All she had told me was that she needed a date for a wedding. I probably should have asked more questions, but it sounded simple enough. The circumstances were a bit odd from the beginning, but that just added a sense of adventure to it. I found her on Grindr. I sent a message, asking what she was doing there, and did she know it was an app for gay men looking to hook up. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, I just really need a date to a WeDDiNG, but not like a real date, and I don’t trust the men on the other apps not to get fresh with me, so I just thought I would give this a try, I’m so sorry if I was misleading or anything, I just need a PLaToNiC date, I’ll even pay you, it’s a really important wedding and all my friends are out of town, please help, but I understand if you’re out of town or something, it’s this coming wednesday ;(” “Yeah, I’ll do it,” I wrote back. “Sounds fun!” “OMGEEEZ THANK YOU SO MUCH, I LOVE YOU, MEET ME HERE ON WEDNESDAY AT 7AM,” and she provided an address in all caps. “I’ll be there!” Wait. Seven in the fucking morning?? Was that normal? I’ll be honest, I’ve never actually been to a wedding before. I had a small circle of friends. There was one couple who had been together forever, but didn’t care about the ceremony. And the rest were like me, dating occasionally, but hadn’t had any major commitments. I knew married people, but they were more friends of friends, and I was always just on the outskirts of getting that invite. Which suited me fine! Weddings didn’t sound that exciting to me, I’m too broke to worry about buying gifts, and now there was this new wrinkle that you apparently had to be ready for them at 7am? I’ve been dodging bullets, but now it was time to bite one. I had committed to a stranger to be their plus one. On Tuesday evening, I showered and shaved, and picked out my nicest outfit. I took an Ambien at 10pm and set the alarm for 6am, giving me plenty of time to snooze. I rolled out of bed the next morning at 6:35, had some coffee, put on the clothes I had laid out, ate a quick bowl of cereal, and drove to the apartment complex I was supposed to meet her at. I was there right at 7. She buzzed me in, and I walked up three flights of stairs to her apartment. She stood waiting in the doorway. “Hi,” I said. “Catherine?” “Hi, oh my geez, you look AMAZING. Sorry, no, Catherine is a made up name I used for the apps. My real name is Kate.” “Uh… ok. Thanks. I’m Austin.” “Oscar? Oh, hahaha, so you used a fake name too! Well, it’s nice to meet you, Oscar.” “No, I didn’t. It’s Austin , like it was on the app.” “Oscar, yeah. I got it.” She rolled her eyes at me. This happened a lot. Often enough that I’ve wondered if I somehow say my own name wrong. It’s usually easiest to just go with it. “Right, sure. That’s my name.” “DON’T BE NERVOUS!” she shouted, and then threw her head back in screeching laughter. “Come on, come on, get in here before they get out.” I entered the apartment, and she shut the door behind me. It was a studio apartment, and it was almost completely empty. There was a mattress over a box spring on the floor and a chest of drawers at the foot with a TV on top. Against another wall was a miniature facsimile of a wedding altar that looked like it had been built by a five year old. Nearby were two bowls on the floor. “I’ll go grab the bride and groom,” she said. “They’re hiding in the closet.” She pulled open the closet door, which had been slightly ajar already, and on the inside of the door was a poster of a tree branch that said “Hang In There” at the top, but there was no kitten hanging off the branch. Where the hell was the kitten? Did it fall? Was this poster trying to say “hang in there… or else”? Why did this exist? Kate walked out holding a cat in each arm. “Oscar, I want you to meet Ted and Joanna. They’re in love and they’re getting married today.” “I’m sorry, this is the wedding I’m here for? Two cats?” “Yeah, of course.” Both cats started squirming and wiggling around, so she put them down. They trotted over to me, and I bent over, outstretching my hand for them to sniff at and size me up. I sat on the floor to let them keep smelling me, and she sat on her mattress. “It’s just, this is not really what I was expecting,” I said. “What do you mean?” “I mean, I guess I assumed it would be like a, a people wedding.” “Oscar! WHAT. Oh my geez, that’s HILARIOUS. You’re so retarded! No, I told you all my friends are out of town. This is a family affair. Ugh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be confusing! It’s just, you didn’t ask any questions, so I figured you wouldn’t care, and I hope I haven’t ruined anything. Is it ruined? Are you gonna leave? Please stay, this is really, really important to me. I know we don’t know each other very well, but it’s really a big day for Ted and Joanna and I couldn’t stand it if you left, and it’s really not my fault because I didn’t know you were so retarded…” and suddenly she was sobbing. “Oh, no, please don’t cry. And please, uh, maybe don’t use that word anymore… Um, I can stay, Kate. It’s not a problem. I’m gonna stay.” She looked up at me with her big teary eyes. “You’re not upset?” “I’m definitely surprised, but truthfully, I’m also relieved. I love cats. People… not as much. Um, why don’t you tell me about them? How did you choose those names?” “They’re named after Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs. Kramer . It’s my favorite movie.” “You’re marrying cats who you named after characters in the most famous divorce movie of all time?” “Uh-huh. That one’s Ted.” Ted was crawling onto my lap and looking up at me. I stroked his head, and he leaned into it, enjoying the affection. He was fluffy and white, very cute. “So that’s Joanna.” Joanna was a mischievous-looking tuxedo cat, mostly black with a strip of white from her chin down across her belly. Also quite beautiful. She was perched on her front paws, with her hind legs straight, her eyes looking absolutely wild. She was hunting something. She wagged her butt a couple times, then took off running toward nothing in particular, screeched to a stop, leaped in the air, and scurried back into the closet. “Joanna’s a nut,” Kate told me. “She’s gorgeous,” I said. “They’re both beautiful.” “Thanks. I know it’s confusing that the bride looks like she’s in a tuxedo, and the groom is all white. It’s a bit of a gender reversal, I hope that doesn’t gross you out. There’s nothing I can really do about it.” “Of course not. Why would that gross me out? If anything, it’s charming. Very modern.” She looked at me with a hint of disgust. “Agree to disagree. But like I said, there’s nothing I can do about it.” I was getting a little nervous about Kate’s politics. Why was she concerned with gender as it related to cat fur? How would that translate to how she viewed people? She did find me on Grindr, so she had to be open to a degree of queerness. At least I think so. “Can I use your restroom?” I needed to get away for a minute, and also really did have to pee. She nodded. “If you’re taking a shit, there’s no toilet paper. And the door doesn’t close all the way. And try to be quick, I want to get started.” I stood up off the floor, and went in to her bathroom. The door closed, but the knob wouldn’t latch no matter how hard I pulled. I took my pants down and sat on the toilet to pee. Right away, I heard paws scraping on the door. Ted had stood on his back legs with his front paws on the door, and leaning forward with his full weight, the door flew open and slammed against the wall. He looked left, then right, inspecting the room. Then turned around and walked right out. I heard Kate do her screeching laugh again. I was able to reach the door to swing it back shut. I hurriedly finished, washed my hands, and walked out. I had completely forgotten to take a moment to think about my situation, and whether it was actually a good idea to stay. She seemed harmless enough, so I made a quick decision in the spirit of adventure. Let’s see this through. Kate ran to me, and grabbed my hands in her own. “Oscar, I want you to know I’m so glad you’re here. This is a really special day for me, and it means a lot that you took a chance on a stranger, and are willing to spend today, and the next few days for the honeymoon, here with me, celebrating this beautiful union of two sweet souls. I’m sorry I called you that word earlier. I’m not very good at socializing. Remember when I said my friends were out of town? That was a lie. The truth is, I don’t actually have any friends. They all died under mysterious circumstances. You’re all I have left, Oscar. You and the cats.” “Back up a moment. A few days for the honeymoon?” “Maybe more. Maybe forever. Oh my geez. Look, I know things are moving fast. But do you think you could move in with me? You don’t have to pay rent. I have a TV and a VCR and those drawers are full of tapes. This wedding will only take a minute. They’re just cats, they don’t really care about getting married. I lied before about them being in love. They don’t even like each other that much. Realistically, the honeymoon will be three days tops. Then we can start our life together. Will you marry me? It will be platonic, like I said. That part was true. I understand you’ll never be interested in me sexually. I don’t even like sex. It grosses me out. I’ll never pressure you, I swear. Oscar, will you marry me? Do you want to share this life and this apartment with me and Joanna and Ted?” “Kate, I…” Joanna had come back into the room. She sauntered over and rubbed her body against my leg. “Kate. I do.”


It was a bright and extremely hot Monday morning. Shielding his eyes from the unrelenting sunlight accompanied by heat threatening to burn the hair on his head, he soldiered on towards the towering building looming ahead. The pavements seemed to be absorbing all the heat as they enveloped him in an embrace that felt like he was bathing in a volcano. Once again his poor planning had got the best of him and he was penniless forcing him to walk all the way to his destination. “Damn! I hope my armpits don’t just pour open, “ he thought to himself taking a quick sniff in his armpit. What had seemed like a short stroll that would not make him break a sweat turned out to be a lot further than anticipated. He stared at the tail lights of a beautiful, brand new Mercedes-Benz that whizzed past him even before he could turn his head fully to admire it’s beauty. It was at that moment that he realized to his dismay that he had made his seemingly accurate calculated guess concerning distance while he was sitting in the back of a taxi moving at full speed. Nonetheless, he marched on with a confident gaiety stride that reflected none of his personal woes or internal turmoil.

