so we could harass the girls in shorts, bringing our food. We loved embarrassing them. Something happened after high school, and Danny and I lost track of each other. I got a job and started classes at night at the University, and he started his own business. While I was busy working on an accounting degree, he was already growing his own business. We both married, way too young, and we both divorced as well. I had two kids, and he was kind of an uncle to them when they were small. I’d see him in the park every now and then, but we quit spending time together. We had gone in separate directions. Life takes us in different directions, not always to our liking. It was years later when I started thinking I needed to see Danny. I needed to relive those good times, just sit down with him and reminisce, but try as I might, I could not find him anywhere. Then one day, about five years ago, I saw a "sir name" spelled like his. Could this person be related? Yes, he was, it was Danny’s stepson. It turned out Danny and his wife, Debbie, had moved to Florida, where they spent over twenty years. Long since retired, ironically, they were returning to Louisville in a few short days, moving back home. I’m older now, and I don’t mind telling another man I love him. Life is too damned short, and to let an old friend know you love them is a blessing. It feels even better when they say it to you. Here we were, two old dudes with our beautiful wives, and a chance to remember old times and make a few new ones, and we did. We lost Danny only a few weeks ago. His infirmities caught up with him, just like they will for all of us. I feel blessed to have had him near me these last few years, but today, I miss him terribly. Tears come as I write this, but I don’t mind. I’m hoping I can find him once again,

… someday.


