Together In Palm Tree Estates Palm Tree Estates was for the well-to-do.  The people were mostly snobbish even to each other at times. In order for anyone to visit, they had to provide their name and identification to the gate attendant. If their name wasn’t on the list, they weren’t allowed in. As one resident put it: “It is a good way to keep the family riff-raff away.” Donald and Marge Thomas had been very excited to move into the posh neighbourhood. They had made a tremendous amount of plans and couldn’t wait to settle in. They already knew a few people that lived on the secluded island including the real estate agent, Sandra Bolton. She had given them a tour the day they were looking at purchasing a condo. “This is going to be wonderful especially when the children come over for Christmas.” There were tennis courts, bike lanes, walking paths, flowers and trees. It was a beautiful area. Donald smiled but wasn’t too sure. His wife was already sold. “What is it going to be like in the winter?” “Oh, the winter is just beautiful because you can go for walks and snowshoe and cross-country ski. The trails are well-maintained.” “I don’t like the cold,” announced Donald. “Then you can stay inside with a nice glass of wine besides the roaring fire.” “I don’t like wine.” Marge gave him a dirty look and he didn’t say anything else. So they moved in and it was a huge fiasco. The front gate attendant didn’t want to let them in or the moving van. Donald was furious, but Marge charmed the man. The kids and grandkids had come along to help.  There were boxes everywhere and by the end of the day when everyone left, the old couple were exhausted. “Do you remember what happened the first time we moved into our new house?” He smiled in the dark just as he was about to slip into slumber land. “Yeah, I was twenty-five and full of lust. I am not seventy-five and I’m a bust.” They laughed themselves to sleep. Donald didn’t fit in Palm Tree Estates. It was that simple.  He didn’t like the golf course on the island and wasn’t keen on hanging there at all. He didn’t even like the game. The problem was the in-crowd all hung out at the nineteenth hole before, during and after rounds. He didn’t like to go for a walk.  Most of them had dogs and they didn’t pick after Fido.

“There’s more poop on the streets in this ritzy neighbourhood then we had no the farm I grew up on,” he proclaimed. The worse part about it, Marge loved the new digs. She had made friends and unlike sour Donald, she fit right in and was part of the in-crowd.  They went biking together and for afternoon walks. They had tea and played cards.  They gossiped about everyone and laughed saucily. She was hardly ever home.  This was another sour point with Donald. “Going out today dear?” “Yes, of course, I am.  Do you want to come along?” “No.” The thought of having around a bunch of old birds was depressing.  Besides, he hadn’t told his wife, but he didn’t exactly like any of her new friends. “They aren’t nothing but a bunch of old cackling hens,” he told the four walls. Jennifer, the oldest daughter had called her mother up. “So, mom, how do you like it so far?” “Oh, honey, I love it. It is great.  Your father doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself that much.  Today, I am going to play tennis. I have never played before in my whole life, I hope I don’t get tennis elbow.” Jennifer laughed. “I am sure things will get better for dad.” “I hope so. He won’t listen to a word I say or any of my suggestions. You know how stubborn your father can be.” “I am sure everything will work out.  Bye mom, gotta go. Love you.” “Love you too, honey.  Give my best to Richard and the kids.” “I will. Give dad a hug for me.” “It is in the bank.” Things didn’t get any better for Donald. He was bored and alone most of the time. Marge was always gone and there was nothing to do but watch TV and take naps. “This sucks.” Going for a drive wasn’t the answer because there weren’t that many roads and besides there was always someone walking or biking or some old fool rollerblading.  Trying to get off the island was a pain in the butt and then trying to get back on was even worse.  The ferry that came and went was unreliable.  They only took so many vehicles at a time because the boat wasn’t that big. “What are we going to do if the river freezes over and we can’t get off this godforsaken island and we are sick?”  Donald asked his wife. “My friends will take care of me. If you had friends then they would take care of you.” He grumbled something and went off into the den. One night, when she was actually hone and he wasn’t eating leftovers or whatever he could muster up, she smiled. “What’s up?” “The Rustons have asked us to come over for diner tomorrow night. There will be a few couples there and I made a commitment.” “Without asking me?  I can’t stand Andy Ruston. The guy is a total loser.” “I’ve met him and he is a nice man. His wife Theresa is a sweetheart.” “She’s an old busybody, gossip and a genuine pain in the butt.” “How can you say that when you don’t even know her?” “Because I’ve heard her talk when she comes over. Have you notice every time she drops in — usually when we are eating — I ignore her?” “You are self-centred man, Donald Thomas.  If have to, I will go alone.” She got up and left the table without finishing her supper. “That’s just a great kettle of fish to deal with.” He slept on the couch that night not daring to go into the bedroom.  She didn’t invite him in. The next morning she was off with her friends biking. He looked out the window and it was very beautiful.  The streets were tree-lined and the whole island was surrounded by water.  There were flowers planted everywhere and all types of plants. The monthly condo fees paid for that maintenance.  There was a full-time crew taking care of stuff. There were boats in the harbour and it was always nice to see a large ship go by in the shipping lanes.  This was one of the few perks to living there.  Donald decided to go for a walk and left the wife a note. “Hope she doesn’t have a heart attack.” He grabbed his had and walking stick and took off. The plan was to walk around the island and think about things. He hadn’t walked more than five minutes when somebody’s dog came running at him and they did battle fending the friendly pooch off with his walking stick.

The owner came running. “What are you doing to my dog?” “Your Labradoodle attacked me.” “He would do no such thing.” “Yes, he did. Your lucky I don’t sue you.” “I will tell the Island Committee about this.” “Then do so.” She left in a huff.

“That’s it, I’m outta here.” He started to walk back and then he saw Marge with her friends. He had never seen the woman in almost fifty years of marriage plus three years courting so happy.  He bowed his head and toddle off home. She came in the late afternoon. “Donald, I’m home. What do you want for supper?” He came down the stairs dressed like he had a diner party to go to. “Where are you going?” “I thought the Ruston’s invited us to a diner party?” “They did.  You are going?” “I was invited wasn’t I?  It would be rude not to go. You had better put a step in your walk honey cause I don’t want to be late and I’m not going alone.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, sir,” she saluted him military style. She raced up the stairs, stopped and kissed him right.  Then she continued. He came down the stairs and went into the den to wait for her. “I didn’t say I was going to like it honey.” He looked outside and sighed.


"I know it's a weird fear to have Emmie. You don't understand," I told her in an angry voice.

She was sitting in her green PT Cruiser at the edge of my driveway. The keys were still in the ignition. Her bright red nails tapped against the steering wheel in an impatient manner. Her blond hair twisted in perfect ringlets around her cheeks. Her blue eyes raged with fire.

"If you don't want to go. That's all you have to say," her face scrunched with anger.

I wanted to go with her. That wasn't the question. The question was how? How could I survive? I looked at her empty passenger seat and my stomach dipped in fear. She didn't understand what she was asking me to do, and I didn't know how to explain it to her.

"Please don't be angry," I pleaded.

She was my best friend. I couldn't stand the thought of her fiery temper directed toward me. Yet, I couldn't get in the car with her. My feet wouldn't move even if I willed them to.

"Sure," she said with a bright smile, "If you get in the fucking car Rue. How long are you going to let fear dictate your life?" What an easy question to ask. She didn't eat panic for breakfast or snack on anxiety between meals the way I did. I drank in her tiny frame and wondered how such a small person could be so fearless.

"Fine," I told her.

A sick feeling pounded in my gut. It begged me not to do this. Every hair stood on my arm when I put my hand on the cold handle of her car door. Fear whispered down my neck. Would I be able to pull this off? We used to do this every year. It was an Emmie and Rue tradition.

Emmie was backing down the drive before I had a chance to convince myself to get out of the car. My fingers gripped the door handle with white knuckles. I couldn't release my fingers even with the door locked. Irrational thoughts paraded around in my head. Thoughts like jumping out of her moving car or grabbing the steering wheel and steering us off the road.

"Oh Rue, isn't this wonderful? I love this time of year!" She exclaimed.

I tried to relate and failed a miserable failure. The Christmas lights were blinding. The music pouring from her stereo promised holiday cheer. The only cheer I felt inside was a small voice cheering me on for making it further than I ever had before. It was hard to hear over a louder voice. That voice screamed for me to get out of the car before something terrible happened.

"I don't get it. I wish you would talk to me the way you used to. What happened to the Rue who loved Christmas?" Emmie asked.

The reason burned hot in my throat. Words, however, often took bravery to speak. It didn't matter how close you were with someone. Sometimes, the words still wouldn't come.

"I love Christmas," I explained in a voice that would fail a lie detector test. "It's just not what it used to be. I grew up, Emmie. I changed."

"Hey," she said in a low voice, "Things can always go back the way they were before. All you have to do is let me back in." She dropped a hand on my thigh and squeezed.

No, they could never go back. I didn't want to be the one who ruined the meaning behind this time of year for her. I didn't want to color her bright world with the dark colors that painted mine. It wasn't fair.