Donovan cursed silently under his breath as he stumbled over a stone that left a visible mark on his not so well polished shoe. Stooping to fix the dent on his attempt to look immaculate, he instantly felt light headed and two stepped off the road desperately trying to fight the feeling that held him in a hostile grip threatening to drag him into the underworld. Donovan allowed himself a little smile. Nothing was going to deter him from making it to the interview for a job he so desperately needed despite the activities of the previous night. He smiled fondly at the memory of consciously making a bad decision to have subsequent shots of Tequila and Jaeger in an utterly pointless competition with a stranger who turned into a best friend the very night they bumped into each other. The stranger had turned out to be the son to a prominent politician in the country. What was important about that was his struggle to shine under his father’s shadow. A struggle Donovan knew all too well and could easily relate to. It was refreshing to know he wasn’t alone in the fight for independence and individual identity. In his defence how was he supposed to know that he would be called for a job interview so soon. The economy was so screwed up it took months to get any feedback. Life outside his comfort zone had been full of unexpected and consistent struggles. “How come there’s nothing free?” He often wondered to himself. “You literally have to buy everything from the food you eat, transportation all the way down to the line you hang your clothes on,” Donovan complained to himself. One of the many lessons he was learning the hard way ever since he made the headstrong decision to become independent was how tough life actually was. However, this was a welcome challenge to the determined young man who took it all in as a life lesson. Being the last born in a highly authoritative family was way more of a strain than a few bills which could be handled with a proper plan and budget. Donovan was tired of being controlled by principles and philosophies that were clearly not doing the family any good. The level of dependency was too high and no-one was allowed to nurture their personal ambitions. It was a one size fits all situation. All were expected to go to school, get good grades become a Doctor an Engineer or a Lawyer. Not that there was anything wrong with that, the issue was the compatibility of the plan and the intended audience. Donovan had an uncle who was nothing short of phenomenal at playing soccer. The crowd in his community was always more interested in watching him play than the rest of the team who were reduced to a supporting act. It was a small price to pay because you were guaranteed victory. Uncle Vincent literally needed an exorcism from the spirit of soccer that possessed him. He adapted to all roles on the pitch with ease and unrivalled sportsmanship.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Vincent's skill was looked down on and any scholarship offers to groom him into a full-time professional were instantly rejected by his parents on the basis of the offers not proving to be able to stand the test of time. Simply because his path was unique it was discarded. Uncle Vincent over time succumbed to depression, he picked up nasty petty thief habits that often made Donovan’s mother who happened to be his sister burst into tears.

Donovan was young but vividly remembered all the grief she suffered silently on her own.” I will never drink alcohol in my life or smoke anything,” he would often vehemently say to himself and declare to others. During his High school he was an active member of church and spent most of his time doing Christian activities. All in an effort to be different and make his mother proud.

That was not the case now. He often joked about how he ended up being worse than all the people he endeavoured to surpass on a moral scale. In spite of it all he had decided he would keep his new found bad habits but with restraint. Combined with his decision to study a course outside the family expectations and his new found love for bad vices Donovan had become quite unpopular among his relatives. It left him vulnerable and further exacerbated his situation.

Nonetheless, the sun shines on us all. The gods were not impartial to Donovan, he managed to graduate with a distinction much to everyone's surprise. He even got a job shortly after. Life was suddenly going great for the black sheep of the family and he soon became quite popular among peers and family members alike. This was the impetus that gave him the courage to move out of an all expense paid shared apartment with his cousins. A move which was shockingly received with heavy criticism, no one ever dared to venture out on their own. Nothing could stop the momentum of this new found man he was growing into. He loved the freedom that independence came with in his own little apartment.

Even The process of finding the house was fun. Donovan and his workmates took a drive around town with an agent they had found on social media. They settled for a secure apartment exactly the right size for him. The yard had a series of identical apartments all painted blue. They had neat little flowers growing at the porch. The lawns were quite small but well maintained with a perfect carpet of grass. It gave off the vibe that it was a secure and decent place to live and raise children. Donovan despised the fact that he would have to squat in a bath tub but that was a small price to pay. There was barely any space between the toilet and bath tub however it was only his problem alone and no one else. The kitchen wasn’t perfect. It was small and had wooden beams and boards that looked better suited for a thatched house in a rural area. The sink pipes needed some work done because a few drops of water escaped and seemed likely to make a small puddle if left unattended to. On the bright side the rest of the house was perfect. White tiles adorned the moderately sized living room floor and bedroom as if it were reflecting the smiles of angels gazing upon it. He took in the sight with a huge grin knowing that the short falls would be a bargaining chip to reduce the price of rentals.

Life had become difficult upon the loss of his previous job a month ago and it was necessary to take every opportunity as if it were the last. As he approached the company building, the air even felt cleaner Donovan was already happy to have such an opportunity. As he approached the large gate, his eyes marvelled at the large writings. “éxito- Definite Success” was written in bold blue letters over a red brick Wall. As if those words were placed there just for him his faith only grew stronger. Donovan proceeded to open the wide glass door that was architecturally placed right below the company’s name. A beautiful lady in a pink satin dress sat right in front of him. Her eyes appeared to have been cleaned by silk pearls. The white glistened from her Cornea as if life itself worshipped her existence. “Why now?” he thought. If God was tempting him he would be glad to fail as if he hadn’t had enough distractions throughout his journey. She smiled a smile enthralling he was taken aback. The lovely red ribbon that formed her lips revealed a dazzling set of teeth.“ Good morning. You must be Donovan. Please take a seat.” She motioned with her hand in a graceful movement directing him towards a sofa fit for top executives. “Mr. Carlos and his panel will see you in a moment.” Her voice was so angelic. “Was she singing or speaking?” he asked himself as he walked towards his seat still bewildered by the lady who seemed to be in her mid twenties.

Barely 10 minutes had passed before he was ushered into a conference room. The dark hard wood floor echoed his steps as he proceeded to a chair that had been placed at the far end of a large rose wood table fit for Kings to dine on. Donovan sat down and raised his eyes to finally see the panel set before him. “Good morning. Welcome to éxito. We are glad to have you.” The first speaker demanded respect and from his tone and demeanour it was evident that this was Mr. Carlos, the man he was meant to impress before the rest of the panel. The questions immediately began to pour out and Donovan ensured that he was calm before each response to ensure that he always appeared confident. As he responded to all the questions he thought deeply of what he would expect to hear on the other side as an interviewer. The team appeared pleased but there was one lady. She barely smiled and she had a follow up question for each of his responses. However, Donovan felt that as long as Mr. Carlos liked him, he had achieved his goal. The rest was in God's hands.