“I am Cap’n Cutlass of the ship Golden Plunderer, an’ I’m in the mood for mischief.” The ale house fell suddenly silent at the large, bearded pirate blocking the only exit from the building. “I have conquered the seven seas, outfought the English Navy, and outrun the fastest of Spanish galleons. Who here can challenge my prowess of the sea?” Drinking, eating, cavorting suddenly ground to a nervous halt. Cutlass was notoriously unpredictable. Rumoured to have once cut a man’s ear off for not listening to what he had to say, added to the pirate Captain’s cruel reputation. “ If he could cut the ear off a man, what else is he capable of doing? ” Clandestine conversations would play out in quiet murmurs behind closed doors. The consensus was that if you ever found yourself trapped in the company of Captain Cutlass, you’d better have a good story to earn your release. Unsheathing his swashbuckling sword from his side, the irritated pirate waved it in circular motions above his head. “I say it again, I am Captain Cutlass of the ship The Golden Plunderer…” Just then, a voice from the back of the room mockingly shouted out, “That be better known as The Golden Blunderer , I’d say,” the male voice taunted. “Search for gold, but find only wasted time,” the gibe added. Without any noticeable command, a parting wave of the ale house’s clientele created a clear path directly from Cutlass to a heavily bearded and long-haired man of advanced years, sitting at a booth in one corner of the room - vociferously masticating on a meaty leg of some misfortunate cooked beast, and slurping down a flagon of ale from a pewter-coloured tankard. Immediately, the two wiry-looking bookends standing next to Cutlass made a straight line to intercept the insulting drunkard. Ignoring the two henchmen, the man casually continued his meal, unaware of the approaching Captain Cutlass. “Who be you, then?” Cutlass menacingly enquired. “I be no-one,” was the dismissive reply. “Then who be your ship?” The drunkard responded with, “The Harpoon.” A few gasps of incredulity filled the surrounding air, as Cutlass’s cynical laugh pre-empted his real thoughts. “The Harpoon, ye say. How be you here - when the Harpoon lies at the bottom of Skeleton Island?” Glugging down a wash of ale, the drunkard retorted, “I’m a good swimmer.” A few moments elapsed before Cutlass burst into a roaring laugh. “Harghh! Ye be funnier than an English Navy officer pissin’ his britches while walking the plank.” Nodding his head in agreement, the drunkard added, “Not all of it sank.” “Say you,” Cutlass suspiciously noted. “Aye, say me.” “Pray tell how a ship that sinks, does not sink.” Whatever shock and awe Cutlass had created upon his entrance to the ale house, was quickly replaced with a highly inquisitive, almost nosey air of intrigue among its customers and staff. “As the crow flies, so does its nest,” the cryptic answer intrigued Cutlass. “Say you a riddle?” Cutlass confusedly thought out loud. “Nay, you inexperienced scallywag,” the drunkard insulted. “High above the swabbed deck on the main mast was where I clinged desperately onto – after the Leviathan took out our lower decks, while everyone slept.” “Leviathan, you say… Why such a monstrous name, you old salt?” “As God is my witness, this abomination of nature had two heads .” Another round of gasps filled the captive audience of enthralled malingerers wanting to hear more, as they slowly crowded around the booth. “Ere, What was a whaler ship doing in these waters, far away from its hunting grounds?” Cutlass doubted the incongruity of the drunkard’s story to the point of impulsive irritation. He felt there was only one way to get some form of definitive answers from the obtuse man, so he decided to invoke an uncommon old pirate decree. “Under God’s witness and those of you within range,” he began. “I call on the pirate’s creed of seek and thee shall find . This scurvy riddler has a tale to tell and I swear that if he does not abide by our pirate law, then I will run him through with my dagger, mount him on an open spit-roast and cook him alive.” The rule of truth-be-told being cited in public, raised a few eyebrows among the crowd. A rarity, it created a murmur of questionable integrity within the room. However, the pursuit of bounty in the waters surrounding the pirate enclave of Nassau, made obscure demands, a necessity of wayward seafarers sailing on the wrong side of maritime law. “If any one of you grog-snarfing swines try and leave afore I be told what needs to be told, come the morn, you’ll find yerselves kissing crabs at the bottom O’ the bay.” Turning to the drunkard, Cutlass reiterated his question. “I ask you again on the threat of grievous harm, what was a whaler ship doing so far away from its hunting grounds?” Mulling over the consequences of not answering, the drunkard thought long and hard before capitulating. “We were chasing the infamous gold of Davy Jones,” he continued - much to the chagrin of Captain Cutlass. Like a weaving raconteur, the drunkard beckoned everyone closer. “Gather closely, my friends, for this is no imaginary fable of sea monsters. This is a first-hand account from the man that survived its angry jaws… You see, this whale had been talked of far and wide in the northern hemisphere. Of how it migrated south and west on its journey to its breeding grounds. Along the way, Davy Jones’s ship, The Flying Dutchman, encountered the abhorrent beast and took a fancy to capturing it for posterity’s sake. But being equipped neither with harpoon, nor sufficient means to catch it, all Davy’s makeshift spikes did, was enrage the beast beyond reason, and it angrily turned the ship over, sending Davy and all that sailed under him, to a watery grave. In its duplicitous anger, it swallowed whole; several chests of great fortune plundered from the Spanish. It was said that salvage crews looking for the booty never found it and thought it lost forever. However, a merchant ship later spotted the whale, and its crew relayed later, that when it spouted water from its blow hole, the ship was showered in doubloons and pieces of eight. From there on, the legend was born, and any whaling ship not dutifully engaged in hunting, headed south in search of the treasure held within the belly of that two-headed giant.” Slamming the flat side of his sword onto the wooden table, Captain Cutlass had heard enough. “Belay that yarn, you blabber-mouthed seadog. Why, I’ll run you through just to shut you up from spouting your elongated lies. How did your whaling ship get destroyed by something it was built to kill?” Undeterred by the captain’s threat, the drunkard continued his story. “It was on my watch,” the drunkard explained. “Whilst my attention was on the crashing surf beyond anchorage, below the water line, he exacted his premeditated revenge on the ship that stuck him so penetratingly deep. You see, we all thought he was lost to us, but undetected to anyone aboard, he remained unknowingly tethered to us, and had continued to craftily swim directly below us. It was as if he knew that we would not realise he was there. Then, after we anchored for the night, just beyond the mouth to the island, he exacted his revenge upon us all, dragging us onto the jagged rocks, where all but one soul on board… me … perished beyond resuscitation. The break-up of the ship freed him to swim away, but mortally wounded, he finally succumbed to his injuries, and washed ashore in one of the watery caves of the island.” “If what you say is true,” Cutlass’s unconvinced tone asked. “How can ye prove it?” Without hesitation, the drunkard pulled a leather pouch from inside his coat and plonked it onto the table. To everyone’s amazement, several gold doubloons fell out beside the bag’s draw-stringed opening. “Marooned, I was, on that island for three long years. I had swum to shore the morning after the sinking and made my way up the cliffs to seek out help. But the island was uninhabited. Fortunately, there was plenty of water, fruit, fish, and firewood to be had, so I survived on my wits alone. After nearly ten months unchallenged by adventure, curiosity took me back down the cliffs toward the caves. Over several months, I had observed a high level of shark activity and knew they had found the whale’s carcass. When the sharks no longer mingled, I took it upon myself to answer the legend’s question. To shorten this story, what you see on the table before ye, is a small sample of what I found.” “Where be the rest?” Cutlass menacingly demanded to know. “Hidden, still in the cave where I found it. But if you insist on pointing that cold, sharp steel at me then heed my words and listen closely, for I alone know the way to the treasure.” Running out of tolerable patience, Cutlass slammed his fist hard onto the table. “You will tell all, you long-in-the-tooth Picaroon. Seek and ye shall find has been invoked.” Disturbed by the captain’s threat, the drunkard answered in the only way old seafarers could. In dramatic rhyme. “Hear ye, hear ye, ahoy, I say! For I tell this only once to be remembered and recalled once over to not be forgot. This be the law of the pirate creed.” With all ears straining to hear his words, the drunkard began his soliloquy.