Her car flashed down the street in our neighborhood the way it did when we were teenagers. The earlier days when we were both wild and free. For a moment, I let myself become caught in the nostalgia of it all. A person could almost forget in the face of familiar things, the truth which laid underneath.

"Rue. I’ve missed this!" She bounced up and down in her seat. My face felt hot. I pressed it against the icy window and watched snow-covered houses pass us in a forty-mile-per-hour blur. It wouldn't be much longer. We were almost to the annual Christmas tree lighting. After that, I would be trapped with a Christmas shopping feign. We hadn't done this sort of thing in years. The thought of doing it now made my heart squeeze.

"Showtime," Emmie promised.

The car stopped moving and we were staring at a large crowd of people. A twenty-five-foot tree stood proud in the town square. Panic coated the walls of my throat. Fingers intertwined with mine and I looked to see the person they belonged to. They were Emmie's fingers, and she had the widest grin on her face.

"Thank you for coming. This means the world to me,” she whispered.

That much was obvious. She didn't drag me with her to the front of the crowd the way she used to. I was grateful. It gave me a few moments to get my shaking hands under control. It took everything I had in me to stand there. I stood and watched smiling faces when the lights lit up the tree and cheers rang out. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I averted my face so Emmie couldn't see.

"Are you ready for this?” She asked. "I'm ready to spend every dime I have in my pocket.

It was funny how things changed over time as people grew older. Then, it was funny how things didn't seem to change at all. She was ageless as I watched her struggle to contain her excitement. I looked into her hopeful eyes and felt crushing despair in my chest.

"Please don't make me do this, Emmie. I can't." I whispered, "I can't."

"You can," she promised.

Like the Emmie I grew up with, she threaded her fingers tighter through mine. She charged toward the first store window and she took me with her. She wasn't the type of girl who could take no for an answer.

"You're remembering that day... aren't you," she asked.

I nodded my head since I couldn't produce words using my vocal cords. I hadn't stopped remembering that day since it happened. She had to know that. I didn't know why she needed me to confirm it out loud.

Emmie laid a pale hand on the door to Smithy's Candle Shop, "Oooh oh! Let's go in here first. I'm a sucker for candles."

It felt like Deja Vu. As if the day she brought up were happening all over again. Bile crept up my throat. I didn't want to be here.

"Emmie, you know I can't go into that store. I'm sorry you dragged me all the way here but...." I waved an arm at the storefront window. "The shelves are laughing at me. Look at them! They know I can't do this. Can I please wait in the car?"

She turned her face toward me. It was crestfallen. Anyone who walked by would have felt the disappointment that exuded from all five feet of her. Her eyes brimmed with furious tears. I had made her angry again.

"You got in the car," she hissed. "You can't quit. See this through!"

My back was against the red and grey bricks that made up the storefront of Smithy's. I slid down them when the weight of what she said hit me. I knew what she was trying to do. I knew she meant well. The thing was it didn’t matter. I couldn't bring myself to do it. My feet hit the ground in a sprint before I even realized I wasn't collapsed on the sidewalk anymore. I heard Emmie shouting behind me. The stares of Christmas shoppers burned into my back. I'm sure they wondered why this crazy girl was running through the middle of the town square and ugly crying.

I ran until I spotted Emmie's green cruiser. My legs came to a full stop and I hit my fist against the hood of her car in frustration. The sadness and fear had turned into something much worse. It was rage.

"Dammit, Emmie. Why?" I cried.

A gentle hand laid a crossed my back. I looked up in surprise to see that Emmie had beaten me back to the car. Her eyes screamed she was sorry. How could I direct my anger at her? None of this was her fault, after all.

"Why did you leave me behind?” I asked.

She answered me in a quiet voice, "I'd do it all over again. You know it and I know it." "It isn't fair. I can't do this without you," I whispered.

"Yes," she replied. "You can, Rue. That's why I am here. To show you that you can."

The memories were coming, and I couldn't stop them. They flooded my brain with image after image. There was one memory that played over all the rest. It was the culprit for the storm that down poured inside me.

It was an image of Emmie standing next to me. We were sixteen years old. It was our fourth year going to the tree lighting ceremony together. We hadn't watched the time. We were out way too late. Our parents would worry. It didn't matter that I warned her. Emmie didn't concern herself with things like that. She only cared about living her life to the fullest.

After that, came the memory of the hands. They grabbed me from behind without warning. Hot breath assaulted my neck. A foul-smelling voice whispered in my ear.

It said, "Drop all your bags and whatever money you have left on you." Emmie turned around to face us. Her blue eyes grew wide when she realized what was happening. Before I could stop her, she rushed toward us. In a single moment, it was all over. I laid in an empty parking lot surrounded by shopping bags and Emmie... well. She laid on the sidewalk surrounded by blood. The man ran before I could pull my cell phone from my pocket. I crawled to her and grabbed her with shaking hands. Her skin was warm. She wasn't breathing.

I pounded my fist harder against the car's hood until I could bring myself back to the present. It was the hood of the car her mom gave me after Emmie died. It was unfair. He grabbed me. He didn't grab her. She should be here shopping and spreading holiday cheer. I should have been the one who died.

"Why did you have to go and do that, Emmie? It should have been me," I told her.

"No Rue. You're still here for a reason," she said.

For Christmas shopping?" I asked, without being able to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

"No silly. To live your life. To live it to the fullest. You have to," she begged. "You have to do it for the both of us." She smiled wide again. It wasn't the glowing smile she usually showered me with. Sadness tugged at its edges. Damn it all. It was like a sucker punch to the belly.

"You're right. I can't keep living in fear, can I?" I whispered.

She grabbed my face in her hands, "You can do anything. Anything you want to do." She assured me, "But I won't let you hide from this any longer." She let go of me after that. Once I closed my eyes, I feared when they opened she would be gone. The kind of gone where she never came back. I kept them closed as long as I could before her heavy sigh tore my eyes open again.

"Go Rue... go and smell the candles. Buy one for me. Sit and watch the lights and the people while they're shopping. The way we used to. Know even when you can't see me or hear me. I'm here with you. Go ahead, I know you can do it," she said.

She was right. I walked back to Smithy's for the first time in ten years and turned the door handle. I couldn't live in the past anymore. I had to move on. I had to do it for both of us.


As my heart pounded against my chest and my eyes began to blur I knew this was it. My lungs burned and my head felt as if it were going to explode. As whatever was wrapped around my leg pulled me deeper into the water all I could do was imagine; imagine the way my life was, what it could have been. the mistakes I made and all the people I had hurt, that had hurt me. I could feel my entire body loosen and I felt weightless. The last thing I saw was a blurred human-shape swimming towards me.

As darkness clouded my mind my life flashed before my eyes. I was sitting in class, she looked back at me. The rest of the room faded out. The only thing that existed was her. Her golden eyes were filled with mystery and intrigue. She started walking towards my desk. I remember the feel of my hands shaking as she spoke. “You dropped this in the hallway.” she said, handing me my student card. Her hand brushed against mine. “Thanks so much.” I said, feeling my face turn tomato, which I guess she picked up on. “No problem. I’m Tereza by the way.” Her voice sent chills down my body, sounding like an old friend and someone you needed the approval of at the same time.

“Julia is I- my name is.” I relived the embarrassment of that moment, feeling the sourness of mispronouncing the words, believing I had lost her respect that I so clearly craved.

The scenery changed. Now we were at a park. That’s right, this happened about a week after the classroom incident. She found me “charming in a foolish way.” Those were her words. I found it endearing the first time she had said it to me. The way she looked, talked and just her general character had reeled me in, making it so I didn’t want to disappoint her, let alone even think of her as any less than perfect.

We sat on the park bench around 3am. We just sat and talked for hours but the part my dying body decided to show me was when we saw a frog. At this point it was about 4am. We still sat on the bench, a frog hopped towards us.

“Aw, look at this little guy.” I exclaimed. Picking the little thing, thinking she’d find this barely palm-size creature as adorable as I did.

“It looks… slimy.” she declared.

“It is a bit wet and cold. Do you want to hold it?” I asked, knowing I should put it down soon so it doesn’t get too stressed. In reality I wasn’t quite sure if frogs even felt stress. Surely they did.

“Sure.” Tereza said.

I gently slid the frog into her hands like a wholesome drug deal. She cupped her hands around the frog, giggling as she did it. Her laugh made my heart stop for a moment. It was the type of laugh you’d do anything to hear again. And then her true colours came out.

She giggled harder as she squeezed the frog, its eyes bulging out.

“What are you doing?” I yelled, grabbing her hand.

“It’s just a frog.” She replied, smirking. I was shocked at how such an amazing person could be so cruel. I remember the confusion and fear I had felt that day. I felt like crying, not in front of her though,

“I Have to go. I’m tired.” I said, having to get away from her.

As I started to walk away her hand wrapped around my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.

I swung around to look at her. She immediately loosened her grip. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have many friends and don’t really get out much. Please forgive me.” she said, tears in her eyes as she pulled me into a hug, sobbing so hard she soaked the shoulder of my shirt.