The wealthy bachelor Simon Belvoir had arrived at the country house during the night. This far north it was only fifty-five degrees in August, and the place was so new there wasn’t a single amenity that had ever been used. New and cold. When he came out of his stateroom in the morning he was wearing a wool vest with four gold buttons over his dress shirt.               Passing by the room next to his in the upper hall, the door was open and an odd-looking, bald older man was on his hands and knees examining the floorboards. The room looked like it had been thrown together yesterday.               “Lost something old boy?” Simon asked him, and the bald man looked up with a start banging his head on the corner of a table as he rose.               Simon rushed to assist him, helping the man to his feet as he looked momentarily bewildered and put a hand to his head to check for blood.               “So sorry.” the younger man towered over him. “I’m Simon Belvoir.”               “Detective Stephen J Gibler, of the agency Sneed & Gibler.” the bald man returned his handshake. “No I was just curious about the construction of this house. Did you know your vest has four decorative buttons like a blazer? It’s essentially a double-breasted vest.”               Simon smirked. “A detective? Good lord was anyone murdered?”               “The police don’t think so.” Gibler answered. “This house belonged to a congressman who disappeared while flying over the Himalayas, along with his entire family.”               “So that’s the story.” Simon replied intently. “I was just curious to know if you arrived here before me. I was told I’m their very first guest, considering my family.”               “Ah I understand. Well Sir I arrived yesterday but since I’m here in a professional capacity I think it doesn’t count.”               Simon graciously let him pass in front of him as he stepped out of the room and took the stairs down to the dining area.               “So is it business that brings you here?” Detective Gibler inquired.               “I suppose you’re someone who can be trusted with secrets.” Simon replied as the man continued to check his head for damage. “For two years my family has encouraged me to marry a certain young Parisian lady of good standing, and her family has pressured her into it as well. It’s been a very long two years, I haven’t actually seen her in four months. I’m bored with the time-garnished customs my position requires me to honor.”               “Aha, I take it you are quite a catch.” Gibler used the handrail as they made their way down the steps. “I sense you and I are from very different worlds.”               “Paris is a different world from the rest of France.” Simon shrugged. “A young woman of good family can be raised by her dowagers not to be a man’s wife but his mistress, a position that requires a proper education if you can believe that. It’s extraordinarily difficult for them, all these social rules to earn a place that has no legal standing? My heart goes out to them.”               “So you’re here to meet up with a young lady.” Gibler didn’t know what else to say. “Well they say love conquers all.”               “Yes and hopefully we can subvert the system we are living in.” Simon stated as they reached the ground floor. “Did you say the man who owned this house died in a plane crash?”               “That’s the theory but no wreckage has been found.” Gibler gave the official story.               “Understandable considering how long that usually takes. So what may I ask are you looking for?”               “Well Sir the congressman had political enemies.” Gibler sat down in an armchair. “His disappearance not only coincides with a voyage but with the building of this house, so I was called in.”               “So you’re saying… he may not have boarded the plane in the first place?” Simon asked curiously.               “I’m not drawing conclusions yet, Sir. May I ask why you don’t just cancel your marriage arrangements? It’s your choice after all.”               “Why would I do that to someone I care deeply about?” Simon was startled by this question as if he wasn’t about to sleep around. “Ah here she comes.”               A motor could be heard idling outside and then a plump, middle-aged woman came in the door.               “Aunt Maudry, what a pleasant surprise.” Simon’s gentility was unflappable.               “Not so pleasant for me .” she scolded him. “I have some strong words for you, young man. I know exactly what you are doing and I’m here to stop it.”               “Well I know you have Miss Gisette’s interests at heart so why don’t you sit down?” Gibler was amazed by his smoothness in these circumstances. Aunt Maudry took a large seat on the sofa across from him.               “My niece has been led to believe certain propositions that must be obeyed.” she got right down to it. “And yet here you are making sundry liaisons, risking to destroy everything we have built since she was fourteen with your gallivanting!”               Simon nodded with a sigh and replied “Madame I had no hostile intentions toward you and I’m sorry for my ingratitude.”               Gibler watched this in fascination wondering what would happen if his intended mistress arrived in the middle of this conversation.               “I assume you brought her with you…” Simon continued.               “Yes, Gigi come here please!” Aunt Maudry called out with the blare of a trombone.               The door opened and all three of them swiveled their heads to see a young girl of no more than sixteen come inside. She was wearing a dress that imitated the sailor’s uniform and had beautiful long dark braids and a surprisingly precocious look on her face, as if she was hiding a candied apple behind her back. Gibler had expected Simon’s fiancée to be something else entirely. Simon immediately rose to his great height in deference to her as one would stand before a queen. Gigi responded with a surprisingly small blush for someone with such control over him, and sat down obediently next to her aunt.               “Gisette this is Detective Gibler whose room is next to mine.” Simon introduced them.               “Oh a detective! Was there a murder?” she said wide-eyed as if it was a form of entertainment.               “Actually I’m retired.” Gibler replied. “But detectives do things besides solve murders.”               “Are you here looking for clues?” she asked next without skipping a beat.               “No, I don’t look for clues exactly.” he tried to explain. “Not in the way fictional detectives do. What I mean is, this house is brand new so a crime could have been committed while it was being built, and then rebuilt replacing the rooms as if it was all one construction. So in this case a forensic team is useless.”               “How many cases have you solved?” Gigi demanded next.               Gibler swallowed and leaned forward in his chair.               “Well, none.” he admitted sheepishly.               “You’ve never solved a case?” her disbelief was almost comical. “Well that’s because you don’t look for any clues!” “Monsieur your head is bleeding.” Aunt Maudry interrupted them. Gibler reached up and held a napkin to his scalp, thoroughly embarrassed. “If we could return to the subject at hand which is you trying to escape your marital duties.” Aunt Maudry locked eyes with Simon. “I’m not going to stand by while this poor girl is taken advantage of in this way. Don’t you ever think of her and your future together when you’re concocting these schemes?” “I’ll admit it was short-sighted of me, but in my defense there is a hind side to arranged marriages.” Simon responded. “They can be loveless, heartless, a cage for the woman involved in them.” “Are you saying you want to…” her voice grew hoarse, putting one hand on her chest and gripping Gigi’s with the other. “No of course not.” Simon rose halfway to reach out to her. “I think you know me better than that.” “I think this is all disgusting and I’m ashamed to find myself in the middle of it.” Aunt Maudry rolled her eyes. “You have to make a choice here.” She turned and looked at Gibler. “You’re an unintended witness to this, don’t you think he has to choose between them? A gentleman meeting in secret like this to have untoward relations with my Gigi!” Gigi covered her mouth and exchanged a comical eyeroll with Simon that said “get her out of here”. “Wait a minute.” Gibler leaned forward in confusion. “Gigi is the girl Simon is meeting here for an affair?”               They all stopped and looked at him.               “Well of course, she’s sitting RIGHT HERE you dolt!” Aunt Maudry stated the obvious.               “Then who is…” Gibler wondered if his blow to the head had dislodged his brain.               “As I was saying, these extra-marital shenanigans will lead nowhere.” she resumed. “I’m going to share her room and never leave her side. Oh I’m sure the two of you will find a way sooner or later, and this is what I get for grooming her to be a match for you all this time?!”               “What do you propose, Madam?” Simon responded.               “A man who is unfaithful owes some recompense to his wife, yes? Well I think if you make even a sideways glance at her you should have to pay a fine to your future bride.”               “You want me to pay her each time we elope?”               “NO, what do you think she is a prostitute?” Aunt Maudry flustered like a grouse. “Just when I thought this couldn’t sink any lower. You don’t pay the person you’re cheating with , you pay the person you’re cheating on ! I can’t believe I have to explain the social graces to someone in your position. When you operate outside the boundaries of what is appropriate you owe some kind of gratuity to your spouse to set her apart from the hussy who is sleeping with you for money!”               “Could I interrupt for just a moment?” Gibler had forgotten about the investigation completely. “Miss Gigi is his fiancée AND his mistress?”               “You’re not a very good detective.” Gigi muttered what everyone was thinking.               “So you want me to compensate the family for the risk of an uncertain future for her I’ve created for my satisfaction.” Simon deduced.               “Yes or we will have to sue.” Aunt Maudry crossed her arms.               Simon contemplated this strange turn of events, picturing Gigi on a witness stand testifying against herself.               “Well since you’ve come all this way why don’t we make the best of it?” he suggested. “It would be a shame for us to be sharing a hotel if two fiancées can’t see each other.”               “That’s exactly what I’m here to promote, I mean prevent.” she corrected herself. “I mean this is how you save a relationship, by keeping your hands to yourself!” -               That afternoon Detective Gibler took a visitor from the police department outside. Simon was the only person who noticed them, looking down from his upstairs window.               “I’m just saying the fact that the house was under construction when the family disappeared is a much bigger convenience than their taking a holiday.” Gibler was saying. “People go abroad all the time, but building a new home happens once in a lifetime.”               “You think their all getting into a plane is a coincidence?” the sergeant lowered his voice. “That plane hasn’t turned up you know. I don’t know why you were put on this case but this house is forensically clean. They checked every board going back to its maker, and you know there is no case without science.”               “I disagree.” Gibler gave a surprising rebuke. “I think we’ve reached an age where technology can erase a crime totally, and therefore forensic science is useless.”               “Then how can you hope to solve a case?” the sergeant returned to his vehicle.               “The house hasn’t been disassembled yet.” Gibler responded. “I’ll go to the housing authority!” Simon sympathized with him when he came back upstairs.               “Not easy pickings, old boy. But there’s something I don’t understand.” he said. “If you don’t believe in all this forensic nonsense why do you want the house torn down? What do you expect them to find?”               “I don’t.” Gibler answered with a wink. “I want people to think it’s going to be done.”               When the detective had returned to his room, Gigi peeked mischievously out of her door and saw Simon waiting for her. As she scampered over to him she caught her own reflection in the mirror and thought for a moment he was with another girl.               “Auntie’s taking a bath!” she whispered as if it was cause for celebration, letting him drop a kiss on her cheek. “So how do you ditch an old bag?”               “Shh. She wants what’s best for you.” he placed his index finger on her lips. “I have to think by keeping us apart she’s bringing us closer together.”               “And how are we supposed to manage that?” she demanded. “It would destroy us if you had relations with some girl I want to have with you myself if she were her, I mean if I were me. And you’re saying this hand that wants to stop her from kissing you is actually the way my lips are going to get past some uncaring bitch?”               “Well why don’t we try it?” Simon didn’t know what else to suggest.               Gigi raised her hand to stroke his face, his own hand holding it back as their bodies came together, her fingers sneaking through his until they were entwined. Then they sort of bent down together as he tried to lift her blouse on the right side and she swatted him away while her left arm crept up around his neck. Gibler watched this bizarre foreplay from the crack in his door.               The hall was empty when he left to make inquiries in town, not knowing where they could have gone since they could not be caught together anywhere by her aunt. In actuality when Aunt Maudry came out again she heard someone running down the stairs, but she and a breathless Gigi could see Simon was alone and they smiled at each other in relief. Gibler would be gone for hours, during which Simon wrote an amorous poem he intended to slip his fiancée at dinner…               “ Mon cheri , your honor is a fortress we have mortared together               and I am a knight willing to breach any wall that divides us               and slay any knave that does not keep his commitments               or harms another, lest I die. I would rather bring               a sword to my own throat than allow any man to look at you               or any fool to stop us. And in my sacrifice               we will defeat all rules against lovers.               Preserve this message and burn anything that says so               for untoward vows and delights are only waiting               for us to expose them, and them us.”               He folded and sealed it to give to her later. He was concerned that his friend Gibler was gone until well-after dark, but eventually the dim headlamps of his little car did appear in the drive. The detective stumbled out, a bandage covering his broken nose. Simon rushed to assist him.               “It’s fine.” Gibler reassured quietly. “He was a nobody, a young mugger hired as easily as breathing. He doesn’t know anything, there’s no point in retaliation.”               “But why?” Simon helped him to the door.               “I made it appear the house is going to be demolished for evidence.” Gibler answered. “I even waved a phony certificate under the department’s noses, and I was pushed in front of a bus on the same day. I knew I was on to something. That man and his family were slaughtered here.” -               Simon knew Gigi’s aunt had discovered the note because the next morning she had summoned a lawyer. They were all waiting for him in the sitting room at breakfast, the precocious Gigi trussed up in an outfit that bound her at the waist with an enormous bow. They made him sit down to sign a contract that there would be no more intimate forays, in exchange for which the family agreed to let them marry in April. Simon asked Mr. Gibler to be a witness, his nose held together with a plastic clip.               Simon bent down to read the lengthy provisions, which included awarding his fiancée with a holiday if they were found at the beach together, or a piece of jewelry of equal carat if he was seen purchasing tokens of affection. “Darling you’re signing the wrong name!” Gigi pointed out as his hand shook. Simon corrected himself. “Now that this unsavory business is behind us,” Aunt Maudry clutched the paper, “have you discussed a location for the wedding?” “Not here obviously.” “No that wouldn’t be appropriate.” Simon exchanged a glance with Gibler. “I understand this house is going to be torn down.” “Oh? What for?” she responded. “Detective Gibler has made some progress in his investigation…” Suddenly a car horn that was almost obnoxious in tone blared so close to the window where Gibler was sitting he jumped out of his chair. He excused himself and went outside to meet an evil-looking antique automobile as Simon watched him from behind the glass. Gibler’s senior partner Mr. Sneed was a large man of about sixty with a broad, russet-colored face. “What have you done to yourself?” he demanded in a cruel voice. “I think I’m getting somewhere…” Gibler started to say. “We are on vacation !” Sneed backhanded the side of his head so forcefully Simon was shocked by the brutality of it, knocking him down as he had done many times before. In this one moment Simon could see an abusive relationship, although why anyone their age would be so petty he couldn’t fathom. Gibler winced, holding a hand to his ear as he obediently got into the car and they motored away, leaving a cloud of dust over the house and everything in it.


