Sitting amongst the dusty chairs and tables, sits a man, the mysterious man who lived at the top of a tower, bells clanging at every hour, in the middle of a congested city. This building was the tallest building, and no one dared enter it, as the stories from years, decades and centuries ago filled the walls and whispered horrors which made the light dim in one’s eyes, follow their back as they went home, lock their windows and doors, hide under the covers, and never, never and ever emerge again.

Again

        Again

                  Again

Dear camarade ,

I will tell you this from the beginning of the month. A month that holds the depths of a New Year's resolution and the beacon of light that can change someone’s life completely. And here I write trying to muster an idea from the scraps of rubbish that litter my brain into something worth fighting for and trying, for just a month. The month which could change many.

I will try to walk.. Walk..out the door of this hellhole. The place that I have called home for years and years, that much time has passed that I haven’t been able to count.

So here I look at my little clock and write I will , by the end of the month, walk out and see the people who have forgotten my existence, over the past 47 years, 3 months, 19 hours, 23 minutes, 32 seconds..33 seconds…34 seconds… Dear camarade ,

I begin to try. Today, I stood up from my chair. Surprise, isn’t it? I stood up from my chair and decided that it would be a good idea to look outside the window. A window which I hadn’t looked at for a long time. The draping heavy velveteen curtains screeched and swished as my hands meagrely brushed against them and pulled them aside. Blinding light bombarded the room as I had just managed to open up a sliver, and colour, colour had exploded.

My eyes grew bleary at the light. So bright. My eyes cried their tears. For what I don’t know, maybe because of the sudden light which I had banished from this room for the last few years. Maybe the sight of seeing something other than the drab monotone colours of the night. Which had not a candle in sight. And maybe, just being able to see..something.

Dear camarade ,

I try. Again . I opened the sliver further. Now, it was open a foot wide. And my eyes hurt. But I looked and saw a blue sky. I had read in several books where philosophers found the sky to be “mesmerising” and “crystal clear as the dew upon the grass' '. But, nothing could be compared to what I saw then. A clear sky. In simple words, a haven unbound and free, with the wind revelling and dancing amongst the stars and the moons. And the chorus of birds filled the air.

The tower remained silent, not a cheep at all, but an almighty clang,

as noon struck and I turned around, sat down, and began writing.

Dear camarade ,

I try. Again. There is no gap in the window. Now, there is just a pane of glass that separates the outside air and the inside air. A thin layer of sand. And I hope in a day or two, the pane of sand can be removed and I can open it and breathe in the air that I can only dream of.

But, for now, as I write with ink that shall soon run out, till I shall retrieve some more, I sit here afraid. But of what, I don’t know.

Is it the light or the isolation that I have been with for the last few years? Because of that, now, me and loneliness go hand in hand. Friends who have won a war together and shall now suffer the loss and pain of the fallen soldiers.

But today, I shall not render upon that. Today I will tell you why people are so scared of this tower. Scared is a harsh word for this case. But to elucidate this matter, I shall retain the word “scared”. This tower, the clock tower is dark, gloomy and horrifyingly sad. It was once painted black and gold, yet the mere misery of the town had made it torn a despondent ash black. With this information, you can clearly understand that the town was “scared” due to the looks of the towering tower. But, unlike the outside. I had managed to keep everything out of clutter, yet the dust did not prevail as it set every single day.

Dear camarade ,

I do not try again. Before you presume anything, let me explain.

It has been several boring and painstaking number of days now since the window was opened. And now it stays open. I like to look out of it and see the wonderful sky, but never and ever do I look down to see the townsfolk who must wonder why the window stayed open all day and all night.

But, I am tired of my dearest camarade. I am tired and I feel as though death is near, yet I feel the strength of the world in my bones. The person I had been honed into was withering by the months. At least I am grateful that I still have time to relax and think about my life.

I write to you as I lay in my bed. I think nothing.