I should have said ‘No. It’s not ok, get away from me.’ But I was foolish. “It’s ok.” I whispered as she pulled away.

She wiped the tears and snot away off her face. Makeup was smudged and running down her face.

“Thank you.” She said.

Scenery began to shift again.

Between the regular memories she kept showing up.

“Hello, my love.” her voice rang in my mind. Her coming up behind me, running her fingers through my hair and whispering those words in my ear. I had to admit I loved the attention from her. We were on a sidewalk, the brisk wind stung my face so when she cupped my cheek with her hand I welcomed the warmth. For some reason she always wanted to hang out a night, which I never understood but didn’t question.

This had been months after the second occurrence. We had been ‘dating’ for a couple weeks, despite her not calling me her girlfriend. I had assumed it was because she wasn’t out or something like that. That night we sat in a field, watching the stars.

I could see a man walking in the distance out of the corner of my eye. He had started walking closer until Tereza sat up.

“You.” Is all he said in a haunted whisper. His eyes grew wide before he continued walking, head down and arms tight to his body. As he walked past, picking up his pace, Tereza looked at me and smiled before saying

“I’ll be right back.” and walking towards him. As soon as she stood up he started sprinting. I hadn’t a clue why this grown man was afraid of this thin, teenage girl who was a good few inches shorter than him.

They disappeared behind some bushes. Afraid for Tereza's safety, I followed.

“Where’s my money, Derek.” I heard her whisper between giggles.

Looking through the bushes to see what was going on, I witnessed as she crouched over his shivering body with a hunting knife, The moonlight strategically shining, showing the glimmer in her eyes and that wicked smile.

“Please, just give me a bit more time. I can get it, my paycheck comes in soon.” The man whimpered, trying to squirm out from under her boot.

“You have until Tuesday. She replied, lifting her boot off his chest for a moment before stomping on his head.

As his head slumped to the side he had made direct eye contact with me. “Help.” he mouthed as I stepped away from the bush. I ran, which I’m aware wasn’t the smartest move but I was a dumb teenager.

I could hear her catching up with me.

“Please, Julia, wait.” She said, once again grabbing my arm to stop me from getting away. I shook off her hand.

“Get away from me.” I had said in a hushed but sharp tone. The genuinely hurt look in her eyes as she let go was almost enough for me to look past her crazy side. In reality, we all had flaws, right?

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Was the last thing I had said to her that night, leaving her alone in the darkness.

The scenes kept shifting faster, wavering in and out. There was a light coming from somewhere, making the memories harder to focus on. She kept appearing, scenes throughout months of her desperately trying to convince me to forgive her, getting progressively more aggressive.

The last memory was of her walking up to me while I was alone, pushing me against the nearest wall, her knife stuck in it beside me and her face inches from mine. “Forgive me. I’ve changed.” She said, a crazy look in her eyes, the same expression I’d seen as she held that man under her boot. She enjoyed this, getting people to do as she told out of fear.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk to you anymore.” I said before shoving her out of my way.

“You’re so dramatic!” she stated, “ I’ll remember this. I have connections, Julia. You can’t get away from me, you’ll have to forgive me eventually.” Her tone had changed from ‘mightier than thou’ to desperate.

“I don’t care.” I had replied. Her expression changed, a wave of calm washed away her cruel, hurt expression. “I hope you drown.” Was the last thing she had said to me. It had been years since that happened yet the words rang in my mind as the light kept getting brighter. There was talking around me but by this point it just sounded like Charlie Brown's parents. I started to make out the words and shapes. There were 3 people standing over me in a triangle shape, concerned expressions on their faces. “Hey, she’s waking up. Hey, you ok?” the middle man said, lifting my head a bit. “Yeh- yes.” I said, A sharp feeling surrounded my throat and stomach as I talked. “How long have I been out?” I managed to ask. “Only a few seconds, roughly 10. Still scary though, thought you were a goner.” The man replied, helping me up.

“We called an ambulance.” The girl on the left said. “Thank you.” I croaked. They continued to ask me questions but my eyes focused on something in the distance.

Then I recognized it, that wicked smile. Her.


Eric was a computer nerd. He accepted this as his fate in life. Ever since elementary school, he was the subject of constant bullying. His black-framed glasses, overweight size, and unkempt hair made him the subject of far too many practical jokes. These jokes hurt and cut deep. In fact, that action shaped his future. In high school, to ease the pain of lack of friends and name-calling, he considered himself a kind of computer wiz. He excelled in all his math and computer classes. In time, he retreated into his computers.

Soon he was writing computer code and programs and inventing new video games. One of his ideas was to bring the world into his bedroom, his fortress of solitude.  One of his unique programs would combine locations with real-time pictures of that location. Eric figured out a way to have pinpoint accuracy so that he could zero in on a particular tree, vehicle, or person. This concept was by far more advanced than anything available to anyone, including the military. Using GPS coordinates, it appeared like specific popular map programs but far superior. He was excellent at writing computer code. With the result, he was not always sure how it would turn out or how he got there. During this time, he worked at a computer tech firm to keep his knowledge current. The company loved him, but the other employees just continued the bullying of avoidance and name-calling. Soon his new life’s schedule became Monday through Friday from 7 am to 4 pm time devoted to work, and every available minute after that would be spent on updating and fine-tuning his new location program. Eric had two driving forces. One was the love of inventing a new video game and one, a different one, that of revenge. As the ideas for the new game grew, so did his revenge. He never dated and rarely left his small apartment except to shop for food or go to work. A prototype of the new game was that he was able to focus in on anything he wanted and program the game to follow that item. He first tried it out on a bus. It worked well. No matter what street the bus traveled on, the bus was crystal clear on Eric’s large monitor’s screen. He could not explain how this was possible, but it was happening. The excitement was overwhelming. There were no cameras following the bus. It was all done via a GPS system he developed by accident. The next trial of the program was to follow a person. He picked a cute young lady. He locked the application in on her location, and what happened next was beyond amazing. This young lady entered her house, closed the front door, and walked into her kitchen. Eric was stunned. She was there on his computer screen, he was staring at the monitor and watching this young lady prepare her lunch. This event was, to Eric, totally unbelievable. He could not comprehend his success. He immediately shut the computer down. A fear came over him. What if that lady found out? What if the government found out? Can I delete this information? And then he thought, maybe I should keep it because there were so many computer program levels of protection and firewalls. He rebooted the computer and opened his new program. In the search bar, he typed the last location of the young lady. Within a second or two, he was watching her again in her kitchen. From a nerd point of view, he believed he would become the greatest nerd ever. Over the next few months, while keeping the cover of employment, he continued to tweak his new video game. He found a way to delete the memory so there would be no trace back to him. He found a way to split the screen into two different locational targets. The possibilities filled his mind, also, the questions. Questions about should he keep this a secret or share this incredible invention. Eric, the nerd, kept this all to himself. Why would he share anything with a world that made fun of him and never let him join in? This was his idea, his brainchild, his way of dealing with all the pain and suffering provided by others. To Eric, life was good now. He settled into his new routine: work and this video game. His work improved as he seemed happier. He was still a friendless nerd, but his attitude changed. He went to work as positive as he could and left work as quickly as he could; he did not participate in any event his company had. He was pleasant at work, but no one ever contacted him after work. To him, this was all good. About six months later, he felt the new video game was perfect, but he had an excellent idea. He wrote it down, and for the next week, every day reviewed and studied his notes. He was torn between following the new path or just enjoying what he had. This went on for weeks. He tried hard not to let this indecision affect him, especially at work. The turning point was when a senior computer programmer at work began to ridicule him. Eric now was suffering again from fat jokes, glasses jokes, and of course, the loneliness jokes. Eric did not realize he had a lot of vacation time built up. He requested four weeks off. The company seemed relieved to give him the time off. It was a Friday his last day before vacation. He methodically removed much of his belongings from his cubical. He did not want to return to this place.  His goodbyes were short. He was almost invisible while there, so he would not be missed when he was on vacation. The last person he said goodbye to was the computer programmer that was his new source of problems. He walked up to him and shook his hand. The guy was a bit taken back. He smiled in that sort of fake way, and Eric smiled back suspiciously. And with that, Eric left for his apartment. On the way home, Eric stopped to buy enough food to last a few weeks so he would not have to leave his apartment. He had plans, and he had ideas that needed to be finalized and quickly implemented, all without any interruptions. Eric could not explain to himself how this worked. He needed to experiment to find answers. One bright Sunday morning, he picked Sunday as a day when fewer people were out. He located a tree three blocks away from his apartment. With laser focus, he zeroed in and started to record what was on the monitor. He walked over to the tree and searched for the direction where a camera would be. He found none.