March 12 I’ve decided to start keeping a journal. Why? Because my friend Matt keeps insisting that we’re witnessing a historical moment and how privileged we are to be doing so. I’m not really sure of the importance of it but ever since I was a little girl I’ve always wanted to keep one, so I thought, why not? I guess this is one of those: hit two birds with one stone, scenarios. My name is Anna, I’m 23 years old, I’m witnessing, supposedly, one of the most important events in the history of the world and I shall be your guide through it. Now, I’ve mentioned this event 3 times already, 4 times now. What is it and why it’s so important? It’s not, really, I just see it as a nuisance honestly, something that upsets Matt deeply, heh, which in turn amuses me immensely. Matt’s my friend and colleague. We work together for CSS, that’s Cyber Security Services, the biggest IT company in the world and we’re working on one of the most important projects in the world. What project? It’s top secret! March 13 Ok, now you know who I am and what I do, I guess I should speak a bit about what’s this world altering event I keep mentioning. Here I go: A couple of weeks ago people started to get sick in some 3rd world countries and several of them have died, well, when I say several, I mean several thousands. In any case, it spread pretty fast and now we’re in lockdown, like locked in our houses lockdown. They say it’s for our own protection, but reports on the wireless show the numbers rising every day so I’m not sure “protect” is the right word here. March 15 Yesterday I forgot to write, nothing interesting happened though. Nothing interesting ever happens anymore since we’re all locked in. Supposedly we’re allowed to go outside for two hours each day and we can either go shopping or walking, as long as we’re alone. We need to do everything alone these days, more or less. What’s the catch? We need to schedule every outing through an annoying government app. We need to give all sorts of details like where why, and most importantly, whatever we do we need to keep five feet apart from each other. All the time! Two hours sound like enough time right? Wrong! Everybody’s desperate to go outside, it’s like they’ve been locked inside forever. And since apparently no one has anything important to do, those two hours per person seldom happen, you either get a chance to walk around the block or the one next over. It’s not worth the effort to be honest. March 16 Guess what happened today? That’s right! Nothing! March 17 I am getting so bored! It’s been almost a week now since the lockdown started and I feel like crawling up the walls. Tomorrow I think I’ll treat myself to something special. March 18 I got a new blouse today. It’s pink. I love pink. They’ll deliver it tomorrow. March 19 One week today since the lockdown started, and all I’ve done so far was to witness the importance of getting bored over and over again in my own home. I hope my grandkids won’t find me in here. Wait, can I still get grandkids if I’m in here? March 26 I know, I know! You’ve missed me! Shucks! What happened? Well, I’ve decided to write only once a week since nothing ever happens anymore. So what happened in the last seven days? Nothing. I’ve worked and worked and then worked some more. Matt keeps saying that what we’re witnessing is very important but I still don’t see it. Anyway, it seems that the disease is still spreading and that more people are dying. Idiots, why can’t they just be careful?! April 2 They’ve reduced the time we’re allowed to go outside to 1 hour now, on the wireless they keep saying that more and more people are dying. Not that many, and not in our country anyway. Yeah! It’s sad. April 9 I’ve been spending more time on the wireless lately. Until recently most of the deaths occurred in poor countries but now it’s happening everywhere. The government is thinking of doing a complete lockdown to see if the situation improves. April 14 It’s happened. We’re not allowed to go out anymore!!! Words cannot describe the immensity of my idiocy. I should’ve gone out while I still had the chance and now I’m forced to stay indoors for lord knows how long. I am truly, truly, stupid!!! I really hope this will be over soon. April 20 I can’t believe how stupid I was! I’ve been stuck in this damn house for 2 months now and I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t wait for this damn disease to be over. I can’t believe people are still getting sick and dying. I mean, come on, how can you still get infected. Everybody is sitting in their damn house. Everything is so damn stupid and pointless. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting in this damn house for two months. May 10 They’re introducing rations now. Can you believe it? Rations! It seems that because of all the deaths there’s nobody to produce essentials anymore and we need to be careful or we’re all going to die. Great! That’s just great. Goodbye life! June 1 Matt’s been driving me crazy. He’s been raving about world wide conspiracies and the end of human civilization as we know it. All I know is that if this doesn’t end soon human civilization will lose my sanity. June 18 Matt’s gotten sick. I don’t really understand what happened, he’s been in lockdown just like me. One day he’s fine, he’s telling me how everything’s just a big conspiracy to lock us up and bla bla, get us all to stay inside and work and be good citizens and the next he’s off the grid. Apparently he got infected through the grocery deliveries or something. There have been more and more cases just like Matt’s and the government has started an investigation. June 25. One of the major food distributors in the country was found responsible for the recent outbreak. I guess Matt was right, we are at a pivotal time in history. I’m curious where it will take us. June 27 Matt is dead. July 17 I met someone today. He smiled at me. He has a really nice smile. I don’t think I’ve seen someone smile for a long time now. I hope it happens again. July 20 His name is Brett. Ever since the Food Court incident, the government has taken food deliveries into their own hands. They take extra precautions to make sure that everything is done by the book in regards to packaging and delivery. Brett’s one of thousands of government employees across the country risking their lives every day to take sure that we are fed and safe. He’s so brave! July 21 It seems that whatever the government’s been doing is working. The number of confirmed cases has been steadily decreasing and there are fewer deaths each day. They say that they’ve been working on a vaccine all this time and that it will soon be released. July 23 Brett brought me a flower today. I’m not sure what I should do with it. I forgot they even existed. July 24 I decided to press the flower in the journal for save keeping. This way I can enjoy it forever. July 27 Brett’s brought me an extra yogurt today, we’re only allowed three per delivery. I think I’ll wear the leather skirt next time he comes around. July 30 You should have seen the look on his face when I opened the door. His jaw just dropped! I was so nervous, the way he looked at me, I could see the fire in his eyes. Hmmmm, now that I think about it more, it was rather embarrassing. He was all clumsy and stiff. Idiot! August 2 I’m happy. For the first time since this damn thing started, I’m happy. I don’t wish for it to stop. October 5 Has it really been so long since I last wrote? Come to think of it, I haven’t really felt these past months go by. It’s been like a haze, a sort of bad dream. First, Brett stopped showing up. He was replaced by this old, ugly man. When I asked him about it he just looked at me and left. I haven’t spoken with Brett ever since, it’s like he simply vanished. I can’t understand what happened. Work has been slow, I have a new colleague, Donna. She’s nice! Quiet. I had to do her training, it helped me keep my mind of things. The situation is still bad around the world. Over one hundred million people have died because of the disease and there are wars raging in several countries. I guess I should count myself lucky. October 8 I’ve been thinking about my childhood a lot lately, about my parents. I miss them very much. We’ve started talking more, I think Mom’s gotten thinner and Dad’s hair is all white now. They look sad, worried. They say that they’re worried about me but I don’t know, I think they don’t know how to be happy anymore. October 20 Winter’s around the corner. I look outside the window and all I see is death. When I was little I used to love autumn. I don’t think I can do that anymore. There’s a tree in front of my apartment building, I think it’s called a buckthorn. For the past few weeks I’ve been looking at it, at the way the leaves turn from green to yellow, from yellow to pink, then red and by the time they’ve fallen they’re a sickly purple. Purple used to be my favorite color. I can’t stomach it anymore. November 3 The last leaf has fallen from the tree. I feel very, very sad. November 10 They’ve started construction of some sort of delivery system. It’s supposed to bring all your shopping directly to your door. Well, technically, past the door. It’s some sort of lift that goes on the outer wall of the building. I’m glad I won’t be seeing old and ugly anymore, he reminded me too much of Brett. December 15 Winter is horrible. It’s not even snowing. It’s just cold. Everything feels cold outside, cold and dead. February 1 We’re no longer getting groceries. The government is sending us already prepared meals. They say it’s safer this way, less chance of getting infected. Honestly it looks like crap and it tastes even worse. February 22 They’ve discovered a vaccine. The government is doing tests to see if it works, I don’t think I care anymore. Nothing really matters anymore. I’m glad I can still work. February 27 I threw away Brett’s flower today. I hated looking at it. March 12 Happy Birthday!!! We’ve been together for one year and I’ve been such a good girl that I even got a treat. What, you ask? I got two pieces of bacon at lunch instead of one and it was delicious. Someone, somewhere loves me. I wonder if I’ll get anything tomorrow?!


Marty dashed through the dusty room, his machine jogging on his back. He had gotten in through a window. The space was quite cramped, even for a storage area, with paint cans and tools piled everywhere, but to get where he wanted without being accosted it had seemed the best way. Even actors, begrimed with sweat and half-way through a performance, would instantly recognize a man not of the troop.

From directly overhead Marty could make out Old Marley’s chains dragging over the stage, bewailing his lot as he admonished his ex-partner, the cowering man presumably at stage right, to heed his ghostly admonition.