“ I shall tell ye a tale Of the two-headed whale That swallowed a treasure of note It died on a tide Trapped perilously inside Of a cave where it started to bloat Its carcass ripped bare By sharks with no care All that remains are its bones And inside that tall frame I discovered a chest, with a name That said property of old Davy Jones Though tall and farfetched This tale is not stretched For there’s only one man that knows where Treasure abounds below stone icicle surrounds On an island one hundred yards square Neither North nor due South This chest of great douth Will blow the great wind that you need Head not East but sail West Navigate at your best You fowl stench of inbred dickweeds For at precisely ten bells When you hear the death knell Of Skeleton Island cry out Hug the shore of the sound Go straight - not around Not once, but twice come about When the mouth is agape Reel in your main cape Drop anchor then cast off your oars Look not up but see down When the tide starts to frown Then row as the false tide withdraws But beware the sixth wave That deceives the fooled knave It will pull you so hard till you burst For your lungs cannot keep Enough air for that deep Ne’er you fatally succumb to its curse A point on my map Shows the cave’s narrow gap Get through it and tales will be told Of the pirate that sought And back he did brought The legend of Davy Jones gold Should you fair live and well defeat the cave’s spell and come upon what you so seek Beware the sharp bite Of a low stalagtite So bring lanterns that light for a week Only one soul before Can say that he saw The contents that locker contains And to stay undisturbed Its location unheard He buried it wrapped up in ship’s chains A crow that flies not and a sail full of rot marks X as the place of the chest dig there under foot for the gold Spanish loot lies under the washed-up bird’s nest Naysayers will mock That there is no such rock Nor an island that shelters such riches but the wind that blows west I wholeheartedly confess Will grant your desires and blind wishes .”

The total absence of movement or chatter among the room’s inhabitants, demonstrated the intensity of the drunkard’s words, leaving everyone but the pirate captain in a daydream of finding treasure. Cutlass, had absorbed every word and confirmed this by asking one straightforward, single question. “Where be your map?” Emptying the remaining contents of the pouch onto the table, the drunkard slowly removed the leather stitching that held the purse together. Flattening it out on the sticky table, he faced the inside of the pouch up for everyone to see. Captain Cutlass’s eyes lit up when he realised that on the inside of the pouch was a detailed sketch of a map depicting the location on Skeleton Island, where the cave system was that held the buried treasure. “Do you believe me, now?” The drunkard arrogantly demanded. Plucking the map from the table, Cutlass examined it closely. Realising the weight of the convincing evidence presented to him, his temperament grew slightly darker. “What be, if I just take this from you and still mount your head on a spike?” “Please take it,” the drunkard surprisingly replied. “I have all I need from that cursed box. My life was a living hell of loneliness on that island, so I never want to return there. If you want to risk your men, your ship, and yourself, then go now, before the ship that rescued me, realises the source of the payment I gave them for bringing me here. All I ask is that you leave me unharmed to finish my meal and let me enjoy a quiet life amongst my new friends.” Still not completely convinced, Cutlass had one final question. “What if you have emptied the chest and there’s nothing there when we find it?” “I am bound to your pirate oath,” replied the drunkard. “I cannot tell a lie. The treasure lives still, in those caves.” Pondering the drunkard’s words, Captain Cutlass hesitated for a moment, before ordering all of his crew to action. “Will, Tim, Bosun, we set sail immediately. Thar be doubloons to find. Onwards to The Plunderer, we go.” An additional ten or so pirates jumped up from their concealed seated positions to join the exiting crew, while Cutlass lingered an extra few moments. “If what you say be true, old man. Your freedom is hereby granted. But be ye warned. If that chest has been plundered, you best be nowhere near these waters when I return.” “Aye, Captain,” the drunkard acknowledged. “Go claim your golden future.” Sheathing his sword, Captain Cutlass turned, then hurried from the ale house. From his seated position, the drunkard watched through the open door, as Cutlass hurried to catch up with his crew, tightly holding his sword from swinging wildly in its harness with one hand and pinning his hat tightly to his head with the other hand. His sheer excitement was evident as he picked up his pace, heading toward the distant mainsail being hoisted slowly up its mast. With the remaining revellers in the ale house transfixed by the scene playing out down the sandy path, small conversations broke out discussing the situation, and what they would spend Spanish gold on, if they found it. However, all conversation came to an abrupt halt at the slamming of the ale house door, diverting everyone’s attention to the new figure standing large and proud, hands on hips, yelling like a pirate. “Aargh!” Shouted the imitating drunkard. “I am Captain Swordface of the pirate ship The Blunderer !” He mockingly yelled to a chorus of boos and cheers. “I have sailed seventeen seas, out-hid the Spanish, and fled from the English Navy.” A more vociferous outburst of laughter responded to the drunkard’s ridiculing declaration. “I accidently cut the ears from a deaf man, plucked an eye from a blind man, cut out the tongue of a mute, and won a sword fight against a peg-legged, hooked-hand, eye-patched, midget.” “Aargh,” returned the male and female voices of the room. “I invoked a pirate’s creed of truth-be-told , that I made up myself to sound like a real pirate.” Fits of laughter filled the room, as he continued his parody. “An, I am off to claim the lost treasure of Davy Jones, using a map that an old seadog gave me, drawn up by his nine-year-old granddaughter at play.” “Aargh, Aargh,” shouted the room to the accompaniment of derisive howls. “What happens when he realises it’s all just a tall tale, Cap’n?” A young ship’s hand asked. “Well, I reckon, The Blunderer , will have joined ol’ Davy himself by then. There’s no way through that gap without hitting jagged rock.” “Was there really a two-headed whale, Cap’n?” The same young sailor innocently asked. It was apparent that he was not the only one needing to know, as the room fell completely silent. Filling his tankard, the drunkard downed its contents, spilling some of it through his thick, long beard. Using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the residue foam from his lips, he commanded the full attention of the room. “If there be a two-headed whale anywhere, then all I can say is… the one who saw it was just drunk out of his mind from spending his gold on ale!” A cacophony of cheers, whoops, whistles, and laughter flew out of the ale house and travelled at the speed of sound down the path, overtaking the delirious pirates - now onboard their ship. Captain Cutlass stood authoritatively on the Quarterdeck issuing instructions and commands, as the anchor was hoisted. Hearing the noise emanating from the ale house, he turned to his men, and shouted as loud as he could, “Ye see there, men? That’s what a little pirate persuasion can do to any fearful man of Captain Cutlass. The relief of those lives I spared in that ale house is so strong, they’re giving us an early sailor’s soft farewell. Yeo, Heave Ho, lads! For we are bound for Davy Jones’s locker…!