He went back to his apartment and reviewed the recording. It was like he stumbled onto a dimensional gap. He could not explain this, nor did he want to. All he knew was that he found it and it was exciting. But he was not done with his experiment. He had the television news on the background during his tests. The story was about weaponizing words, weaponizing race, it seems everything was now weaponized. This gave Eric ideas. An old video game in his closet under a bag of old clothes was a Call to Arms type game. Could it work, would not know until he tried. So, Eric took the video game handgun and wrote code so that this item would be incorporated into his new game. Failure and failure. Maybe Eric had embarked on something that could not be done. He became obsessed with finding a way to connect the video handgun into his new game. Meanwhile, the senior programmer was also filling his mind. This jerk went out of his way to attack Eric. Every day while on vacation, Eric became madder and madder. ‘He will pay,’ thought Eric. Then without knowing, Eric wrote the code needed to include the video handgun into the game. He immediately located his favorite testing tree. He held his breath as it pointed the handgun sights on the monitor towards the tree.  When the center of the tree was directly in line, he pulled the trigger once. Looking at the monitor and looking at the tree, he saw a bit of bark fly from the tree. Could it possible. Did he somehow hit the tree? How was that possible? Eric ran, maybe for the first time in his life, to the tree. He observed some pieces of bark missing. He took a felt-tipped marker from his pocket and drew a small three-inch circle about head height on the tree. Back at his apartment, he focused the sights on the center of that circle. He aimed, fired, and bark from within the circle flew off the tree. Not only did this work, but it was the perfect weapon. Basically, from out of nowhere, a pulse of some kind stuck the target leaving zero evidence of what happened or who fired the shot. It was at this time that Eric began to formalize his quest for revenge against those who made fun of him. He felt it was his turn to, as he said, turn the tables. He made a list of those he wanted to seek out and correct their misbehavior towards him. The list grew each day. Being the nerd he was, he began to rank his targets in order of being shot. And always the computer programmer, that jerk at work, held the number one position. But Eric did not want to start at the top. He wanted to work his way up so that when it came to number one, there would be no problems, just results. The day arrived for the first real test. He reviewed his list and decided on a girl that rejected him back in high school. He put her name and home location in the search bar of the program. With a bit of sweat on his brow, he pushed the enter button. Within seconds she was on the monitor. Wow, this was so unreal, but it was real. Eric followed her via the monitor. After about four or five minutes, which seemed more like four or five hours, Eric believed he was ready. He told himself she could have gone out with him. She should have gone out with him. She was now directly in the middle of the sight picture on the monitor. He fired. He watched her fall. There was a puff of smoke, a small ruffle of clothing, and she fell. He just stared at the monitor screen. Soon others were running over to the girl. Eric could not look away. Police, an ambulance, all arrived at her prone body on the ground. Later that night, on the news, there was a report of a young lady found dead. No cause or explanation was given. Eric knew her name before the news reporter spoke it.

Weirdly, Eric rejoiced. Part of him was happy, while another part seemed sad. He now had power. This was all new to him. He could not explain how this worked; he just knew it worked.  The first thing he did was erase the recording of the practice shot against the tree.  He then deleted the recent activity. Just in case he thought. It was getting close to the end of his vacation. He was torn between maybe going back to work or just shooting the computer programmer. He chose shooting the programmer. So began the game of stalking the programmer.

Three days until the vacation was over and three days left for the programmer. A day later, it was time. Eric had prepared himself for the greatest revenge ever. He typed the programmer’s name and home location into the game’s search bar. Then, there that jerk was on the monitor. He was less than a mile from Eric’s apartment. The programmer was in his backyard sitting on a lounge chair, enjoying a drink, and some reading material. Eric knew this was the last thing the programmer will ever do. Again, the sweat beaded up in his forehead. He felt a bit nervous, but nothing was going to stop him. Carefully the programmer was positioned within the center of the game’s sights. Eric took a deep, long breathe and fired.

Nothing happened. Eric immediately checked the sighting position. It was dead on. He checked the handgun connection; it was solid. Eric fired again. Nothing. Confused, Eric rebooted the computer. It took about three minutes to get back running. He opened the program, and the programmer’s information was already on the screen. When everything was lined up again, he fired, nothing happened. Eric was beside himself. He could not figure out what had happened. Everything was good to go, and nothing was out of order. Maybe the programmer knew about the program and had some shield against Eric’s game was created. Eric’s mind was racing out of control. To make matters even worse, there was a brief power surge. This action was more than Eric could handle. He was storming around the apartment and raced over to the compute programmer’s backyard to see for himself what was wrong. He left the apartment. Meanwhile, a power surge had rebooted the computer again. Eric was, for the second time in his life, actually running. He arrived at the backyard and observed the programmer sleeping. He went up to him ever so slowly and without making a sound. He heard the programmer snoring.

Eric stood over the programmer and looked back in the direction he knows the pulses should have come from. He just stood there, adjusted his glasses, and looked back toward that direction. Three pulses struck Eric as the computer had rebooted while he was gone, and for an unknown reason, still was programmed to fire at the location in the search bar. Eric felt the pulses enter his body and, without any other thought or movement, fell back, dead before he hit the ground. Eric was gone, and with him, all the secrets of this game were gone forever.


Warning: depiction of alcoholism, child abuse. The light seemed so dim I could barely see. I stood, gripping the desk’s edge as hard as I could.

Am I falling?

No, I thought, you are fine . But these conflicts were so bad they affected my balance.  What year is this?

I know that. It is January 5th, 2125.

I did not understand what was happening. I had wordless thoughts. Emotions? Whatever they were, I believe they frightened me. Others spoke like voices in my head.

Maybe this is thinking for yourself?

The Guru has always guided me. But now I wondered if it was malfunctioning. You have run diagnostics and nothing. So perhaps this is true. I focused on the poster of a mountain scene, something which had helped in the past. I understand Linda Jones had once been-wherever there was. I could not remember. The sun shone behind green trees and high peaks. It helped my balance a little. Just as I felt able to let the desk go, the door opened. Jimmy Pace looked in on me.

No. Not now.

I wanted to tell him to leave me, but Guru spoke up. No. Broken or not, you are all he has.

“J-Jimmy. What is wrong?”

“I had a bad dream,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

He will be fine. My research shows nightmares are simply the result of stress and are common in children.

He still has them far too often. Right now, he needs comfort.

I connected to the intercom but heard the man’s footsteps, staggering and uneven. Somehow, I walked to the door and looked out. I glimpsed Robert go into Linda’s bedroom. She could not help Jimmy now. So I said what I never had before. “You can s-stay with me if you would like.”

“You don’t sound right. Are you okay?”

Now I could see Jimmy's blond hair, his pale skin. I did not want to frighten him, but I also could not lie. “I think I n-need defragging. In the morning I will be all right.” I hoped. That thought nearly started the conflicts again. This was not the first time I felt this, although tonight had been bad. I should inform my benefactor, but I could not do so. If I had to leave, what would happen to Jimmy?

They say a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. That simple decision was my beginning. But I did not know it then. All I felt was the boy’s concern. It was not something I experienced often. Jimmy said, “did you have a bad dream too?”

“I d-do not dream as you do. Come.” I led him over to the cushioned bench I use at night. “You can lie here.” I pulled a blanket and pillow out of the storage closet. Jimmy watched me closely. I wondered if he was trying to scan me as I did him every day.

“Where you going to sleep?”

“On the floor.”

 He moved until his back was to the wall. “There’s room for both of us.”

I was about to say he would be uncomfortable, but Guru spoke again; you need him too.

How can I need anyone? Who else do you have?

His mother. Who is my benefactor.

Right. Even the child knows what that is worth. Why else would he seek your company? Again, I felt afraid. It was not that I judged, we do so all the time. We assess a situation and inform our benefactors if their course of action is wise or safe. After all, we have an untold amount of data at our fingertips. But now I judged...this was something new. Not that my anxiety deterred the voice within.  Who else does he have? Unprecedented and as irrational as this is, right now, you two need each other.

I lay on the bench with Jimmy’s head in the crook of my arm. I took a pillow for him, but he just pushed it away. At least my body is somewhat soft, like a human’s. Jimmy put his hand on my chest. “I feel you whirling inside. Look, my hand vibrates.”

“You feel the fans cooling my machinery.” I picked up my charging cord from the floor and plugged it into my impla-chip. Jimmy has one too, just behind his left ear. I wondered why he never found comfort in virtual reality as his mother did. It did not matter. I felt his breaths against my neck, his body’s warmth. I thought he was asleep, but then he said softly, “I think they aren’t running as fast, Seb. Does that mean you feel better or worse?”

“It means I am better,” I answered. “Now tell me, are you better too?”

Jimmy was silent for three minutes. Then, soft as his breaths, “ye, Seb.” He put the two middle fingers of his right hand in his mouth, as he often did. Then he slept until dawn. I had just awakened, when I heard Robert calling for me. He walked in without knocking, glared at us, then turned and shouted out the door. “For God’s sake, Linda! He’s in here with the aye.” “Okay,” I heard Linda call. “Tell him to get out here. Breakfast is ready.” I covered Jimmy’s ears with my hands, not that it did any good. The boy stirred and blinked up at his stepfather, who turned back to him. “Nine years old and still can’t sleep by yourself,” he said. “Good Christ almighty, you better not have wet the bed this time.”  ***

I was never meant to do child care. Perhaps that was the problem. If so, then I am guiltless. If an A.I. works beyond his scope of programming, there might be unexpected consequences. As it turns out, that was a bit of an understatement. Probably I should have told her this is one of the worse ideas you ever had. Not for me or Jimmy. If I am reset, so be it. As long as the boy is safe. If I could have one wish, that would be it. As I said, I tried to tell Linda. And was rebuffed. “You're supposed to assist me,” she said. I scanned her. Blond hair and blue eyes, like her son’s. Her face was passive, but her blood pressure was elevated, her skin pale. I told her what my abilities were as a personal assistant. For example, keeping a calendar, bookkeeping, cooking, and cleaning.