Dear camarade ,

I do not try again. You know I can walk. But the descent of the stairs tires me. It tires me so much that my bones ache and I am too tired to do the journey. Saying the word journey makes it seem to be long. No matter how much you may mock me, I persist and say that it is a long journey.

It is 6518 steps, precisely. Tell me that is a small number! You can’t.

Since you’re 6 feet below the ground.

I had counted them the very day I had entered this “place”. The day I came back to this city, battered and bruised, the images of a red sea full of metal - playing on repeat - again and again and again.

I shall never forget that day - and definitely not that memory.

Dear camarade ,

I try. Again. Laugh at me all you wish. Call me a coward. Know that I am glaring at you - viciously. I am laughing as I write this. It has been a long time since I laughed my old friend. But I can still imagine you walking out your grave and calling me a damn coward for doing such actions. And I relish this laugh.

And as I said at the beginning of this entry. I try again. So today, holding that laugh deep into my heart and soul and brain, I picked up my walking stick and took the first step down the stairs and walked 147 steps. Now once again you are laughing at me.

But mind that I am an old man now - at the age of 63..having been 63 years for a long time…I forgot my birthday.

I forgot my name - but I still remember yours old friend.

Vice Admiral Benbow Dear camarade ,

I tri ed . Again. It has been days since I last talked to you - though it was for a reason. I have been going down those steps with leaps and bounds.

First, 268 steps.

Then, 562 steps After, 1379 steps And very soon..I reached the bottom stop - where I heaved a sigh and straightened my old back - and went back up. Cowardice took the better of me. I am sorry.

Dear camarade ,

I try. Again. For the last time. On the last day of this month. Sweet January. And I know you are not surprised as you know that I never give up without another try. So now I write, telling you about how I conquered.

And here is how it went my friend.

My legs now brittle with age, limped and crinkled down the steps and into the awakening courtyard. Someone had tended to these gardens as I had left them and had made them flush with bleeding hearts, peonies, hydrangeas and smiling daisies. And outside that courtyard is a mass of people. Both young and old, girl and boy. Everyone. They gaze at me with smiling eyes. And I go to them with my medals pinned to my chest. And no one forgot.

My mind no longer holds the grief that had been infecting my brain for so long. It was a long-long time

And from this moment onwards, I shall live with the country which I fought for, no longer alone. Starting with 1 second…2 seconds..3 seconds….until the bitter end - where I meet with you once again.

Yours Sincerely Admiral Veris Callaghan.

War Veteran.


BOBBY CARTER’S CRIMES  “Welcome to Shady Maple!” Maxine bellowed, extending her muscular, tattooed arms out toward the newest resident of the private women’s shelter, a tiny blonde wisp of a thing, barely half of Maxine’s formidable figure. “You must be Stella!” Stella silently followed Maxine to the sleeping quarters where some of the other women were camped out on their respective narrow beds. The shelter was always maxed out at 12 women, and Maxine was sure to remind Stella how lucky she was to have a spot for the next 90 days. “Now Maxine, we need to have a word!” shouted a red-faced, red-haired woman on the bed next to the empty one where Stella set down her bag. “What is it, Sasha?” Maxine sighed, rolling her eyes. “You said Bobby was the one, and now she’s gone, and things still missing here!” Sasha fumed. “My Rubik’s Cube is GONE. I had it last night, and now it ain’t there no more. I was gonna break my record!” “We found Bobby with stolen items and she has been removed. Maybe you’re just losing your things in this landfill you call a sleeping area,” Maxine said curtly, casting a disapproving stare over the heaps of clothes and crumpled papers multiplying around Sasha’s bed before grabbing Stella by the elbow and moving her along.

A tan, freckled young woman sat impossibly still on her bed, knees up, feet close to her hips. Her hands rested flat on the bed between them. She cocked her head and panted as they approached. “Now, Susan is a dog,” Maxine whispered as they approached the next bed. “Well, she’s not really a dog, of course, but it’s just easier to go along with it, you’ll see.”