”Shhh”, she said. Cousin’s hands went where they weren’t supposed to. I know it’s wrong but I can’t seem to open my mouth. I can not move. Suddenly, I am imagining myself elsewhere. Anywhere else. It‘s nap time and we all are supposed to be asleep. The favorite Auntie watching us closed the door and turned out the lights. Shhhh. All the kids shared the same bed for nap time. I tried to position myself away from her hands, away from her breath. The five of us laid out like sardines and she always, always seemed to wind up near me, grasping at my pants, moving my underwear aside. For a long time, it felt like my fault. Surely I must have done something to make her think I wanted this. I was certain that Favorite Auntie would come in. I was hoping that she would come back in. I closed my eyes and prayed for her to hear something or feel something and come rushing back in. Months and months and months went by and still we all napped together. Summer came. I remember there was one hot, hot day. Perhaps it was the heat and she was checking to make sure the fan was on but, for some reason, Favorite Auntie comes in. Like Jesus. She looked toward the bed and saw that I was not asleep but everybody else was. She motioned for me to come out quietly. I follow her out into the after noon sun of the living room and watched “stories” until the others woke up. She soon realized that I never slept at naptime. So, she would put us all in the bed together, cover us all up, turn out the lights and go out of the room. Within 10 minutes, she would be back to come and get me. Still, lots can happen in 10 minutes. And it did Even our playtimes in the daytimes turned peculiar. I did not want to play any game with Cousin; not dolls, not cooking, not catch or racing or jump rope. Whether we were at our house or her house or anywhere else, I could not forget her fingers at nap time. My mom and the Aunties wondered what had happened. She and I used to be so close, they remarked. “Why are the girls fighting?” I remember being at her house one day and she asked if I wanted to go to her room and play. She stepped into my space. “Let’s go upstairs to my room”. I said, “No”. She reached out to touch me and I slapped her face. Hard. She cried and I apologized. I asked her not to say anything and that I’m so, so sorry. I. Apologized. To HER. Another time, she was at our house. We were upstairs playing in our bedroom and she wanted to play doctor. Ohhhh, noooo. I know I didn’t want to play this with her and I didn’t want my younger sisters to play either. I ended up screaming for my mom who came running in and broke up the game. There was one time when Cousin was discovered with her hands on me. Down there. I just knew that things would change. It was explained away by her mother, ”Kids will be kids! They‘re curious!” and the whole event forgotten - but not forgotten. This went on for years. In little kid time, it felt like forever. As we grew older and grew out of naps, I spent less and less time with Cousin. I went away to college. She moved to another coast. Her mother would always say to me, “Your cousin asked about you! Y’all used to be like sisters! Why don’t you call her?” Shhhhhhhhhh. I never called her. Ever. Even when her mother rang her up while visiting us, I found a way to be NOT there when they talked. I still have a visceral reaction to her name. I still hate her and I don’t hate anybody. If she were in front of me today, I would try to rip her throat out and take from her the decades of peace she stole from me. We both have children now. I worry about hers. I think about the kids her children bring home. I wonder if she puts them down to nap. About eight years ago, I was at my mother’s house with my sisters and she mentioned Cousin. I said I never want to talk to her again and commenced to, haltingly, give an account of what happened at Auntie’s house. I’m not sure why I chose that moment but, once I started I couldn’t stop. I was shocked and mortified: both my sisters had experienced the molestation as well. My heart broke. I had retained a morsel of pride in the fact that it hadn’t happened to my sisters. But, it had and I found out that it was possible to feel even worse. And my mother. (((Sigh))). My mother was so angry and so hurt that we hadn’t told her. We were so little. We didn’t have the words for what Cousin was doing. We KNEW it was wrong but this was so far outside our realm of language and understanding that it sat there festering in all of us. I know, now that I am a mother, the wounds our children receive are ours, too. I saw the pain this caused my mother and I wanted to take it all back, to unsay it. Her hurt was tripled since it happened to all three of us. I was in therapy for years, uncovering, healing and allowing the child in me to have a voice. Still, I haven’t taken a nap since I was 6 years old. I‘m telling you now because I want you to know why I don’t sleep well. It’s not you. I’m telling you because I desperately want to trust you enough to close my eyes and know that you will protect me and not hurt me. This is my secret. Will you hold it for me? Shhhhh. Don’t tell.