Through the layers of wood, plaster and deadening bric-a-brac, Marty could catch the occasional line, not too surprising from people whose life's work it was to project, to emote , and the words,

“Have sat beside you many and many a day,”

Came clear to his ear. The intervening clutter robbed the line of its higher notes, delivering Marley’s eerie statement in a Jovian boom which caused Marty almost as much pause as it had been supposed to do the stricken Scrooge. Moving into the workroom proper he cleared his throat and whipped a hand over his hair. This room was deserted also, as he had known, or rather hoped, that it would be. Half of an oversized peach house lay propped behind raw pine boards. The balloon face of Monty Python's god, jaw akimbo, hung from the rafters and a strong smell of resin pervaded the air; glue and paint and something which might have been raw clay. Marty did not know if the Shakes possessed its own kiln for firing biscuit pottery or not.

Through this room and across the hall, through another door and the sound of the performance overhead became a continuous, unearthly voiceover. He was beneath the thrust stage now and here... there were people. A slender man in striped pantaloons bounded in, the glow still on. He was snatching at his cravat as a girl, a drop dead gorgeous woman in flowing purple, twisted his collar.

“Mark’s given’ ‘em the business tonight,” enthused the man, the low, directional lights shining on his black skin. “Shut the fuck up, John,” snapped the woman, her strong fingers running the lines of his costume like a plow correcting errant furrows. “Easy on, Val,” admonished the lift operator. “I’m about to bring it down.”

He glanced automatically around, nudging an apple box further out of the taped zone, and spied Marty. “Oi, who the fuck are you?” he hissed, and the attention of all three was, for the moment, directed at him. “Press,” Marty whispered back, ratcheting the slide on his ancient camera. The two actors instantly averted their eyes, but there wasn’t time for anything else; the trap door had slid open and the lift was descending. A miniature bed sank into their midst. As rapidly as a pit crew, John and the man in black slid it to one side, into a space exactly the size. John flashed a silent eye at the other man as the trap slid closed over their heads and the operator stabbed his finger towards a Victorian style desk. Wordlessly, the two whisked it into the vacated place on the lift. “Val, did you hear?” hissed a girl, carefully swathed in beggar’s rags. She had whooshed in like a snow storm, the black makeup lines of her poverty ghoulishly terrifying in the intensely subdued light. “Come on Ava, you shouldn’t be down here now; yes, yes you were wonderful,” said Val, snatching up the wet eyed girl's gloved hand and propelling her from the room. “Break a leg,” hissed John, sotto voce. “You get the fuck outta’ here too,” the lift operator snarled at Marty. “Follow them if you wanna’, take yer pics, but stay the fuck outta their way! You shouldn’t be here at all, not now! God-damn ridiculous….” Maneuvering between the tightly placed set pieces, Marty ascended the narrow stairs and entered... into a madhouse. “Here, you; get out the way,” hissed a man in a black t-shirt and headset, grabbing Marty’s arm and literally throwing him across the back of the stage. Tripping over an outlandishly oversized white ghost he stumbled into a man swathed about in a maroon greatcoat, vents riffling the sides. “Gosh and begofrah mate,” chuckled the man, setting him upright then immediately pushing his head down as a, ‘Scrooge & Cratchit,’ sign whisked through the air. “Tim, leave that idiot alone,” breathed Val, rustling by, her sweaty body giving off a strong scent of soap and heavy fabric. “Scene change,” hissed a different t-shirted man, snapping his fingers. Tim pulled Marty out of the way as the man mashed a button and a massive lazy susan, fifteen feet across, twirled two walls of the set away from them. Around the black curtain at the side Marty glimpsed tiers of dimmed faces, stretching away into the dark. “Chorus; up! ” snapped a third t-shirted man, this one holding a clipboard. “Val, go ; Tim, left ; Lizzy, Jan, Lani, on the right , and-” Over Marty’s head a clear, beautiful voice began harking the herald angels. “And who the hell are you?” “Press,” said Marty, rather breathless, shrugging his camera back into view and ratcheting the slide one more time. “Press? Press! Get the fuck off my set m-” began the man, but he was interrupted as a tall, mustachioed fellow whisked past, rubbing grease paint from his face with one hand as he shifted aside the great chains and cashboxes with which he was begirt with the other. “Give us a hand,” he said quickly, turning inexplicably to Marty and bearing his encumbered chest. Marty, with no time to think- the chorus had swelled by an order of magnitude and the back of the stage was filled with sound- slung his mechanism around behind and began fumbling at the props. With a deft movement the man pulled a hidden pin and twirled away, leaving Marty holding not only the chains but the grave vestments as well. “Who the hell's this guy, Jacob?” the now unencumbered man demanded of a young fellow, struggling into knickerbockers. He kicked a box open and began rummaging through it. The child had no opinion and shrugged without turning up his head. “Who knows Mark; press?” spat the man with the clipboard. “Notoriety at last…” chortled a short black woman, sweeping in from the wings. She wore a dress so large that she had to hold it in on both sides to maneuver between the props and sets and rushing actors. “Roberta, my darling, you’ve always been notorious,” growled Mark, heaving free a pair of suspenders as Val charged down the stairs. Somehow she had switched outfits and now looked stunning in a pale yellow. “Out the way, out the way!” she hissed, and was gone below.

The trap door slid open and a boy the size of a pepperoni stick, who could only be Tiny Tim, insinuated himself between Marty’s legs. “Hot crowd tonight,” whispered John, spinning into the space from some hidden alcove and now looking at least as beggarly as the little girl below stairs had done, fingerless gloves, holes in his sleeves and shoes from another age. A snap, a hiss and the man pressed the button again. The floor rotated and another scene spun away from Marty. He remembered to pick up his machine and push the shutter button two or three times, backing as far into a corner as he could. “Past coming up... now,” said t-shirt number two. “You; zip,” snapped Roberta, thrusting her muscular back into Marty’s corner. He zipped and she was gone. The light around the curtain changed to purple and Marty heard the elevator hum. “Your reclamation, then. Take heed!” an invisible voice declaimed, a moment later. Marty scuttled and scooched, he clicked his camera and shifted props, was kicked up and down and swore at as scene followed scene. Costumes were snatched off- new ones just as rapidly thrown back on- carol succeeded carol, ghost replaced ghost and the lazy susan spun and spun and spun; props being unearthed and moved into location from the most unlikely places. The great white ghost, over which Marty had stumbled, was tipped upright and strapped to the man who, a dozen personas ago, had been wearing the much vented great coat. “Got this, Tim?” said Val, holding an outlandishly long arm as a by now familiar stagehand ratcheted the frame to the man’s person. “Just a walk-on,” replied the now invisibly shrouded actor. “Keep an eye on that break,” panted a sweating young man, his long glistening hair restrained in a band, now that his character of young Scrooge had passed middle age. “No worries, Carlos,” chuckled the invisible Tim, trying out the controlling rods which actuated his ghostly arms. “Five seconds,” hissed a man in black, and all three hustled Tim backwards to the center of the lazy susan, holding him silently until the button was pushed and he rotated away from them, the head of his apparition rising well above the set walls. A great gasp rose from the audience and Marty shared a quick grin with John, once more in the striped pantaloons, before the man dashed away, skipping nimbly over Ebeneezer's headstone, lying now to hand, ducking beneath an oversized, crystal topped staff and weaving around a robust man in purple toga who was fixedly removing a grey beard. “Good on ya, E.” he hissed, and was gone. “John, John, John,” chuckled E. bemusedly, dropping the toga to the floor and skipping nimbly free as it was whisked away. Everyone ducked, including Marty, as the ‘Scrooge & Crachit sign’ came sailing back the other way. Val and Roberta popped up as if by magic and each grabbed a side. “Out the way, my darling,” sang Mark, as loud as he pleased- which was still not very- as the cello boomed over their heads and Scrooge, in a fine, ringing voice, carried on both sides of his final sepulchral conversation. Taking her end away from Roberta he hoisted it a clear foot over her upraised arms. “My hero,” she whispered, knocking him with a well padded, Victorian hip. “Fuck over here,” hissed Val, and Marty, perceiving that she meant him, wove his way to her side. Their hands touched as he took her end and, together, he and Mark held it for the first man in black to affix. Suddenly, it was a new scene, and, “We won’t go until we get some, we won’t go until we get some we won’t…” cried the cast, all on stage now, the house lights up, and Marty stood, shoulder to shoulder with the sweating hoard of black t-shirted men, his camera hanging forgotten at his back, eyes glistening. He had made it. He had done it. Then quickly down the stairs, past laughing actors rushing back left and right, through the room and into the other room and through the door and out and across and through the window and Marvin was free, in the night air, running across the parking lot to the cement sculptures before even the forerunners of the evenings crowd had left the Shakes by the front doors. And then they came. In a rush. Masks torn off, shrugging into rustling coats, digging from pants pockets a jingle jangle of shining keys, faces alive and voices high, an air of drunken hilarity spilling along with them, a rolling, cresting gush of life and excitement, of color and noise and the joy of redemption shared, a common wonder like electricity crackling from head to strangers head, with a turning and a nodding and eyes touching which would never meet again; blue, brown, green and indigo violet, a shared and an infectious wonder. “I loved the scene where-” “Did you get the-” “And the ghost yet to come, how-” “I didn’t remember any words except-” “I didn’t remember-” “How did-” “Can you imagine the sets-” “Forgot hasty pudding until-” “That dress, my god-” “I know, right-” “Want that coat so much-” “Amazing voice-” “Amazing show-” ‘Amazing time!” And Marty sat, the empty, antique camera useless at his side, as the crackle of magic fizzled slowly from his soul.

Soon, the Shakes building was black and empty, the parking lot a deserted sea.

The night stretched out, cold and beautiful.

And.

Overhead. Like tiny, miniature spotlights. The stars glistened.


It was around one in the afternoon when the lights went out.

Of course, that wasn’t the strangest thing about that day. After what had already happened, the power going out was almost expected.