“There’s a good girl,” Maxine said, bending down to scratch Susan behind the ears and giving her chestnut ponytail a gentle tug.

Stella just stared. “You can pet her, go on,” she said, but Stella kept her arms tight at her sides as Susan leapt up from the bed and bounded away, barking. “Suit yourself,” Maxine muttered, guiding her gently by the elbow to the next bed where a woman’s face was squinting into a weathered copy of The Da Vinci Code .

“Maxine, my glasses?” Tesla cried, squinting at the pages. "I only have the one pair and I really need 'em. They were right here!" Maxine assured Tesla she would be on the lookout, but as Stella continued the tour, the women's complaints mounted. Angie was missing her GameBoy. Mary couldn’t find her late husband’s watch. Ramona was bleating about something or other that had just up and walked away. “Don’t mind them,” Maxine said, ushering Stella quickly out the back door, away from the fray. “They tend to be a bit dramatic, and they’re all experts on how to get worked up over nothing.” Maxine guided Stella around the edge of the large fenced-in backyard, which boasted several trees, an overgrown garden, and patchy lawn. A towering woman with black hair down to her thighs stood in the middle of the yard, grimacing as she stooped down to scoop something into a bucket with a bright red shovel. “You’re doing a great job, Bianca!” Maxine shouted across the yard. “I’ll bring you some extra cookies tonight!” “What’s with all the patches on the lawn?” Stella asked Maxine, her curiosity finally breaking her silence. “Oh, those. Well, you see–” Maxine started, before frantically waving and shouting at someone squatting behind a large maple tree at the back of the yard. “Susan! Susan do not do that, you know better!” Stella did a terrible job of not staring. “So, should I be worried about my stuff?” Stella asked, her voice just above a whisper. If she had anything really worth stealing maybe she wouldn’t be here in the first place, but even people down on their luck own precious things. “Oh, heavens, no,” chuckled Maxine, her thick, black bob bouncing against her full cheeks, her red lips parted in a huge smile. “I mean, as much as you ever have to worry in a strange place with strange women you don’t know.” The thefts were all the women could talk about after lights out, much of it centered on the resident Stella had now replaced.

“The lady here before you, she was no good, no good at all,” whispered Bianca, as Susan lay at the foot of her bed, chin in her hands, whimpering softly. “Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t,” murmured an older woman, furiously crocheting a blanket in the dim glow of her nightlight. “I don’t trust anyone. Could have been any one of you .”

The women told her tales of Bobby Carter, the resident who had slept in Stella’s bed just a few nights before. Some said they heard she was a professional con artist, lying her way into nicer private shelters and making off with what little valuables the residents had with them. She was probably at another place right now, lining her pockets with thin gold rings, prescription glasses, and favorite lighters. They said she did it just for fun. Stella checked the contents of the small velvet bag under her pillow one last time before finally drifting to sleep on the reasonably comfortable twin bed. She woke up to the sound of a woman shrieking, “It’s gone! Someone took my ring! I knew it wasn’t Bobby. I knew it!” Stella slid her hand back and forth under the pillow until her fingers brushed the bag. She sat up and felt around inside, making sure all items were still accounted for. All except one, a tiny Altoids tin with some old, probably worthless, coins her father had left her. She wasn’t the only one to wake up with something missing, and the accusations were fast to fly again. Maxine sat upstairs on a big velvet chaise, listening to the women’s angry murmurs drift up through the vent in the floor as she munched on freshly baked cookies. There was a soft scratching at the door, and Susan came bearing gifts: A delicate gold ring, a silver locket, and a small Altoids tin that rattled when she shook it. “Good girl,” Maxine said, giving Susan a pat on the head.