Write about a character stumbling upon a library book that changes the course of their life, for better or worse. Submitted by Peter Wallace – peterwallace@litewire.net

Must            Musty. That’s what the smell was. Musty. What was must? Was it like moist dust? No matter. He’d look it up later on his phone. His phone. The indispensable tool for everyone under a hundred years old, and yet, here he was, in the ancient town library with the lions in front, doing research for a social studies report for Miss Darlington.            Darlington was the youngest old person he’d ever encountered. She was a pretty new teacher, which was interesting, because she was both pretty and new. A guy could see how somebody could fall for her.  Somebody older than high school. She was weird, though. She reminded me of the schoolmarms from old movies, except she dressed normally, and she didn’t hit our hands with a ruler. However, speaking of rulers, she did have a lot of rules. For example, she insisted on having us students… we students… no, I was right the first time… us students, be very respectful to her and to each other. No talking was allowed unless she called on you. That class had some real loud-mouths, so I didn’t think she could quiet them down, but somehow, she got everyone to act decent without yelling. I think it was because she talked so quietly sometimes that you had to shut up in order to hear her.            She also had odd ideas about tests. They were all short-answer tests, and not multiple guess, like most normal teachers used. You really had to know something to pass. Some of us actually got together and studied things together.

She was also very picky about spelling and such. She knew almost everybody used a computer to write our papers, and that there was no excuse for a misspelled word. She had a good point. She didn’t grade down for punctuation that wasn’t right, but she’d make you re-write whatever it was the right way. I think she was more interested on us learning it than catching us making mistakes.            Some of our younger teachers seem like they want to be friends, or something. I can tell you that students can sense weakness, and we know which teachers will let us get away with things. Miss Darlington didn’t seem to care if we liked her or not, but the funny thing is that we did like her. I guess part of it was that she treated us with respect too, even the kids who probably didn’t deserve it.            Anyway, this assignment was to research a topic at the library – not the school library, but the old one in town. Maybe she wanted to make sure we knew where it was, or that they had a lot of books and magazines. We couldn’t use our phones or Google or anything. It was like we were back in the 1980s, or sometime back then.

           I’m really interested in computers and robots and things, so I was looking through the books about artificial intelligence in a room upstairs. There was this cool ladder on rollers to get to the higher shelves. I climbed up, and as I pulled out a book from the shelf, I saw a thin book that looked like it had slipped behind the other books. It took me a minute, but I got it out. It was a hard cover book, but with very few pages. It was very dusty. I blew on it. More must. The title was “What You Can Give the World.” It was clearly not about artificial intelligence.  There was something about it that made me want to find out what was inside.            I opened the book to the Table of Contents. There were only a few chapters. Here were the chapter titles: 1. Why You Should Give to The World, 2. Honesty, 3. Fairness, 4. Kindness, and 5. Gratitude. I decided to walk over to a study carrel to see what it was all about.            I was able to read the whole book in about an hour, and I’m not a really fast reader. It was pretty interesting, and if you asked me to tell you what it’s about here’s pretty much what I would tell you: You can’t control other people, but you can control yourself and how you treat people. Also, what each of us gives to the world is important. It doesn’t feel that way in high school, but I guess it’s true. Honesty isn’t easy, or even natural, but it’s also important, and if we’re honest with people they will trust us. Fairness, according to the author, can’t be expected. The world isn’t fair, but we are obligated to be fair. In a way that didn’t make sense, but in a way it did. Kindness isn’t hard to do, if we think about it, and we just have to be looking for opportunities to be kind. Like the author said, one person’s kindness can make another person’s world a better place.