It was the middle of the summer, and I was falling asleep in class. I had completed geometry the previous year and was taking summer classes to try to skip precalculus. It wasn’t my decision, but my guidance counselor had thought it would be good for me, so here I was, wasting my summer away, sitting in a sweltering hot room with very little AC and listening to the teacher drone on about sinusoidal functions or something like that. My friends were away, Amy was at the beach, Flora was in Kentucky visiting her grandparents, while I was shipped away to a summer boarding camp to learn math. I thought it would be the most boring summer ever.

And how wrong I was.

Around ten in the morning, Joan had burst into the classroom, exclaiming that it was snowing. No one believed her initially, since one, it was the middle of a hot, sunny day in July like every other one that month, and two, Joan had the tendency to make things up. But it was true.

We crowded around the windows of the classroom, yelling about the snow until Mrs. Megan finally corralled us back into our seats to continue learning about sine waves or whatever we had been learning, I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.

Snow in Florida was practically unheard of, even in the winter. In the summer, that was just impossible. Yet it was happening, not a gray cloud to be seen, but white flakes floating down from the baby blue sky.

Everyone had their own suspicions on why it was snowing. Someone claimed that it was an anomaly with the weather, that it happened every so often. That would have at least made sense if it had been very cold outside, but it wasn’t. Some joked that it was a gift from God or a message from the aliens. Most of the reasons were just plain absurd.

A few minutes later, the green grass had already been covered in a layer of knee-deep snow. We watched as other students trekked through the white powder, wearing thin orange t-shirts and shorts, trampling snow inside the mansion, sneakers squeaking across the floor. The teachers tried to get the derailed class back on track, but obviously, no one wanted to return to studying trigonometry, so they canceled classes for that day.

So as everyone does while trapped inside of a large, old stone mansion with nothing to do, we decided to explore.

Now, this was the first year I had gone here. My mom had been given a flyer for it and the campus looked nice enough so we decided on it. Being a boarding summer camp, of course, there are rules. It’s a nice school, an old stone mansion, built in the seventeen hundreds before it was abandoned until repurposed as a summer camp recently. We once looked it up. The old mansion used to be owned by a small, rich family, a mother, a father, and a young daughter. Not much is known about them, they were recluse and stayed out of the public light. Anya, the girl was around fifteen the last time she was heard from. She was a strange child, according to most, but not much was known about her since the people tended to steer clear from her. At some point, the mother and father disappeared, their bodies turning up at the edge of the town, the father covered in scorch marks, the mother frozen still, her skin milky white. The townspeople went to check on Anya, but she was simply gone.

This of course sparked conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory. We had a few of our own too. Many claimed that the mansion was haunted, that Anya had died mysteriously. Her old classmates claimed that she loved fire and always smelled faintly of smoke. Others claimed that her skin was ice cold and they never saw her take a breath. Of her disappearance, well there were plenty of theories. Cole swears that they died in a fire that Anya started in the basement. According to another source, the family froze to death. But that didn’t make any sense, seeing as the parents turned up on the side of the road. Some people wondered if it was possible that a serial killer had gotten to them. Others wondered if it was possible that Anya had murdered her parents.

Besides the ghosts and the legends, the main thing about our school is the fact that there are certain rooms that we aren’t allowed into. One being the faculty room, of course, and our teacher’s rooms. But the other is more interesting. Being an old house, built over three hundred years ago, the mansion is full of locked rooms and hidden passageways. Believe me, we tried to get in. We tried all sorts of things. Sebastian knew how to pick locks, so we managed to get into many of them. They were mostly empty except for cobwebs and dusty furniture, our sneakers leaving a winding trail of footprints as we explored, trying not to sneeze. We found hidden hallways that connected the English room to the Math room and one that connected the girls’ to the boys’ one. That one we used quite a bit, smoking cigarettes in the small stone passageway late at night. At some point, Cole found a doorway that led to empty air, two stories above the yard in the back of the house. But most of the rooms and doorways were just abandoned because they weren’t in good enough condition. The floorboards were rotting or they were being used for storage, things that weren’t very interesting.

But the last room that we found was where everything went wrong.

In the library, there was a painting of a little girl. It was one of those paintings, the ones with the dark eyes that seem to follow you, watching you no matter how far away they move. The girl in the painting was young, probably around seven or eight with pale white skin and dark hair done up in braids, colorful flowers woven into it. She stared out, not exactly smiling, yet not frowning either, a watchful glint in her eyes. It was our guess that it was Anya since none of the teachers seemed to know where it had come from.

But the painting wasn’t the weirdest part. The weird part was behind it, there was a door. Sarah had found it when she accidentally ran a cart into it, causing the painting to swing to the side, revealing hinges. A small door was tucked neatly behind it, an ornate door made of dark wood, little patterns of flowers and swirls decorating the edges. She tried the brass knocker shaped like a flower, then the dusty handle. Not surprisingly, it was locked.

As if we all had the same thought, my little group congregated in the library. Me, Sarah, Cole, Sebastian. When Sarah tried the handle this time, it creaked open, revealing a staircase winding upward. That should have been the first sign that something was wrong.

But we went anyway, excited for the prospect of an adventure. The stairs were broken but we didn’t realize it until my foot went through a rotted board, the wood clattering down into the basement far below. Cole grabbed my arm and pulled me up, but I daresay we proceeded much more cautiously after that.

I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, but Sebastian had, so he led the way as we climbed up the twisting staircase that never seemed to end. It seemed like we were going to the roof possibly, or maybe the attic. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even realize that we had stopped.

It was the attic, a dusty space, the ceiling rafters stretching before us. I wrinkled my nose as I stepped inside, the floorboard creaking as we walked. An old chalkboard sat in one corner, a desk in the other, old papers piled on top. When Sarah touched it, the paper crumpled into dust.

We explored for a while, that’s not important, I doubt that you would want to hear what we found, just old belongings and toys, a doll in the corner, its waxen face crumbled in as if someone had hit it. A small round window let in a faint beam of sunlight. The snow was still thickly falling outside. But the important part was the large wooden box that sat in the corner.

It was around five feet long and one foot long and one foot wide. The dark wood of the sides was ornately carved with flowers and the letters AW. Anya Wilhelm. That was when we realized that it was a coffin.

“What the fuck,” Sarah whispered. “Why is that up here?” No one knew how to respond, why was the coffin up here? Who had built it? If it was Anya inside the coffin, why was she there? Why was she not with her parents when they were found? The whole thing was extremely unsettling.

“I’m going back down,” Sebastian called. I heard the others agree, but something drew me forward. I wanted to see what was in the coffin. Maybe I sound crazy, but I swear, it whispered to me, calling me forward and I couldn’t resist.

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a moment,” I replied. I heard them hesitate, but the sound of their footsteps echoed through the stairwell as they headed back down.

I moved forward, my fingers brushing against the dust, leaving marks in the thick layer that covered it. Before I could lose my nerve, I opened the coffin.

There was a girl inside.

She wasn’t human. That much was obvious from the moment she opened her eyes, staring at me with her strange, dark gaze. I don’t exactly know how to explain it, but whatever she was, she wasn’t human. There was just something…off about all of her features. Her eyes were slightly too big, her teeth slightly too pointed as she smiled. Even the sight of that smile sent a disgusted feeling through me like something was wrong. Believe me, I thought she was merely a dream, but when I stumbled back, my ankle twisted, shooting sharp pains through my leg and I knew that I was awake.

I glanced outside the small round window, almost screaming at the sight. The snow had changed to blood, flakes of scarlet melting against the ground. I wanted to yell, to scream, to move away, but I couldn’t. I was frozen still.

“Thank you for my freedom,” the girl said. As she turned and disappeared down the stairs, I couldn’t move to stop her, even though I knew I should have.

And when the screams reached my ears, echoing from the floors below, I felt a tear roll down my cheek, cold against my skin, but I still couldn’t move.


There comes a time in your life when everything seems to fall into place. That dream you have been working hard to achieve, but my dream turned into a nightmare. My name is Bobby Snow, and my story begins a couple of years ago; a week before my 30th birthday to be exact. I was born in the bustling, cold lonely city of New York. The Big Apple, whose slogan is if you make it here, you can make it anywhere. I was starting to feel like the pit from that rotted apple because my goal to live under the bright sun-palmed sky of Miami, Florida by the time I was 30 seemed to be eluding me day by day. Once a week, I wake up early and head down to the travel agency to see if there are any cheap flights going to Florida. Earlier today was no exception. A great sadness came over me as I was staring intensely at the travel agency’s glass door with the posters of sunny Florida for $125.00 on American Airlines.

The American Airline plane flying over the sunny shore representing the American dreams flying away from me. Maria, the travel agent, taps on the glass window and signals me to enter. I am halfway through the door when Maria happily calls out, “Bobby, thank God you came today. I've been trying to call you for the last couple of days, but I kept getting a recording that your number is disconnected.”

"Yeah," I sadly reply, “I couldn’t afford to keep the cell phone on anymore."

“We have a special sale on Spirit Airlines,” Maria says. “$20.21 going to Florida.”

“$20.21?" I question her, not believing what I had just heard.

“Yes, but the sale only lasts till tomorrow,” she says. I knew it was too good to be true. Taking my wallet out, I happily notice that I have $44. The last of the money I have left till payday. How do I tell Isabella that I am leaving for Florida the day after my birthday? If I want my dream to come true, I have to sacrifice something important or precious to stimulate my growth. I have to tell her.....she deserves it. "Bobby?.....BOBBY!!" The voice of my high school sweetheart, Isabella, snaps me out of my deep thoughts. We are having dinner at Johnny's Pizzeria. She scrunches her eyebrows together and asks, “Bobby, is everything ok? You zoned out on me again. You've been picking at that slice of pizza for the last 5 minutes.” Whenever Isabella scrunches her eyebrows together it means that she is worried or concerned about me.

“If you keep scrunching your eyebrows together like that you are going to give yourself wrinkles,” I respond.