“Is there anyone out there?” “Is it safe?” I said, as my shoes squish underneath my weight, catching everyone's attention toward my untimely last-minute arrival aboard this crowded cage . “Sardines,” I mumbled to myself as I fell into ranks with this silent collective: strangers held together in such an unnatural habitat.   “What floor?” the balding man said with a slur, his dull gray eyes peering down at my shoes. Keeping my eyes down, I said, “The eighth  floor, please.” His stubby finger presses the button,  with a jerk, this cage broke free from its gravity prison, ascending ever upward this brick and mortar structure, as the weight made it rattled, sending uneasiness to this unwilling occupants.  As we climbed, this cage abruptly came to a halt on the third floor, the steel doors quickly open, only finding emptiness, nothing more. With this new revelation, those of us view this both annoying and inconvenient. Then, a faceless voice cried out in either terror or fear, “Wait,” this nameless person said, “wait.” And just like that, a young man, mid-twenties from what I can gather with, his neatly “man bun” so proudly wore  jump in only a few minutes more than he would have been, “well you know, a causality.”              “Eighth floor,” he said with confidence, “Boy, it’s raining cats and dogs out there,” as he continued, being unsure of whom he was talking to until I caught a glimpse of him looking at me. Trying to ignore his attention, I glance down at my watch. “Excuse me, uh, Miss?” he added, “I said that it is raining pretty bad.” With an uncanny smile. “Yes,” I quickly answered, hoping that he would be satisfied; however, he kept on speaking; that I can only imagine that someone had never explained to this young man the proper etiquette of riding in a lift.              Continuing onward, as the lift approaches the fifth floor, an elderly couple stepped off the cage just as middle-age women, nicely dressed, stepped across the threshold and into our group of travelers. She politely smiled, adjusting her red hat that sat perfectly on her golden hair. With a soft voice, she said, “The eighth floor, please sir,” Her teeth gleam behind her red lips, as she spoke to the balding man, who smiled.              “It sure is raining cats and dogs out there,” the young man said                             “Yes, it is,” the women answered,              “You’re going to the eighth floor?”                             “Yes, for a job interview.”              “Same here, small world.”              As they chatted away, my mind wandered, “ are they going for the same office as I am?”  A thought that caught me off guard, what if they are applying for the same position?  I needed to know, just in case “Excused, me Miss,” I softly said,              “Yes?”                             “Uh, I don’t mean to pry, but are you going to the office of Mrs. Wallace, by chance?”                             “Well, yes, why?”- “So am I,” the young man interrupted.  As they both chuckle, breaking the silence on the lift.              “And so am I,” as my words quickly spat out, whereas they just smiled, not a genuine one, it reminded me more of a pity kind. Taking a deep breath, I smiled and turned my focus back to the steal doors that were keeping me in this cage.  As the two of them chatted away, I was busy counting the number of floors until the eighth, three more, I thought, only three more .

             “Mommie,” a small voice broke through the silence,                             “Yes, dear,” the woman-loving said              “How long?                             “Only a couple of floors.”              “Mommie, I’m tired,” the child said                             “I know, dear, but it won’t be long,” her mother said, trying to soothe her daughter.

“Only a few more floors, ” I whispered, with a sigh, feeling unsure about this whole ordeal; part of my conscience was telling me to forget about the job interview; after all, who am I to think that I will even have a chance. Still, there was a small part that reminded me that experience plays a more significant factor than age. That was precisely the exact moment the lift shook and rattled until it suddenly stopped between the sixth and seventh floors.

             Momentarily the lights began to blink on and off; the small child started to whimper as her mother quietly started to softly hmm, a familiar tune. Then what seems like hours, the lights blink again, then, they came back on. A sigh of relief for everyone, as a few members of our band, thought that our ride would start again on its way upward. However, this false hope founds its way quickly dashed aside for the cage remained still.