The last thing was about gratitude, and how having it – appreciating all the good things we have – helps us keep our perspective on the world. It’s really easy not to do that when you’re 17. The funny thing is, nobody’s name was listed as being the author. And, there was no publication date or publishing company. But it had been there a long time. The pages were all kind of yellowish and musty. Not only that, but it had that paper sticker inside the front cover, like they used before bar codes, that showed when it had been checked out. The last time was in 1953. That’s the year my dad was born! So, instead of artificial intelligence, I wrote my report about the book; how I found it, and what was in it. I have to tell you, that book has really made me think about me… I? No, me… and how I fit into the world.

Most kids in high school aren’t very kind or honest. You can’t deny it. We complain about things not being fair, and we’re not often very thankful about what we have. But you know, I think I can get better about all those things, and maybe I can help make some people’s world better, in a small way.  Like, maybe Miss Darlington. That would be cool.


Little Bobby walks into the library looking for a book on animals! Little Bobby loved to draw animals and he would put funny faces on them. Little Bobby could not find any animals book to look at, he said to himself they must be all checked out and what can I do? Little Bobby saw Mrs. Nancy the librarian and he goes up to her and asks Mrs. Nancy can you help me, and she replies yes little Bobby what can I help you with? Little Bobby says I'm looking for a book on animals so I can draw them! Nancy the librarian said no problem and goes to the computer and looks up all the animal books! Mrs. Nancy the librarian says oh dear little Bobby they are all signed out, but we will find you something! Little Bobby ask Mrs. Nancy, how will we find anything if they are all signed out? Mrs. Nancy replies, well little Bobby the big question is what kind of animals do you want to draw? Little Bobby says dogs and cats, I want to draw them with great big hats. Mrs. Nancy the librarian said well there are many ways to find a book that has those animals in it! Little Bobby said what do you mean I went to the letter A in the animal aisle. Mrs. Nancy said to little Bobby, well we could look in the fiction aisles. Have you ever heard the story of how the great Labrador named Zeke saved the family? Little Bobby said no, I have never heard of it, but I would like to. But how will that help me with my pictures? Mrs. Nancy the librarian says well they have pictures of him in the book! Little Bobby said that's great if the book is here? So, Mrs. Nancy goes back to her computer to see if it has been checked out. Mrs. Nancy comes back to little Bobby and said great news the book is here. Little Bobby said that's great, but I also need a book on cats! Mrs. Nancy the librarian said we can check in the nonfiction isles for a cat book and little Bobby was like what do you mean? Mrs. Nancy the librarian said have you ever heard of the mighty cat named super tom? Little Bobby said no I have never heard of that book what is that one about? The librarian said it’s about a strong cat that would help others move and lift heavy things. Mrs. Nancy said let’s go and find the book. Little Bobby said, Great and they went off to the fiction aisle first and looked all over the place. Little Bobby said, are you sure its here and the librarian said I am sure, it must have been moved. Finally, they found the book. It was two shelves away from where it was supposed to be. Little Bobby was so excited and asked can I see it please? Mrs. Nancy the librarian said, sure and Little Bobby opens it and sees this magnificent dog. I can wait to draw him he says. Mrs. Nancy asked Little Bobby what kind of hat are you going to put on him? Little Bobby said I am not sure, what kind do you think do you think Mrs. Nancy? So, the librarian said to Little Bobby if you would read the book maybe you will get a better understanding of what Zeke is and maybe find the perfect hat. Little Bobby said, “That sounds like a great idea, but can we go and find the other book I believe you called it Super Tom” he said. Mrs. Nancy, the librarian said of course to Little Bobby. Little Bobby said it’s in the nonfiction aisle, right he asked? Ms. Nancy said yes, we will head over to it. So, they get to the aisle and sure enough they find the book and it was right where it was supposed to be. Little Bobby opens it up and said Oh my look at Super Tom and all muscles and look strong. Mrs. Nancy the librarian said, He is strong but make sure you read it so you can figure out what kind of hat he should wear. Little Bobby said your right, and heads over to his table and opens the book about the great Labrador named Zeke. Zeke was the towns favorite dog; everyone knew wo Zeke was even all the kids. Zeke would sleigh ride with the kids in the wintertime and in the summer, he would play baseball. Zeke would not hit the ball, but he would always play the field. Zeke was very fast and could catch the ball like a professional baseball player could. So, one day it got really hot our and no one was outplaying, everyone was soaking up the air conditioner. So, Zeke was looking out of his window when he noticed smoke coming from the house across the street and knew he had to do something. So, Zeke ran over to the house and went to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. So, he ran around to all the windows he could reach and put his paws on them and tried to push them up. He finally got to the last window, and it opened, and he jumps inside Lilly’s room, and she was taking a nap. Zeke goes and wakes up Lilly and Lilly said, oh my I smell smoke! Lilly and Zeke run to Billy’s room where was playing a video game with is headphones on and his door was shut. Lilly and Zeke grab Billy and Billy asked what was going on, and Lilly said the house is on fire. So they all ran out of Billy’s room, Zeke barks and them goes to get the parents from the other room because Zeke has a plan so Lilly and Little Billy run to get their parents and Zeke jumps out of the window and goes to the outside faucet and turns it on and grabs the hose and jumps back through Lilly’s room and into the kitchen where the oven was left on and Zeke turned the hose on and put out the fire. At this time Lilly, Billy and their parents come in the kitchen and the fire department show up to see Zeke with the hose in his mouth spraying out the fire. They where all amazed by what Zeke did and they made him a member of the fire department. Little Bobby was excited, he knew what he was going to draw now, it was Zeke with a big old fire department hat. Not only because Zeke was a member, but Zeke saved the family. He was a hero in the town’s eyes. So, Mrs. Nancy the librarian asked Little Bobby what did you think of the book? Little Bobby replied it was a great book and thank you for your help. Now, I am getting ready to read about Super Tom. Mrs. Nancy says, Great and let me know what you think about Super Tom and Little Bobby said I will. So Little Bobby opens the book about Super Tom the Cat. Super Tom the cat was so strong he would always help everyone. If you needed something heavy moved or lifted everyone would call on Super Tom. Super Tom always had someone to help, just the other day a ball rolled under the car that one of the kids kicked and Super Tom saw it and went over and picked up the car with one hand an grabbed the ball with the other hand and set the car back don and gave the kids his ball back. The kid was grateful and said thank you to Suer Tom. All the kids wanted to be like Super Tom to but one day a construction company came in to take down a huge building. The building was so huge that if anything went wrong it would take out half the buildings in town. The construction workers started preparing to take down the building when an unexpected storm came up, the winds were very high, and the huge building started leaning towards the other smaller buildings. Super Tom sees the building that started falling the wrong way, Super Tom runs to the building and takes his claws and digs as fast as anyone ever and Super Tom gets under the huge building and before you know it Super Tom lifts the building and moves it from the town safely where it could be knocked down. Everyone as grateful for this cat names Super Tom that they have a parade very year for him because he saved the town from being destroyed. Little Bobby really liked the story, he said and sat there and decided t draw Super Tom that Cat a hat that looked like a trophy hat with him holding the building and it turned out great! So Little Bobby got both of his drawings together and walks over to Mrs. Nancy the librarian and says to her, Mrs. Nancy these pictures are for you. Not only you’re a great librarian, but your so smart and your taught me to read something to find out the whole story. Before I would just draw to draw with no meaning now. I understand and just wanted to thank the worlds greatest librarian. Sincerely Little Bobby.