“I wouldn’t get wrinkles if I weren’t worried about you all the time," she laughs. "So, what is it now?" I let out a deep sigh. “You know what it is,” I muttered, while picking pieces of pepperoni off my pizza and popping them into my mouth. “You should be happy, next week will be your birthday. The Big Three Oh…. you still have time to follow your dreams. It’s not as if the world is going to end when you become 30,” she says. I angrily replied, “I know that it won’t end, but it feels like that to me. You know I love you. I would love nothing better than for us to live together, but I live in a one-bedroom roach infested apartment in the Bronx project complex. There is always something going on at that building. The elevator’s constantly breaking down. The stairwells and hallways full of garbage thrown all over the place. Vicious drugged-out gang members hiding about waiting to paint the white walls crimson red from the blood of their latest victim. Puddles of animal urine or feces you must side-step or jump over to get to the other side.” I am temporarily distracted by a commercial on the pizzeria's television. It's a Spirit Airlines ad, offering discount flights to Florida. The images of palm trees and beaches bring me a very brief glimmer of hope before the commercial ends, and I am pulled back into reality. “There is nothing here for me. I am stuck in a dead-end job, washing dishes, and delivering food at Wang’s Chinese takeout. I cannot find any other job out here. No one is hiring. I have two years of college. I worked hard to get a college degree. I also have certificates in Hotel Management and Computer Science. They are worthless as the paper they are written on. I have sent countless resumes out and I still cannot get a decent job. I love you, ‘Bel, but I can’t even take you out to a decent place.”

Isabella reaches out for my hand, as I push the half-eaten slice away in disgust.

“You deserve better than having pizza for dinner," I say, while standing up. “I’ll be back, I’m going to go wash my face. “ Tears flowed down my face as I stared at my miserable reflection in the bathroom mirror. What new disappointments will the future bring? How long will Isabella stand being with a loser like me? Washing the shame off my face, I do not know how I will do this. Returning to the table, Isabella stares at me as a blue envelope sits on the table waiting for me. “What’s this?” I ask her. “It’s an early birthday gift. Maybe it will cheer you up," she says to me, with a devilish smile on her face.

The card shows a big bear throwing a ball at his son, who is holding a bat which reads “Happy Birthday, Daddy". Then a picture falls out of the card showing the sonogram image of a baby.

“That is an image of your son.... our son.” Isabella smiles at me. “Surprise! I am pregnant. I’ve known for a while but have not found a right time or way to tell you till now.” Instead of feeling happy, I felt as if the rug had been pulled from under me. Another obstacle to my future. I love Isabella, but what kind of life can I give her and the baby?

“Isabella," I say. "This is it. I cannot do this anymore. We are through. I have nothing left to give. How do you expect me to take care of you and the baby if I can’t even take care of myself? I am leaving New York to try to make it in Florida. I bought the plane ticket today.” “You do not have to sacrifice everything to achieve your goal!” yells Isabella, as tears fall down her face.

"I am just trying to save you from making a mistake that you will regret in the long run," I shot back. "I do not want you and our son to suffer like I did."

“Well, I hope you find all that you are searching for!” Isabella screams, before storming out of the pizzeria. Another travel ad about Florida pops up on the TV. "It's going to be worth it," I say to myself. "It has to be...."

The next day there is a knock on my door.

“Hello, are you Mr. Snow,” said a pale mousy looking man.

Not really in the mood for company, I ask, "What do you want?" “I am Mr. Gilbert; I am the lawyer to your grandmother, Katerina," he says. “I have some bad news. She died of a heart attack. As heir to her estate you need to come to my office to sign some papers and discuss your inheritance.” “I think you are mistaken. I do not know anyone named Katerina,” I mutter. “She is your father’s mother," he continued. "Your mother loved your father, but your father left her pregnant. He thought that he could find a better future in Florida. He died there broke and alone. Your grandmother tried to contact you, but your mother prohibited her from seeing you. Believe me, she tried. “ Mr. Gilbert hands me a stack of letters with the words "return to sender" written on them in my mother’s handwriting. “She tried to write to you, but your mother kept sending the letters back. There is more we need to discuss, so how does three o’clock tomorrow sound?” "Sure,” I respond. “I will see you then.” After hours of reading my grandmother’s letters, I started to tear up as I realized that my father had a dream. Just like I have mine. He went after his dream but failed. I know that I will go after mine and succeed. I must succeed for Isabella, for our child but mostly for myself. The next day I head to Mr. Gilbert’s office with a new hope for the future.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Snow," he says. "As I told you yesterday, you are the sole heir to your grandmother’s estate. She left you $100,000 dollars. I need you to sign these papers so I can release the funds to you." I fill out the forms and have Isabella and my unborn son as the beneficiaries if something were to happen to me. I rise to leave when Mr. Gilbert hands me an envelope. “This is for you also. I don’t know what it says, but I hope it answers any questions you may have.” I dash home, barely able to contain myself, both in anticipation and fear of what the letter might say. I run up the stairs, skipping steps as I go up. I burst through my door, not even bothering to close it behind me before plopping down on my worn-out couch. Tearing open the envelope, I pull out the letter. I close my eyes and take what seemed like the deepest breath I will ever take, and then I read: "Dear Son, I hope that you are well. I know that if you are reading this letter, then I am dead and gone. I wrote this letter to let you know that I did not leave for Florida to run away from my responsibilities to you. I left because I love you and your mother, and I wanted a better future for us. It is hard here in Florida. No friends nor family. I am trying the best in this life to give you something. To give your mother something. I will sacrifice anything for you, but I had to leave to find something. I had nothing to give you or offer you had I stayed in New York. I love you and hope your life turns out better than mine. Love your dad, Robert Snow." Tears roll down my eyes, as the letter falls out of my hands. He was just like me, looking for a better future; a way to improve our situation, but instead he found that there was nothing out there for him. No future. No hope. As my grandma wrote in her letters, he went from one dead end job to another, trying to help. The little money he could spare, he sent to us. Mom rejected any of his help, but grandma ever the wise woman, invested it in the stock market and placed all the money in the bank.

I grab a small pad and write a small letter to Isabella: "Bel, always know that I love you. You and our son deserve a better future. Turns out Florida is no longer an option for me. With New York killing me day by day, I may as well finish the job. I am no use to either of you alive anyway. The letter my father left me will explain everything. I am sorry. I love you." I grab the gun I had bought for protection and place it at my temple, slowly pulling the trigger.


The suburbs constantly sing with the tinny buzz of lawnmowers. In the summer, suburbia sweats the smell of freshly cut grass- manicured lawns. The fall is for breathing out leaves needing to be raked. It was chilly for September, thought Miriam. She wiped the moisture from her brow and threw the rake down in disgust. She was angry at the leaves for still being soaked from the rain two nights ago. As the wind stirred again, she kicked the leaves and decided that her neighbor James could take over tomorrow. He already mowed her lawn in the summers. She would have to find a new way to pay him back. Inside, Miriam realized that she had missed a call from Benjamin. She called him back before taking off her shoes. Ben wanted to know if she needed a ride to Church tomorrow. Always so gracious, she thought, and decided to accept. And spent the rest of the night massaging her sore muscles. The next morning, Ben is fifteen minutes late, but Miriam still jumps when she hears the horn honk. She rushes through her makeup, slapping on foundation, concealer, blush, lipstick, and eyeshadow. She thinks twice about wearing the clingy red dress. After all, she does not want Pastor C. to call her a Jezebel- again. The dress wins the argument. Five minutes after mounting into the car and warmly greeting Ben, Miriam shouts in panic, "Oh, no- I forgot my earrings." "This is not a disaster, Miriam," responds Ben, with a smile. "Do you want to go back and get them?" he asks. "That's what I love about you," said Miriam, realizing too late the words that she had let escape her mouth. She had confessed a secret, long buried in her heart, that she had guarded like a security guard does a bank vault. But- it was the nonchalance at which the words had been uttered that upset her most.

There was an awkward silence, above which only the swish-swish of the windshield wipers could be heard. Then, Ben, in that slow way of drawing out the words like he was accustomed to- listening to him was like watching honey or molasses run- said, "I like you too, Miriam." She chuckled, half in disgust at herself. But, in her head, dangerous thoughts began to cyclone like a whirlpool. Miriam dared not fantasize. Usually, their conversation would flow easily- like a gentle river rushing along. But, today, Miriam is too inside of her head to listen to Ben as he makes small talk. She tries to pay attention. She realizes that Ben is in the middle of telling her about how his wife isn't feeling well.

"Yes," he says, "We think that maybe at dinner last night she ate oysters that had gone bad." "Oh," replies Miriam, not even looking at him. "I'll have to call her." There was another long pause. By this point, they were halfway to Church. Miriam saw the familiar bar, Lucky Strike, where she had met Ben's wife, dancing on a table, almost a decade ago. Suddenly, Ben turns the car off the route into a parking lot. "Something wrong, Ben?" Miriam asks, nervously. "I'm curious…" Ben begins to say but does not finish. Instead, he doesn't lean in, but pounces on her- lunging a kiss at her that bruises her lips. For Miriam, there is no reaction, just the taking over of instinct. Something swells up inside of her. A wave of relief, of pleasure, mixed with happy surprise. She responds, enthusiastically, almost clashing with his teeth. The wave bursts. Slowly, a moan escapes from her lips that causes Ben to pull back. The moan is deep, raw, and guttural- full of need- like an animal. He remembers his wife at home throwing up chunks of gelatinous shellfish in the bathroom. Her moans and groans of pain- full of discomfort- were just as raw, as deep, as needful the night before. "We can't do this, Miriam," Ben finally drawls out. "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry too," Miriam replies, pulling down the passenger headboard to check her lipstick in the mirror. She wasn't sorry. The kiss had released a longing inside of her. She didn't care about Lucy, his wife and her best friend, sick in bed. Miriam thought about reapplying her makeup and decided against it. No need to tempt Pastor C.'s judgment. "Yes, you're right," Miriam slithered out, looking Ben deeply in his brownish-blue eyes, one of her favorite things about him. "It wouldn't be fair to Lucy." "Or Ivan." "Yes, Ivan, too," she repeated, with a sigh. "How is Ivan?" said Ben, as if he were easing into a cold swimming pool. "Is he back in the country?" he asked. "No, he's still abroad," replied Miriam- continuing this conversation with the same enthusiasm as she would undergo a root canal. "He's coming for Christmas…but we should get to Church. It's late." As they start to drive off, Miriam's mind begins to clear like the clouds after a storm. She remembers Ivan. Ivan who is milky-white to Ben's sun-kissed tones. Ivan who is shorter than Ben. Ivan, who is not here.