             All eyes fell on the balding man, who unwillingly became everyone’s focus; questions started to rattle throughout this tin box, which began with a gentleman from somewhere at the back; “Excuse me, sir,” the man continued, “You, upfront what’s going on?” Soon a few other people seem to join in as well, all clamoring for positon for answeres. However, before this man was able to answer one question, another question arose.              “Listen,” the balding man said with authority, whose name is Mike. “Listen I, say,” he loudly said, as a few people said, “Hush!” then the young man, Alan, said, “Quiet, let Mike speak.”              “Yes,” the mother said, Irene commented, “Let Mike speak, please.”                             “You needed not to worry none. This occurrence is most likely due to the storm outside.” Mike sternly said, “I have already pushed the emergency button, so sit back and relax.”              “Mommie, I’m scared,” little Alice tearfully said as Irene hugged her, smoothing her red hair, “Hush, Alice,” Irene said, “Everything will be okay.”              “ Breath,” I reminded myself, “ Just keep on breathing.” As fear gripped my heart as I looked to Mike, filled with questions, “Does he know what to do?”  “ Will we ever get out of here?”  I felt more like little Alice, who luckily had her mother closed by, whereas I was alone. Then an affluent older woman, Marge, spoke her words carried a great deal of  weight, “My dear people, there is no need to fear.” As Marge continued, “We will be rescued in due time.”              Then the mid-twenty something, young man, Ivan, said, “Let’s play a game.”                             “What kind of game?”, the middle-aged woman, Sophia, said                                           “Truth or lie.” Ivan smartly answered              “Truth or lie?” I repeated                             “So how, do we play?’ Marge purposely said                                           “Simple, we will tell a little something about ourselves, then the rest will have to determine if the statement is true or a lie,” Ivan said              Stan, in the back, said, “Does it need personal?”- “No, just, something in general,” Ivan answered.              “Okay, I’ll go first,” Ivan said, “I am an artist.”                             Mike said, “All those who think it’s true to raise their hands.” Three out of eight of us believe it to be true. “Well?” Marge said, “Are you an artist?”              “No, I’m not, I’m a writer.” Ivan answered, then he looked at me, “You’re next.”                             “Hi, uh, my name is Janneke and, I am an um, a-“ as I took a deep breath-“ I’m an actress.”  My words spat out so quickly that I hardly had time to reel them in.                              Ivan said, “All those who think Ms. Janneke, here, is an actress raise their hands,” I held my breath, embarrassed by such a statement as my cheeks started to felt warm, looking down at my faded soak stain blue shoes.  Glancing up to only see two people, Irene and her daughter Alice had raised their hands.              “Well, Ms. Janneke, the question, is are you an actress?” Marge said under her watchful glare of suspension.              Clearing my throat, I hesitated to speak, “I, um..,”- “Is it true or not, Ms. Janneke?” Marge said.  “Yes,” I quickly answered, secretly wishing that the doors would magically open up so I could disappear.              “You were?” Sophia said, raising her eyebrow in disbelief, so did a few others when Marge pointedly said, “When, Ms. Janneke?”- “When I was in my early twenties,” I added, “that was a long time ago.” Hoping it will end any further questions by the other’s in our small group, glancing down at my shoes.

             “So who's next?’Ivan announced that reminded me more like an auctioneer calling for the next item. Sophia quickly said,” Me, I want to be next,” as she added, “Me, please choose me!” “Okay, you’re next,” Ivan said with a flirtatious smile.  “Well, here goes, I’m a waitress,” Sophia calmly said. While some of us appeared to be surprised, Mike and Ivan raised their hands, singling she had told the truth.