He sat on the pearlescent ground below him, one knee propped while his arm rested atop. He was contemplating - glaring through his furrowed brow at the two paths that lied ahead of him. For which each path had its balance of consequences that were unbeknownst to man. The scowl plaguing over the dark-haired heir's marble face was rightfully placed, he hadn't known why or how he had ended up in this predicament.

'Two doors,'

he thought to himself, " What are the consequences that will greet me...'  His black eyes closed swiftly, exhaling before standing to his feet. The man bit at the inside of his cheek nervously walking to the black door that rested to the left.

Vasilis's mouth became dry as he gulped down nervously extending his long and shaking fingers outward to grab the silver doorknob.

He exhaled loudly pushing the door open with unease.

To what lay behind the door was nothing he had expected, it was even a comforting sight... for his home- no, his kingdom of Atlantis laid within the threshold of the ominous doorway. A smile was strewed across his cocky and confident face as he stepped foot through the unknown entity. Vasilis entered into his homeland- he had been spit out within the gardens that had been designed and constructed by his great grandfather father to honor the alliance between man and god.

Stories had said the structure was built to be a beacon meant to connect the two lands... the Human realm, and Olympus itself.

I walked throughout the giant crystal forged dome, small rainbows raining down over the mass vegetation that thrived within. the centerpiece to the botanical haven had been a golden orb that rested in the hands of a marble sculpted statue of Zeus.

I took a deep breath in, breathing in the warm greenhouse air, a mixture of a sweet and soothing aroma entered through my nose.

"I made the correct choice," He stated outward as he smiled at the sky, Vasilis's broad shoulders relaxing from their previous tense state, "Nothing feels different..." His smile quickly transformed into a glare. No matter the choice he made, there had to be a form of deleterious effects.

There had been only one mortal he had worried for; A man who went by the name Philios. He ruled over the Greek Isles and had been Vasilis's first love interest.

"If there will be adverse effects, they will surely come for the one who is closest to me..." I spoke aloud trying to rid my mind of the awful thoughts.

"Vasilis." A woman's voice had cast over his body, causing him to jumped from the unexpected presence.

"I am faster than the others..." She sat on the concrete bench that sat fixed to a small koi pond.