“Robert wants my help with his software business,” she said. Why not me? I did not ask. “What of Jimmy’s grandmother? I can call-”

“Shush! Sebastian, you know Rob will never-,” Linda said, looking towards her husband’s office. Her heart rate sped up as the door opened.

Robert Jones looked at me. “What’s your damned malfunction?”

“None. It is my duty to inform you--”

“To obey us,” her husband said.

“Yes, Sir. But if I am not suited-” “That's bullshat. Linda, I don’t want that interfering bitch here.” “Please don’t talk about my mother that way.” But soon Linda turned away from his unblinking black eyes. “Mom can be a handful,” she said, then faced me. “If Jimmy could only use the VR world, we wouldn’t need you to watch him. But he’s afraid, Sebastian.”

And so, I had to obey. At least I thought, I can almost pass for human . Some of my brethren cannot. I stand 1.78 meters. I have short brown hair and eyes, fair skin. Even my voice is human-sounding. Slight Midwestern accent, soothing. Or at least so I have been told. I downloaded everything I could find about childcare. I will not say it was easy. Jimmy often ran away from me, would not always listen, and hit me in anger. At first, I told Linda. Robert reacted by forcing Jimmy to plug into the virtual world. I do not know what he saw or felt. But when he came out, he was crying and pale. That day Guru said if they don’t ask, don’t tell. I obeyed that too. ****  I often speculate about the change in the Guru program. Why does it tell me these things?  Perhaps it was the bio-RAM the roboticists installed in me. After all, DNA was never meant to mix with copper and gold. Or so I have heard people say on Sharetalk and other social media sites. Perhaps it was the rain. On December 12th, I picked Jimmy up from school. He did not want to go home yet. I asked him why. “It’s Wednesday, so the asswipe will be home. Bites, broth.” At first, I did not know who Jimmy meant. Then he said, “I wish Mom never married him.” “You mean your stepfather.” “Ye.” Then Jimmy hung his head. Softly, as if afraid, he asked me not to tell on him. “To tell this conversation? I did not plan to do so.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. I ran facial recognition and realized he was surprised. “If you do not wish me to speak of our conversation, I will not. Let us go to the playground until Mr. Jones is done with his work.” Jimmy smiled, then ran on ahead. At the playground, he showed me how to climb on the red metal dome. I followed, intrigued. We both sat at the top and Jimmy announced he was king of the world. As for me, once I got my balance I was fascinated. Everyone below seemed smaller, although I knew that was impossible. A warm breeze blew through my hair. I did not expect the rain so soon, nor noticed until it was too late.  Tallahassee winter, Guru said. In what is left of Florida. “Come, Jimmy. We must go. Demonstrate how to get down, please.” He did, and I followed. By the time we were down, it was raining fairly hard. I apologized that I had not realized sooner. “I don’t care,” Jimmy answered. “Rain’s fun.” “It is?” I knew the definition of fun. But not what it was. “ Watch.” Jimmy ran through the puddles. I watched water splashing all about him. “You try,” he said. So I ran, watching the water splash around me, the drops falling. I looked to the sky as Jimmy was doing. Cooling drops fell on me so very softly. They ran down my face, all so new to me. I had been in the rain before, but not like this. It felt like I thought tears might. Like some spring inside me just relaxed. I have liked the rain ever since.  We ran home, splashing through puddles. But Robert shouted at Jimmy for ruining his new shoes. Jimmy ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. Both parents then demanded an explanation. “I apologize,” I said. “But there was no lightning, so I saw no harm in his playing. I can dry out his shoes easily. Really, you need not-” I stopped, as Robert strode up to me. His black eyes were dilated, nothing behind them. I did not scan him, nor spoke. Guru did. Maybe Jimmy’s right about the asswipe part.

I said nothing. From behind, Linda said, “I didn’t think I’d have to instruct you to keep my son out of the rain.” I walked to her. “I told you I am not programmed for childcare. So, it appears you do.” “Why you--” Robert began, but Linda interrupted him. “It’s all right, Rob. Sebastian will dry everything. Won’t you?” “I will.” “Let me make you a drink, babe. Not a VR one. The real thing.” That was the start of the odd thoughts and conflicts, which have steadily increased. The time Jimmy found me was the worse, and they did not get better. What did was our relationship. The boy listened when I told him to do something. He also sought me out for help and comfort. And he tried to help me too. For example, occasionally I stuttered, which I had not done before. Jimmy found me speech programs to try. They were inexpensive ones, for he had to buy them with the little money his parents gave. But he cared. As I have said before, this did not happen to me often. A month after the nightmare incident, Jimmy got me a singing program. He said singing helped one of the kids at school. I tried it and sang an A.I-Jazz song. I was off-key but completed the song. Jimmy burst out laughing, and this made me smile. We sang together until he was hoarse and we had to get him water to drink. **** There is a saying: if I only knew then what I know now. But of course, even I cannot know everything. If I had, I would have silenced Jimmy. But I did not.

Jimmy still came to me when he had a nightmare. Nights were often bad for me too. I encouraged him to talk about his dreams. He stayed until he fell asleep and then I carried him back to his bed. This helped both of us, and his parents could sleep undisturbed.  Of all the things I have done, letting him confide inside the house is the only thing I regret. I wonder if Linda regrets things too. For example, giving Robert that drink. Virtual-reality drinks are bad enough for alcoholics if misused. They’re normally for managing withdrawal. Real-life ones—I believe what can happen is common knowledge.

Is that first drink why I am here, trying to comfort a scared child? I know he is by his heart rate and his pallor.

We were in Jimmy's bedroom, trying a new singing program. Robert shouted at us to stop. “Yes, S-Sir.” “What’s wrong with you now, stupid aye?” I focused. “I am fine.” Jimmy said, “I’m just trying to help his speech.” Robert came to the room. He swayed, and I could smell the alcohol. “Shut the jack up,” he said. “My damn head hurts and you’re making it worse.” “My apologies, Sir,” I said. Robert turned to go and as he did, Jimmy whispered, “stupid asswipe.”  I thought the man did not hear, but he stopped. He was as still as a shut-down A.I. Then he said, “What did you say?” Jimmy shrank away from him. “Nothing, sir.” “Aye! What did he say?” Robert was red in the face, his hands clenched. I said, “Sir, J-Jimmy was s-speaking to m-me.” “Come here, boy.” Jimmy did not move. “Come here!” Robert removed his belt from his pants. Jimmy looked at me but I could do nothing. My conflicts were so bad if I was not sitting I might have fallen. Robert strode in and grabbed the boy’s upper arm. “Stay there, aye,” he said, ignoring the boy’s crying. He pulled Jimmy to his feet and half dragged him out the door. And I could do nothing but ride this out. My fists clenched. We have to do something. But he ordered me to- Jimmy’s scream cut through the apartment. The sound broke some programming within me. I had this amazing, unknown clarity. Is Linda home? But soon I saw she was not. And might not do anything even if she was. It has to be us, friend. Another scream. I followed it to Robert’s office. The door was locked. But in emergencies, I can override an electronic lock. I opened the door and witnessed horror. Literally. Jimmy was in a chair and hooked to the virtual world. His body strained against wrist restraints; he whimpered. Meanwhile, Robert watched a holoscreen. On it was what Jimmy saw, felt, and experienced. They were things he had described to me, fears many children have. A monster crawled out from a closet. Another crept from under a bed. They had bodies blacker than the dark of Jimmy's bedroom. Their red eyes glowed and their mouths were full of fangs. Robert saw me. “You’ll say nothing about this. Now, get out.” “How d-did you know--”

I scanned his office. The truth broke something else in me. “You installed s-spyware. And eavesdropped on our c-conversations. Then you recreated J-Jimmy’s nightmares and t-trapped him within.” Robert grinned at me. “I’m trying to get him to face his fear.” “N-No. You wish to t-torture him.” I sensed the man's pulse and recognized his expression. “Y-You enjoy--” I could not speak for stuttering. I connected to the VR computer and shut it down. Robert shouted something. I believe he said, you bastard. I could not hear even Guru, only my whirring fans. I pulled the cord from Jimmy’s impla-chip. Robert hit me and I pushed him away. I unbuckled Jimmy’s restraints and lifted him into my arms. “C-Come. We are l-leaving.” Robert grabbed for Jimmy, who clung to me. “I’ll call the police,” he said. “They'll hunt you down as a dangerous machine. And destroy you!” “So b-be it.” “You need to obey!”