             “Well, Sophia, are you a waitress?” Mike said – “Yes, I am,” Sophia added,” That’s why I am looking for a more secure position.”              The floor vibrated under our feet, causing alarm to spread to everyone except Mike and Ms. Marge, who appeared to be relatively calm during this surprise that was happening. A few more jerks accompanied by a rattle or two, then the lights flickered before our tin can begin to move upwards. As a loud shout of “Hurray.” Escaped our lips, a Jubilee outbreak as those of us could feel the excitement of our pending rescue. Amongst the celebration, Mike, who more or less is our tour guide with a raised hand he announced, “ Please, ladies and gentlemen.”—“And little girls.” Alice’s small voice squeaked. “And little girls, Soon, we will be set free, so please remain calm until the doors open.”              What seemed,  like a lifetime of being held captive within this small tin box, with a few more jerks and rattles, the cold steel doors opened up to an array of emergency professionals, and Tom, the maintenance guy watching with great anticipation.   As we crossed over the threshold from the elevator onto the carpet, a variety of questions asked. Making sure that everyone did not have any medical conditions, once satisfied,  we then were set free, each going on to their final destination-and so ending our game.              Mike said a few words to Tom before leading his arm to Ms. Marge, who turned and powerfully stated, “I would like for the actress, waitress, and the writer to please follow me if you would be so kind.” As we glanced at each other, Ivan said, “Excuse, me, Ms. Marge, may we know why you want us to follow?” “That is a simple question to answer, Mr. Ivan,” Ms. Marge continued, “because I am Mrs. Wallace.” Amazed, we followed them up to the eighth floor; never would I have imaged just how everything worked out, and it all started with a simple game in a tin box that broke down.              “Is it safe?” I said under my breath. One will never know.                             The End.


‘Private Jimmy, join your comrades in the sand!’ Said, Sergeant Davidson. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said, my right arm boomeranged to my head, my fingers extended on my forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down my fingers, they felt like my only companions. The liquid horizon crested and receded like waves of heat, distorted by the scorching air. ‘Focus on the mission, defend the water,’ I told myself, sprinting to the heaps of rock on the battlefield. An unwelcome blanket of heat wrapped around my body, and what felt like a noose of fire snaked around my neck, vaporising any air left in my red, hot lungs. This wasn’t the kind of embrace I wanted. The sand was getting closer. Sparks of light glinted off the earthy, golden pearls, and danced like fairies of light. I focused on their beauty to distract myself from the monster that was waiting for me. ‘Maybe I should be grateful,’ I thought, ‘I’ll have the opportunity to make some new friends.’ It’s getting closer.

The hot, grey rocks were two ladders tall by the looks of it. ‘Get down!’ A nameless soldier pulled me down behind a rocky barricade, making me but one drop among the sea of anonymous soldiers. ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ I asked, ‘There’s no time for that, soldier,’ his voice was panicked and forceful. ‘Take this,’ he shoved a heavy, green gun into my chest, the thud of the impact scrunched my face, making it even more difficult to breathe.

Breaking News: Global Evacuations Underway as Deadly Heatwave Intensifies.

‘Hey, you, climb over and take a look for us,’ one green man said to me. ‘No, you do it,’ his friend replied. Maybe he’ll like me if I do it.

My legs slowly pushed off the floor, and I clutched the rungs of the ladder, pulled myself up. I needed to see for myself. Time slowed down as my eyes peer above our defence. A garden of thorny roses scraped against the inside of my stomach. Coldness washed over me, and my shaking legs lost their grip. The blistering sand caught my face on the landing, ‘Are you okay? What did you see?’ Endless faces stared me down, their eyes interrogated me, curious for answers. I knew they were all as scared as I was, but I couldn’t let them know that.

Waves of apocalyptic fire rippled from the mass of burning gas, setting the air alight. Hues of deep orange stretched across the horizon, oppressing everything in its wake. Flares of yellow lashed from its body like whips, slicing through the air. We knew it was miles away, but its presence was undeniable, even from here.

The soldiers’ wide eyes locked onto mine, shock possessed their faces. I continued explaining what I saw, trying to be clear but my words were confused. They were all looking at me.

‘We have to fight that thing?’ There was worry in his voice. ‘I’m not doing it,’ another said. Panic spread along the fighting lines like wildfire, and they were looking not at me but at each other. But I didn’t mind, I was only thinking of my father.