"Who," He shook his head quickly, "Goddess Demeter..." The young prince was scared to look the Greek Goddess in her face, "I wanted to see you before the men got to you." She spoke with a smooth voice, her eyes never leaving him.

 Vasilis mustered the courage to look at her, his dark eyes widened in shock as the image he was met with was a beautiful woman. "You," his eyes fluttered open and closed as he tried to get a clearer look, her doe eyes were large, and blue, her skin an olive complexion, while her long flowing hair shinned a much brighter golden colour. His weary eyes traced aside from her, "Very few beings look away from the sight of me. You are one of the first I've encountered." Her voice spoke as if it were honey being poured into warm tea.

"Your son was made in your image..." He gulped loudly, as he muttered the phrase aloud.

"Yes, and for that reason, Philios is my most beautiful creation. Due to your poor choice, I had to be a witness of his demise..." Her sweet voice changed over into a calloused and rough tone.

"Perhaps you should look to your brother Posideon for true blame." Vasilis finally gained the courage to glare upwards at the woman.

"Oh, my brother has yet to receive his punishment, which entails yours as well." She snuffed me. "You must know- today will be your last day on this Earthly realm." She glared down at me.

"Why..." the prince spit out while standing to his feet from the warm ground. The man stood a foot over the Goddess his brow furrowing again, "What did you do to him?" He had almost growled aloud as Vasilis's body began to shake from the fear of his choice. Perhaps he

had

walked through the wrong door, made the wrong choice...

 "Prince Vasilis, you and your lover will be reunited in death." Her once deep blue eyes began to change into black, the crystal dome above us cracked down the middle. The change in pressure began directly atop of the two. the Goddesses' long fingers grabbed his face nails digging into his prominent jawline. Her face moved closer to the man.

Demeter's skin was hot, the heat bellowing off her marble completion could be felt from a foot away.

Fear had coursed throughout the body of Vasilis, rendering his limbs useless, but he wouldn't allow himself to crack, not now with all the questions that remained... ' Move your arm... move your damn arm...'  Vasilis screamed at himself internally, ' I will not die here.. .' He slowly lifted his left arm from his side, clinging his fingers tightly to the Goddesses bare neck. Vasilis's teeth ground together in fear as he looked over the woman with wide eyes. He didn't want to miss a moment as he watched the being's face turn red as the oxygen was deprived of her lungs. Her hand still affixed to the prince's face. The dome ahead cracked once again as energy increased above the two, "I'll make sure you suffer for what you have done to the one I loved..." I yelled out, Demeter's hands grabbed the muscular forearm trying to break the grip. Vasilis's right hand met violently with her neck as he squeezed her soft neck. A loud crack pulsed from within the women's body as her spine snapped. The dark-haired man laughed helplessly aloud as he watched the once goddess of Harvest thud to the ground. The sky above cracked loudly with anger.

He stood frozen in place once again as tears streamed down his cheeks, the heavy rain poured from the dark sky above leaking down into the garden. The marble statue behind Vasilis cracked loudly, the golden orb that once rested in the

Vasilis's body was weak as he fell to his knees, a man towered over him as an unknown voice spoke deeply over me, "You really shouldn't have killed her." the light-skinned man shook his head looking to the dead Goddess than to Vasilis, "Your city will now crumble, nothing will be left after we're done. This is the penalty for your wrong choices." He glared through me, his broad arms shot out, Vasilis had come from royalty, but had only ever heard stories of the mighty Zeus- the stories were true as he witnessed the Gods eye flush to white. ' What extreme pressure he carries with him...'

Vasilis examined his broad chest, white beard, tied up hair, and white cloak wrapped around the Gods body. His eyes widened in utter terror as screams from outside the crystal dome shouted around them, "I allowed both Posiden and Prmotheus too much freedom..." Zeus's muscles flexed before me as the ground shook, Vasilis's eyes were wide as his beautiful city began to crack and pop with fire. The high rises that towered over the sea had begun to collapse, and crash into the vast ocean around them.

"Stop!" The prince screamed out, this couldn't be real life, all the hard work he and his ancestors had completed, would be reduced to nothing. "If you had chosen the door to the right, I would have spared you, and your metropolis..." the voice boomed as if it were thunder over the naive man. The God looked behind the heir extending his hand out, the golden orb that had rolled onto the concrete began to bubble and change form completely. It was as if the orb had some kind of magnetic properties to it as it flew to theGods hand, it slowly changed from a ball to a long staff.

Vasilis closed his eyes tightly as the ground rumbled and quaked below him. Zeus stood directly over the dark-haired heir, "You will be no more." His staff struck Vasilis across the neck, blood squirting out as the ruler fell to the ground aside from the Goddess who was once known as Demeter. Posiden closed his eyes as he breathed outward loudly.

"Forgive me, Demeter." The man's arms lifted the woman from the blood-covered ground.