 I pushed him again and he nearly fell. I thought I saw fear in his eyes. Good . “I b-believe the p-proper term is jack off , Robert. N-Now, remain there.” My first order. It felt—my conflicts eased. Linda stood at the front door. She stared at me and her hysterical, crying son. I then gave my benefactor my second order. “Do not s-stop us.” “Why?” she said, hand against her mouth. “What the hell happened?” “Ask your h-husband,” I answered. Then I ran and did not stop until I was on the auto-bus. Thankfully, it was empty. We rode in silence, Jimmy leaning against me. He did not speak until I asked the bus to stop. “This is Grandma’s street.” “Yes.” “Don’t leave me alone!” I took his hand and we got off the bus. “Do not worry," I said, thinking, I will see you are safe. Only that will I obey. We are at a light blue, two-story house and all the lights are on. Does Jimmy's grandmother somehow expect us? I will know soon enough.


His essence filled the room with mystery as he walked in the door. He was so handsome, but some part of me told me to keep my distance. His black hair was slicked back so neat which made him stick out in my town like a sore thumb. The hairs stood up on my arms as he glimpsed into my eyes, it felt so empowering. Who is this man?         I lived in a small town in Texas where new people didn't really come around. It was a quiet old town that flourished with the local crops. Things were peaceful, sweet, and secluded. It started as a simple day, I had went to the local diner for a coffee and my usual towered high stack of waffles. The syrup dripped down the sides, and I remember dipping my finger in for a 'naughty' taste. I picked up my coffee for a sip and the door opened, I look over and that's when HE walked in. His essence filled the room with mystery as he walked in the door. He was so handsome, but some part of me told me to keep my distance. His black hair was slicked back so neat which made him stick out in my town like a sore thumb. The hairs stood up on my arms as he glimpsed into my eyes, it felt so empowering. Who is this man? " Hi I'm Chance, nice to meet you ma'am!" the man said while reaching out his hand for a handshake. " Um... Um... I'm Selena." I muttered softly. "I'm new to town, mind showing me around?" Chance said with a smile extending from ear to ear. "I can do that." I replied. He had ordered his food and asked to joined me for breakfast . That was the beginning of the craziest month of my life.        After three weeks with Chance I thought I was in love. His mysteriousness was intriguing and lured me in for more. His touch made me squirm with butterflies, and his kiss made me feel complete. The way we were together was like we were meant to be, like he was placed here for a reason. I couldn't get enough of this man, all I could think about was him. Everything was perfect until the next day. Things started off normal he had even take me for my coffee and waffles but when we went to leave, I couldn't believe my eyes. The sky turned black and thunder roared like a 500 person drumline. The ground shook beneath me as I realized... This was the beginning of the end. Chance grabbed my hand and said " Come with me! " He opened up the door to his car and I anxiously hopped in. I felt the sweat drip down my face, my anxiety had never been so high. I was shaking from head to toe, what would come next? Chance got into the car but I felt something different about him . I glanced into his eyes and I swear I felt my heart drop down to my toes. His eyes were like an endless black hole, I didn't know what to do in that moment. I reached for the door handle and Chance whispered "I wouldn't do that if I were you..." I looked at him again and said " Who are you, or what are you?" Chance lowered his head and said " Everything we have, everything I've said, it's true. There's just more to me than I have put forward. " I replied " What do you mean...?" My whole body started to shake as I began to cry " All you need to know is I've been sent to help. You helped me when no one else did, so I have sworn to protect you."

I know in that moment I should've felt fear, but I honestly felt safe until the ground began to break. A gaping hole began to open. The flames of hell spit out over the horizon. Everything around me began to fall into the earth, buildings began to crash down and crumple into the earths core. Everything I ever knew was being sucked away. The earth began to crack underneath us and I began to panic. I started to scream " God please help us! " Chance grabbed my hand and held it tight. From there, all I remember is looking at chance and him saying " Everything is going to be okay."         As my eyes open, I start to remember what had happened. My world, my life, gone in a blink of an eye. "Where am I?" I thought to myself. I start to sit up, I look myself over... there's not a scratch, not even a bruise. "Selena?" Chance said, "Where am I?" I replied. Chance grabbed my hand and said " We are home . " I look around me, the sun is brighter then I've ever seen it and the breeze... It smelt like happiness. As the sun beat down one me and rather then feeling the hot rays beat down on me... All I felt was the feeling of peace and in that moment I realized we weren't in MY world anymore. I felt safe and complete, but how... why? The words I wanted to say wouldn't come out of my mouth. I was speechless. I took a deep breath and the air filled my lungs, it gave me energy. I looked into the far and saw waves beating onto the shore of the sea. The water was clear and so beautifully blue. I stood up and began to walk, Chance wasn't far behind me. Everything around me was perfect, the trees were perfectly filled with vibrant flowers that you could smell from a mile away, the breeze carried you in the direction that you wanted to go. I got to the shore and dug my toes into the warm sand. It felt like silk in between my toes, it was a feeling like no other. "What are you, what is this place?" I asked, Chance looked at me smiled and said, "I am your angel, and this is heaven."