I let myself collapse and pressed my back against the hot rocks. Sitting there, the world fell silent for a moment, and I pulled out an old photograph: frayed at the edges, and dirty and creased, but seeing myself with my father, smiling, there was beauty underneath that damage, memories of a lifetime long gone. The smell of fresh bread in the morning and the feel of his warm laughter took over my body. I gravitated towards its warmth like it was the first time I had ever felt the sun on my face.

‘Okay girls, on your feet!’ His voice was commanding and compelled my body to stand, I hide the photograph. Sargeant Davidson stood in front of us and stared us down with brilliant blue eyes, clear and focused, underneath furrowed brows. ‘Behind this barricade is an unrelenting enemy, and it wants to steal your water!’ His eyes fixed onto mine and he strode towards me, ‘Do you know what that means, Private Jimmy?’ He asked. ‘No, sir,’ I replied, trying to keep my composure. ‘It means no more water balloon fights with daddy, are you gonna let that happen?’ ‘No sergeant,’ I made sure my voice was loud and clear, so he didn’t ask me to repeat myself. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘so, get on those ladders, and climb over that barricade…’ Boots hit the rungs and thunder roared through the landscape, green men with guns in hand facing death, ‘… and shoot the sun.’

A sea of men washed onto the scorching sand and rushed towards the sun like a tsunami, their focus sharp and cold, or at least it appeared that way. ‘Fire!’ One man commanded. An ocean of bullets exploded forth and arched through the sky with dreadful speed. ‘Keep going!’

‘What are you still doing here, Private Jimmy?’ said Sargeant Davidson, each word dripped with fury, ‘climb that ladder now!’ Pointing at the barricade, his red anger competing with the redness from exhaustion for dominance over his face.

‘But I wanted to stay with you, Dad,’ I said.

Footsteps flew up the stairs and my creaky, white door swung wide open, ‘Jimmy! I told you we have to leave, get ready,’ said Martha, she brought her fingertips to her nose, rubbing away her frustration. ‘God, you’ve gotten sand everywhere,’ there’s a hint of fear in her voice, but I can see she’s mostly annoyed. ‘Clean your toys away,’ a line of small, plastic army men stood facing a crumpled orange piece of paper, and behind them: a row of pebbles and behind those: a red plastic cup of water. The sandpit hosting the battlefield was square with a wooden red boundary.

‘Can I play for five more minutes?’ I asked. ‘No,’ said Martha, ‘this is serious, we need to go.’

A sharp knock echoed through the house; Martha’s eyes darted behind her. ‘Who’s that?’ I asked. ‘Come on,’ she pulled at my arm.

She opened the door and a tall man dressed in camouflage forced his way into the house. ‘Martha, I’m glad you’re okay,’ his arms wrapped around her tightly and worry plagued his face. ‘I tried calling but the power’s out all across the country,’ he said. ‘I know,’ said Martha, ‘I put the backup generator on, but Stewart-’ she took a moment to process the situation, ‘I thought you weren’t back for another year?’

My smile was unrelenting and bright, ‘Daddy,’ I said, and ran to him, hugging his waist. He kneeled, my face in his hands, ‘I missed you, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘I missed you, too, Dad,’ I said, ‘or should I say Sergeant Davidson,’ and I gave him a salute. He giggled.

‘Can we play today?’ I asked. ‘Of course we can Jimmy. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much’, he said, his voice now softer, ‘but my army buddies are outside, and they said you can sit in the driver’s seat of the Jeep,’ his thumb brushed over my cheek, and he looked up, throwing a concerned look at Martha. ‘Okay,’ I said, excited.

He stood, ‘Go get the emergency suitcases, darling, we can’t stay here anymore.’ ‘I still don’t understand,’ Martha said, ‘is what they said on the news really that bad? They said to evacuate.’ ‘Yeah,’ sorrow washed over his face, ‘they’re flying us to Greenland, but we need to leave now.’