Ben fidgets with the radio dial, turning on Christian Lite FM. A familiar hymn about taking it one day at a time and waiting upon the Lord is in the middle of playing. Miriam decides that she will not tell her husband about the kiss. Smiling to herself, she thinks, "it'll be our little secret." The rain begins falling in heavy curtains, and Ben, increasing the wipers, clears his throat and says, "Looks like it's going to thunderstorm- again." "Yes," replied Miriam, back again, sitting Shiva, with her thoughts. She felt like she had lost something with that kiss. An idea of who she was- her sanity, her self-respect, her moral center. But she had gained a new understanding about passion, and desire, and what it meant to be loved. And that made her even more afraid. Miriam stared straight ahead, into and through the rain, and thought, the leaves will have to wait.


The bright rays of Kaybok graced the ash-white sands of Zurewwa beach and its furry sunbathers like a warm blanket. Purple waves crashed on the shores. Hearing mooing sounds, I looked up and saw humanoid figures flying on the back of an immense bird. They passed before a moon twice the size of earth's. Although I'd been on Pathilon for over a month, I still couldn't get used to sights like that. I found myself accidentally stepping on a pair of tails. Guinea pig faced Abreyas, in the middle of a romantic moment, hissed like cats and growled at me in Wava. "Kigua, hib chuzka."  I made a hand gesture behind my butt to indicate the lowered tail of a cowering dog. "You don't have to insult yourself, jufae . Simply say,` `Nifu brimuomei, chiceo, hua yibya cequteb, zoor hib eilidapo kai jivo ticoh ceju.'" My date had arrived, looking twice as amazing as I'd seen her during my stay at the hospital. Her hair, purple with white splotches, had been cut in a Bob. She wore a red and black Rohego , the Abreya equivalent of the Chinese qipao , with a loincloth-like `skirt.' Puff sleeves, bodice scandalously snug around her two sets of breasts. Her body may have been covered in light gray fur, but I hadn't expected to see this much of it. I could barely get sounds out of my throat. "Mine is shorter." Then, to make it clear I wasn't talking about her outfit, "I mean, what you said is hard to remember. " Pillow's goat-like eyes narrowed the moment she caught me staring, then widened in...surprise? Disbelief? A faint greenish tinge crept up her cheeks. "I-I don't think you're stupid at all!" She turned her attention to the angry couple, defusing their upset with a rapid fire Wava conversation, basically the same stuff she'd just suggested. We retreated to a different spot, and I found myself again admiring the the delicate stitchwork on her bodice. " Umuacik.  I, uh, must have gotten distracted by all the scenery." I forced my eyes upwards, and saw her minus sign pupils narrowing once more. Flustered, I blurted, "That's a very pretty dress you're wearing. Do you generally wear things like that to the beach?" I'd seen other Abreyas wearing very little, especially the ones taking dips in the Rocbish Sea. They had fur coats ...Still, not polite to imply that your girlfriend should strip down. "Honestly, I don't yet know that much about your culture. Even on my planet, we have old picture books..." Great job, Dave, I thought to myself. Call her old fashioned. "I mean, picture books that show French ladies dressing up and having grand—" (Don't say old, stupid!) "Picnics by beaches...anyways, I like your outfit. " The green tint colored her plump cheeks a little more strongly now. Was I making her ill? I thought, perhaps, she hadn't intended this outing to be the romantic type - we weren't the same species.

"I thought we might go somewhere special after this. I know of...a restaurant. "

Knowing she meant a gejzol, which isn't exactly the same thing, I frowned at my outfit. Khaki shorts, flip flops, Hawaiian shirt. I had been dressed for the beach. "Does the place have a dress code?... Do I have to dress up, I mean?"  A smile appeared on her rodent mouth. " I thought we might do some shopping first. " I decided her green coloration had nothing to do with me. "Are you feeling ill?" Pillow looked at me like I'd gone crazy. " Yok!  What makes you think I'm sick?" I furrowed my brow. "Um, your skin was turning green. Have you seen any of our cartoons about seasick sailors—?" Her face got greener. " I'm blushing, okay?  Poniki! I can't believe you..." She covered her face with her frog-like hands, tail in submissive dog mode. "If it's any help, my face is turning pink right now." Pillow peered between her fingers. "I can hardly tell." I grinned. "I guess I should have known that's what it was. All it is is blood coming close to your skin. I did see some of that stuff at the hospital..." Her minus sign pupils rolled upwards. She didn't appear to have any sclera, just gold colored irises. "I still can't believe we're doing this." Inside, I was doing a little victory dance. "And I still can't believe you said guep. " "You pestered me until I gave in." "You could have just said yok." Pillow crossed her arms, snapping her tail like an angry cat. She appeared to be trying to make up her mind. "What is it about me that you find so interesting? Why not a human, or algotbrea?  Was it my... bad side mannerisms? " Her mangling of English colloquialisms entertained me. "It's bedside manner, and no, it wasn't just that.

You're beautiful , you know about Jesus, and Star Wars... I just really like you!" She still looked conflicted. "And you think something might come out of this." I answered with a shrug. "C'mon, it's just a date. You call them aldoyi , but it's the same thing. You go places with someone you like, see if you want to keep hanging out." "Fine. " Despite her annoyed tone, Pillow's mouth had curled into a smile, flashing a set of buckteeth. "Have you ever ridden on virkoga?" Shaking my head, I pointing to the huge mooing birds above us. "Those are the only animals I've been on, and you already know how well that turned out." Pillow giggled. "Virkoga are a little safer. They prefer to stay in the water." She tugged on her collar. "Speaking of witches, it really is hot today. Let's hurry up and go in." The comment made me stare. It couldn't have been more than seventy five degrees. "Seriously?

It's comfortable to me!  I guess it must be that fur coat—" I couldn't finish. While I talked, Pillow had been busy unzipping the back of her outfit. The moment she casually shrugged it from her body, I felt as if I'd lost the ability to speak. Beneath she only wore a sort of harness/thong combination, like the others at the beach. The design of this particular harness reminded me of black-purple cabbage, striking against the cream colored fur of her bosom and stomach. It covered the important things, like the double mammaries and... whatever she had down below.  I suppose the fur I just mentioned did an adequate job with the rest. "I brought swim trunks and a towel," I stammered. "Just a sec." Everybody there used lockers, shaped like enormous seashells, rented in sizes proportionate to what you were storing. You unlocked them with your tailprint, or, in my case, a hand print. The bathrooms also had been designed to resemble giant seashells, making the entrance a little funhouse-like.

Pillow giggled when she saw me coming out in my red and blue trunks. My cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. "What." This made her giggle more. "You're right! You do turn pink!...And your wogban...` shorts ' are very cute." "Um, thanks." We strolled along the shore, watching small Abreya children splashing around a set of gray monoliths.

"What's that thing in the water?" "I don't know. It's one of our great mysteries. Like those Eastern Island statues you told me about." "It's Easter Island ," I corrected. "I'm guessing part of the mystery of yours is why they haven't weathered away from all the ocean water?" "Guep.  There are many theories but nobody knows. Maybe a human put it there?" I chuckled at the irony. "I...don't think so." Virkoga reminded me of dolphins, had they interbred with cockroaches and produce. I think Pillow's swimwear had been modeled after their skin, because they also resembled cabbage. Their fins were long and had a wing-like shape to them, though bearing a striking similarity to kale. After baiting a couple with food, we had a very interesting ride on their rubbery backs. Pillow had an easy time with hers, on account of her tail, but I kept getting thrown from mine, especially when it decided to take to the air and flip me into the ocean.

It did this a number of times - guess it must have liked me somewhat or it wouldn't have kept coming back. Pillow and I took a break on an island beneath a towering rock formation shaped like a Y. How that landmark didn't collapse, I have no idea. The flying fish things honked at us, wanting to play more, but when they saw us only rest and sunbathe, they lost interest and swam away. Pillow had chosen to sun herself a fair distance away from me, so I closed the gap a little. "Have you really thought this through?" she asked. "I know it's generally not proper to start talking about sex during the first aldoyi, but you asked me on a aldoyi , not a jufadoyi . I assume you know the difference." "Yeah. Jufadoyi means `a-friends-go-out.' We don't have a term like that, except maybe `friendzone,' but I know the difference." "So have you given any thought to the possibility that our reproductive equipment may not be compatible?" "I'm...not sure I care.

I really like you. " "Guep, I as well, but I have certain physical needs." "So do I. I mean, if...you know... things get to a certain point ...I'm sure we'll figure it out." Snorting, Pillow pulled a little electronic device out of her harness, clicking buttons. She showed me the screen. "Take a look at this and tell me if you're still serious." Definitely an eye opener. The female yuxhauba had two openings , to allow for the bifurcated male wumloq.

Tentacles were involved. Once she'd explained it to me, I couldn't think of anything to say for a long time. "Change your mind?" "This...kind of thing never slowed down the people on Star Trek." "What do you mean?" The green color of her cheeks told me Pillow had a pretty good idea, she just didn't want to admit it for some reason. "I mean... didn't you say something about going shopping and dinner?"