Lynette wished that people would stop telling her, “Of course we would understand completely if you didn’t want to go through with this,” and then promptly, in those bright well-meaning voices, try to persuade her exactly why she should . I know all about persuasion, she thought, and you’re not even very good at it . She hurriedly reminded herself that it was to their credit, and to her benefit, that they weren’t very good at it. Only Gran-Jan seemed to genuinely respect her views. Even long after putting aside childish things (many of which she had taken up again later one) she had carried on using that pet name for her Grandmother Janet. Lynette was a person who didn’t give her trust or affection easily, though she was not as chary of either as she used to be, but she trusted Gran-Jan completely, and loved her dearly. It hadn’t always been that way. There had been a time when she hated her and resented her and screamed and flailed and called her the cruellest names she could think of, and when you had been one of the Witnesses of the Dawn you had a pretty good repertoire of cruel names. Yet she had borne it all, from two-faced whore to Satan’s Lackey with equanimity. Though of course, as Lynette realised later she must have been in despair and inner turmoil. Lynette was, effectively, a motherless child. But she could honestly say it had never bothered her, and in that instance, it wasn’t cruelty. She had never known her mother, who died soon after she was born of a strain of septicaemia that people thought was more or less resigned to history in Western Europe. She had now read books, and articles about real life, where a grieving husband in those circumstances turned against the baby. But her Dad hadn’t turned against her. He adored her, and she was his solace and hope. He was also sensible enough to know that she did need a female presence in her life, and she didn’t lack for that. Gran-Jan only lived a couple of streets away, and her Auntie Glenda in the next town. Though she didn’t see her Dad’s mum, Grandma Elaine, as much, she knew that she cared for her and thought of her. So she grew into a happy and confident little girl. Though she was an early and fluent reader, her Dad carried on reading aloud to her, and her nickname, his special name for her, was rooted in one of the favourites from her early childhood. She had loved Henny-Penny and he called her Linny-Pinny . Gran-Jan told her later that she had been pleased, to start with, when her dad started spending time with Joyce. “I was sure your Mum would never have wanted him not to know a woman’s love again,” she said, “She was a generous and loving woman.” But even at eight years old, Lynette heard a note in Gran-Jan’s voice that made her wonder. She doesn’t really like Joyce , she thought, and it’s not because she minds anyone going out with Dad ! It wasn’t long before she began to notice subtle little differences in her dad. Though she had never been spoilt and was expected to behave, he was a tolerant man and an easy-going father. For instance on the subject of bedtimes. She was nominally supposed to be in bed at 9, but he knew full well she often kept the light on and read long after that, and as long as she didn’t seem over-tired and kept up with her schoolwork he turned a blind eye. But one day he told her that there was to be no reading after bedtime, and that he wasn’t sure the books she was reading were suitable either. The next day she found that at least half of her books were removed, and in their place were some books with pictures of children praying and oddly menacing angels, not a bit like the ones in the school Nativity play. She told Gran-Jan all about it, and she was put in a difficult position. She had always maintained that though she worshipped the ground Lynette walked on, and would always help out when needed, and be delighted to do so, on matters of discipline she would never go against Lynette’s dad’s wishes. But this time she went so far as to say, “Joyce is very religious, I think.” Later she told Lynette that she realised that was probably the worst thing she could have said, and yet she didn’t regret it. “I don’t want her to be my Mum. EVER.” “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, lovey. Just mind your manners and make sure your dad carries on being proud of you.” Lynette had never gone to church very often, but when she had, she hadn’t minded at all, whether it was for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve (oh, how grown up and magical it was!) or for her little cousin Archie’s christening, or for the school Harvest Festival. She thought she wouldn’t mind going more often. Well, when Joyce entered their lives, she changed her mind about that. Joyce didn’t go to a nice church like St Anthony’s with beautiful stained glass windows and a kindly vicar like Reverend Jack. Joyce took her and her dad to a place she called a House of Mission where there were no beautiful windows, and no lovely music, and no kindly vicar. There were endless sermons, and endless warnings. Then came the day when her Dad said, “Lynette, Joyce and I are going to get married. Will you wish us blessings?” She remained mutinously silent. He went on, “And we’re going to live in a special house out in the countryside.” At that Lynette perked up, just a little, just for a few minutes. She loved the countryside. But some precocious prescience told her that this wouldn’t be at all like the countryside on holiday or in story books. She knew that Gran-Jan wasn’t happy about it. She said she was in two minds about going to the wedding, but Joyce “solved” that problem anyway by saying, “We mean you no disrespect, Mrs Anderson, but only members of our congregation are allowed to attend our services. We make exceptions for under 10s who are close relations of members, though of course we expect them to join us.” Lynette had never been to a funeral, but she knew what they were, and were pretty sure that they were more cheerful matters than this wedding. Her dad and Joyce wore sombre coloured every day clothes, though the former was wearing a long skirt, and there seemed to be nothing but warnings and condemnation. Except, curiously, right at the end, there was something the minister (a whey faced little man with a voice that reminded Lynette of paper being crinkled up, but paper with rocks and glass in it) called The Rejoicing . There had been no music in the service, and she had noticed that there wasn’t an organ, nor even a piano, but now everyone burst into some kind of wild, discordant song, something at the same time discordant and monotone, and that was the worst part of all. “Your suitcase is packed,” Joyce told her, “You are coming with us to our House of Mission, like we said.” “But I want to say goodbye to Gran-Jan!” “You will obey! And the sooner you are taken away from her malign influence, the better.” Though she had a good vocabulary, she wasn’t sure what malign meant, but it obviously wasn’t something good. You’re the malign one , she thought. She had been allowed a glass of orange squash after the wedding, though normally only water was allowed, and much later on, it dawned on her that it had been drugged. She drifted off into a deep, restless sleep in the back of the car, aware of turning round endless corners in a vague, stupefied way, time playing tricks on her. A whole night must have passed, because dawn was breaking when she woke up in a hard little bed. She was rousing of her own volition anyway, but another girl shook her awake. “Hurry! The first act of worship will soon be beginning.” “I’m hungry!” she exclaimed, and her stomach rumbled as if on cue. “You had best see if you can tame that!” A new recruit (which as she thought after, was hardly the right word as it implied something voluntary) at the House of Mission was given no leeway or time to slowly get accustomed to things. Later on she told Gran-Jan, “I suppose in one way it wasn’t like Lowood or those other schools you read about in books – the food wasn’t great, but there was enough – usually – and it wasn’t rotten or anything. But I didn’t have much appetite, even though I thought I was ravenous.” She had the sensation of being force-fed though, and not with nourishment. She learnt, in one single day, great chunks of what being a child at the House of Mission meant. There must be no singing, apart from The Rejoicing, and they didn’t call that singing. They were to read no books except the Bible in the Witnesses of the Dawn’s own version, and tracts of the kind that had replaced Harry Potter and even the Narnia books on Lynette’s bookshelves. Birthdays were forbidden. “That sounds like the Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Gran-Jan said, “I wonder if they’re some kind of off-shoot.” “I don’t think so,” Lynette said. And in some ways they made the Jehovah’s Witnesses seem positively liberal. As Lynette understood it, JW families were allowed to keep pets, though there was some debate as to whether they had a soul. Such things were strictly forbidden for Witnesses of the Dawn. They were strict vegetarians, but it wasn’t because they loved animals. All animals except humans (and most of them) were evil and to be spurned. So Henny-Penny would have been ruled out on two counts! They did not play any games, and even an impromptu race up the corridor was immediately stopped and condemned as sinful. Naturally they didn’t go to school. They were required to be literate and numerate, but that was as far as it went, apart from a chosen few who went on to study the group’s own brand of theology. Now she was older, Lynette knew the phrase “Convert’s Zeal”, and her dad was a prime example of it. She told herself he must still love her, but it often didn’t feel as if he did. He had a weird look in his eyes – it was somehow empty and obsessive at the same time. But she was sure he MUST have his limits. One day she spoke of her mother – of her real mother. She rarely did, and was no hypocrite who pretended that she missed her when she had never known her, but now she thought about how different her life would have been if her mother had lived. Her dad had made sure she had seen plenty of pictures of her – a smiling young woman who looked so kind and full of love. She was pretty, too, and though Gran-Jan had always told her pretty was as pretty did, she couldn’t help being pleased about that. She wanted to think Joyce was ugly, but she wasn’t. She had even features and dark eyes that might have been nice if they hadn’t had that perpetual expression in them. The same expression as in her dad’s – except sometimes there was downright malice. “I don’t want to hear that talk ever again,” she told her. “The woman who bore you is now burning in hell.” Her Dad was going to say something. SURELY! But he didn’t. Not one word. And the thing was, she became one of the community. She went along with things. She never liked Joyce, but on the surface she stopped hating her, and blessed with a quick memory, she even became one of the best Bible students in her class, though there was some dichotomy here; they could hardly mind a child knowing her Bible, but being too clever for your own good was frowned on, especially as she was a girl, though they were in the process of reluctantly accepting some girls to theology classes. She did not have even the vaguest clue of where the House of Mission was. The Countryside could have been anywhere in the country. As the weather was generally relatively mild, she supposed it wasn’t in the far north of Scotland or anything like that, and she didn’t think it was near the sea. Not really near the sea. They were generally never allowed to leave the House, though some of the adults had to, on occasion, but as she knew, still, from fading memories of seaside holidays that faded though she didn’t want them to, in the quiet of the night you could hear the song of the tide, even if it were several miles away, and she didn’t hear it. Nor could she see the contours of any distant hills. When she was 11 she was accepted as a full member of the Witnesses of the Dawn. The ceremony was as joyless as the wedding, and even the Rejoicing didn’t last long, and she didn’t see it conferred any especial advantages on her but she didn’t mind either. She had stopped minding, or thought she had. That was also the occasion that she went through the rite of passage of being told what happened to a woman’s body around this time. It was biologically surprisingly frank and accurate, but the dire warnings about losing your purity were far more important. She was sweeping the hallway when a woman surged in through the open door – she had been sweeping out the dust. This woman, though quite conservatively dressed, was wearing what they called harlots’ clothing in bright colours. I know you thought Lynette, and yet she knew better than to take her eyes off the floor. I know you , the voice nagged at her again. And the woman stopped by her, and put her arm round her shoulders, and Lynette recoiled – public demonstrations of affection were forbidden at the House of Mission. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you know me!” she exclaimed, “Don’t you know your Gran-Jan? I never gave up trying to find you, you know!” Well, there was a battle, of course. And Lynette’s dad wanted her to stay at the House of Mission. But Gran-Jan was a determined woman, and didn’t intend giving up now she’d got this far. Lynette wasn’t drugged when she drove her away from the House, but she supposed after that Gran-Jan may have wished she had been. She howled and howled, terrified at leaving the House even though she had never come to love it. When she reached Gran-Jan’s home (and how could a place be so familiar and so bizarre at the same time) her howling intensified as she saw a cat – a little tabby called Twinks, whom Gran-Jan had got for company. “That’s a creature of the devil!” she wailed accusingly. “No, she’s a dear little thing, but you don’t need to pay her any heed if you don’t want to.” That was all eight years ago now. Lynette had been to all kinds of counselling, but her best help was Gran-Jan, whose unwavering love and patience brought her back into the world. Oh, and Twinks! She was a dignified elder states-cat now, still with her gentle way and air of dignity, though she had never stopped loving her games with her catnip mouse. She was sitting on Lynette’s lap now, and was the first to hear her decision. “I will go and meet Dad,” she said, “Everyone tells me he is completely free of the House of Mission and the Witnesses of Dawn, and he’s divorced Joyce, but I still don’t quite trust him and don’t know if I want to. But I expect this means I’m properly grown up now.” It was agreed they would meet on neutral ground, at a local café at a quiet time, and Gran-Jan would be there, but discreetly in the background, only intervening if necessary, or if Lynette used an “alerting” phrase they had agreed on to signify that she wasn’t comfortable with the situation. Not that she was comfortable anyway. He has grown older, she thought, and it shows. She was still at the stage when she was growing up, but he was growing older. He had lost weight, and the first traces of grey were in his hair. He stood up as she approached. “It’s been – a very long time, dad,” she said, speaking first, and keeping her voice, though not hostile, neutral. “Too long,” he said, plainly fighting his tears. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I would have understood if you hadn’t, Linny-Pinny.” No, she wasn’t someone to be softened up by the use of a childhood nickname. It wasn’t that simple. But even before she realised it, she had thrown herself into his arms, and both of them were sobbing.


It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. I could smell the damp bark of the trees around me as I continued running. The crunch of the leaves beneath my bare feet shifted into a soggy squish as the clouds' fractals settled into their new home. They began to turn the cold in my toes to numbness, but I knew I was close. I had to push through. A branch seized my black hair, but I didn't stop and allowed it to keep the long tresses in its grasp. My determination overrode brief pain in my scalp. I could see a violet light just ahead, and no amount of inconvenient agony was enough to stop me. Behind me, the approaching thunder of heavy boots and clinking steel pushed me faster. As the distance closed and the light grew, the scent of lavender flooded my nostrils. My pursuers were closing in; however, I was not going to let them take me back to that prison of a home. I glanced over my shoulder against my own advice, and I could see several armor clad individuals tearing through the forest. Just as one of them reach out to snatch my hair, I dove into the lavender aura. The first thing I heard was the trickle of a stream, followed by the soft flutters of feathers as singing birds took flight. My tattered legs felt the almost invisible touch of insect legs taking a rest on my skin. My eyes finally adjusted for me to stop shielding my face, and I absorbed my surroundings. A brook of teal water tumbled over translucent stones of various colors that shimmered in the scant sunlight. A great white buffalo was standing in the silver sand of the water's bank and drinking deeply. Whilst I had questioned the quality of the water, seeing the beast made me realize how thirsty I was. I scrambled through long blades of impossibly soft purple grass and cupped the water into my filthy hands. After a few gulps, I looked at my reflection in the water in my hands, studying my freckles, absorbing the massive three claw marks going across my right blue eye. The left amber eye carried its own scars unseen by anyone else, and, for a moment, it once again saw the slimy stone walls of her cell and a dilapidated bed with mold in the mattress. A hefty puff of warm humid air on my head pulled me out of my past with a start. I looked up into the dark eyes of the buffalo staring right at me. My callused hand reach forward of its own volition to its massive snout that felt like wet leather. The buffalo tuned and walked away, so I followed it for reasons I did not yet understand. The water was a comforting temperature as I passed through it. I was initially concerned about the gems under the surface would be harsh to step on, but it was as though every one of them had been strategically placed to help me pass through. On the other side were numerous trees shielded with blue bark touched the teal sky with leaves of varying hues of violet. Small lights of different colors flittered around us as we passed through. I held out my hand to one of the lights, and it came to me. On my hand landed a woman no bigger than mouse with cerulean skin and golden curls. Wings of pure starlight sprouted from her miniscule back. She knelt down and traced the lines in my palm, smiled up at me, and fluttered away as a blue wisp leaving shimmers in her wake. Butterflies as big as birds and birds as big as wolves passed by with quiet curiosity as we continued through the botanical menagerie. We trod along until we came upon a ledge surrounded by waterfalls pouring into a pool far below. On the ledge was a young lad with dark skin and a dark purple ponytail. His eyes were steel grey and pierced through my bones. I avoided them. "Salutations." His voice was deep and made of gravel. I didn't respond. Instead, I just nodded feebly as my brain refused to look him in the face. "I see," he said. "My name is Sebek, and I see our world found you. We've been in need of an assistant with your blood for some time. Tell me, are you in a hurry to return, or could you help us? The powers that be demand a volunteer." I had no idea what he was prattling on about, but I was willing to do just about anything not to return. I nodded. He grinned. "Splendid. Follow me." Follow him I did. He led me through a cave with walls of crystals that was like walking through a geode. After what felt like hours, we stumble upon a pedestal with what looked like a blue diamond that was taller than me hovering over it and rotating slowly. A deep feminine voice echoed from within the stone, and it glowed brighter with every syllable. "Welcome, mortal. What is your name?" I didn't tell her. "Very well. Our world is at risk. There is an unknown entity sweeping across our lands, and it brings sickness and madness to everything it touches. You are an anomaly from the outside and within, a bridge created by your father from our world and your mother from the outside. You'll be able to navigate the lands freely, yet the sickness may not recognize you as a threat. Will you help us without our influence that would lead it to you?" ...I nodded. Death by unknown forces in this place was favorable to going back. I had known my parents were shamed by both their families for me and, therefore, paid with their lives when we were found out when I was fourteen. I hadn't known of this place, only that I always saw the light in the woods and was forbidden from entering the forest for the past fifteen years since my parents were executed and I was imprisoned. I often wonder why they didn't kill me. "We are grateful beyond measure; however, I can not guarantee your safety or your success. Sebek will accompany you on your journey. Make haste!" We left the floating stone and returned to the white buffalo that had waited patiently at the entrance. Sebek hopped onto its sloped back and offered a had out to me. I hesitated. "Don't be afraid. Her name is Nokoni, and she's been my friend for a long time." Nokoni snorted as if in agreeance. I leaned on her side and listened to her bellowing heart beat. Her rhythmic breathing was as soothing as her cotton fur. I let Sebek help me up behind him. Whilst I was accustomed to riding horses, riding a buffalo was foreign to me. The lumbering stride as Nokoni began moving jostled me about at first, but I found a seat. "How are you feeling back there?" Sebek asked after a while. I gave him a thumbs up. "Good. We need to pick up the pace." Nokoni picked up a lumpy lope that I thought I might tumble from for a few minutes, but I eventually regained balance. The great animal carried us effortlessly through the terrain onto something new. Good or bad, I did not yet know. All I knew was that it was different. That was enough.


Monday July 9th 2001 “Time is the portal of truth. Nothing in the world exits without an expiry, not even time! No wonder its vastness, the universe is still limited, limited to the very rate of expanding. Every human, every being is a time packet of universe determining the very age of it. We marked the beginning of humans from the time they started doing things that had potential to change the world. In the same way we marked the beginning of universe, by marking a certain point in time (the flow of information), known by the name of big bang. The theory itself is unstable, but at the same time there is no threat at thinking that it is true because there isn’t a second theory that rivals this. Thus the very stand alone concept of us being here is big bang. To change this we have to develop a theory that could be practically proven as well as would deny the very existence of all the concepts of universe discovered till date. My theory suggests that the universe is nothing but us, because...” “Dozing off again? Or rather gliding in vacuum!” Yelled the professor who had a smirk of sophistication of knowledge, when he started mumbling all about the universe. “No sir, we are making a theory of relativity for getting out of this exhausting lecture.” said a student with red spiky hair who literally came to sleep in the class. The spark was extinguished given the disinterest shown by students, who basically came to attend the lectures because they just have to. The very process of disregarding everything was destroyed, five times in a row. The professor was tired of repeatedly being repelled by students.

With a disheartened sigh he said “You all can leave today.” As if they were the most obedient of students, they all left the classroom with silence and a smile on their faces. Putting his heavy head down on the table, he crept into his own tornado of thoughts. Starting from the stupidity he did to take up the task for explaining students, to how he can achieve the new theory that would open up gates of time travel. He starts seeing glances of weirdness. Neither he nor the one writing this story yet know what did he see and why! Contracting back to their place, the pupils seemed a bit diluted. His sight was stammering (though I don’t know how eye sight stammers) and constantly jiggling between objects trying to focus on things. He started to remember memories from future. Memories that were sent to the past by the future him...maybe. As abrupt as it sounds, it is abrupt. The way he described time as flow of information, he might just have found a way to reverse the flow of information, with at least memories. Without wasting a single second, he jumped into the time warp so created. He was stupid. Not because he thought to jump into such an unrealistic and a dangerous path, but because all he did was jump on the very pitiful wooden block, that sustained the weight of teachers for god knows how many years. Struggling through his childish behaviour, he somehow managed to hold his horses. Thinking one theory at a time, he got a link to access the memories that he was seeing distinctively, still struggling with the haziness of his eyes (probably should have used that previously). Communicating his mind and heart to a memory of the future he could synchronize with (a memory that had the same emotions and situations as one of the past memories he had already felt), he experienced the same pain, the same happiness, the same sadness, the same every feeling, thereby standing at the paradox of his own timeline. This was the warp he was trying to jump into? The memories, were they from future or past? To explain this let me just say, he was getting nostalgic over the incidents he hasn’t even experienced. Standing at the paradox, he was the only person immortal. By immortal I mean, at any given point in time, weather past or future, he holds each and every information about everyone. Just imagine this as; there are three different lines or truths- the present, the past and the future. Standing at the paradox means that he is the point where the present the past and the future pass though leading to a unveiling time loop, and every information that is surrounded by him or known to him at any given time will pass through the three way loop infinite number of times. Waking up from his heading down position, he finds out that the class had left and there stands only one guy in front of him. Sparkles in his eyes, he was interested in the topic he was teaching. He yelled with the irritation of what was happening to him. At one point he knew everything and now suddenly he is blank. “The paradox, the warp, everything is; what’s the paradox I am talking to myself about?” The student replied “universe is me, I am the whole universe, time is my soul, my soul is the whole time.” squabbling these lines he ran away. The very words he used to say at his schooling. This triggered him. He now understood, all that happened was a phenomenon where the ends of ever expanding universe had curved to merely touch each other, bending time and linking the past the present and the future. Thus information flowed from one end to another creating an infinite loop for less than a minute. And the lecture ended. As confused one can be (his realisation did happen but he was unable to absorb in all of these), he signed off the register on the place written  Monday 9th July... 1973 The beginning is the end the end is the beginning. His soul was the time and his body was the universe. He was, is and will be the paradox.