I stood on the hard steps outside the front door and watched plumbs of black smoke in the distance float into the sky, and fights between neighbours’ spill into the streets. The world was burning, and people were scared, but at least I didn’t feel lonely anymore. I’m with Dad now.


Mike let a handful of sand slide through his fingers. He stared at Jenny. She hadn’t changed a bit. It was five years since they’d had that awful row. He couldn’t even remember what the argument was about. All he remembered was Jenny storming off and then sending him a text to say it was over between them. Now, quite by accident they were together on their favourite stretch of beach on the anniversary of their breakup. Jenny looked straight ahead. She loved to hear the seagulls and watch the waves crashing on the shore. “Do you remember how we used to walk on top of the cliffs?” Mike said as he raised his arm and pointed to his left. Jenny glanced toward the high white cliffs as memories stirred inside her. You never, ever held my hand and always walked a few paces ahead of me. I was scared stiff when you got too close to the cliff edge. She thought. “I’d run ahead of you and take photos of the wind blowing your hair in your eyes. You always looked so serious. Maybe it was the cold wind up there on the cliffs.” You always looked like an idiot and people thought you were going to either jump off or fall off. No wonder I looked serious. You’d take me up there no matter what the weather and never listened to me when I said I was cold and wanted to get back into the car. She thought. Mike picked up some more sand and a handful of pebbles and began making an image of a flower in the sand. “What about that time I bought you a massive bunch of red roses for your birthday. We had to go out and buy three vases to put them in because you didn't have any big enough.” My birthday was the day before. You forgot my birthday and you forgot to turn up for our dinner date. I had to make up some excuse about us both being sick and cancel the table. You only remembered my birthday after seeing all my cards on the windowsill. Jenny was deep in thought. “Would you like an ice-cream Jenny? Shall I go and get you one? Your favourite is the strawberry isn’t it? I won’t be long.” Said Mike as he fiddled with the change in his trouser pocket. My favourite ice-cream is raspberry ripple actually, and I love candy floss. Jenny thought. “Here you are Jenny. You’d better take it quick as it’s dripping down the cone. I’ve bought us both some candy floss too. I thought you might like it. A reminder of the good old days.” “Thanks Mike. Yes, I do love candyfloss. How’s your Mum these days? I miss our little chats. Sorry to hear about your dad. Your friend David told me he’d passed away but I didn’t have an address or phone number for you so I couldn’t let you know how sorry I was.” “Oh, that’s all right. Water under the bridge now Jenny. Mum’s fine. Well, sort of. Yes, we all miss dad. Mum has asked about you a few times. But like you say we lost touch. I changed my mobile and you must have too because I did try to get hold of you.” “Yes, I did change it and I live with a group of girls now in a house that’s been turned into flats.” “Sounds nice. I moved back in with mum, but you wouldn’t have known that anyway. Strange us meeting up here like this. I thought it was you as I passed by the pier and then as I got closer, I realised it was you. Hope I didn’t startle you too much when I called out your name.” Said Mike. “No, you didn’t startle me. I could hardly hear you though above the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls overhead. Good job you came over or we would have missed each other.” Said Jenny. “Yes,” said Mike as he sat on the sand beside Jenny. I wish he’d put his arm around me. Thought Jenny. “Are you doing anything this evening?” Said Mike. “Nothing really. The girls often go out on a Saturday. I sometimes go with them. I might tonight if I feel like it. But then, again, I might not. It all depends on how I feel really.” “What are you doing this evening Mike?” “Oh, I’ll probably sit in the hotel. I’m staying at The Grand. They have a pianist in the bar most nights. I’ll sit and listen to the music and then probably have an early night. I’ve got to get back to mum in the morning. I just came down for a couple of nights. To get away from it all you see. I do quite a bit for mum these days and it can be rather tiring. I just needed a break and thought the fresh sea air would do me good. Then I saw you.” Said Mike “Yes, strange that. I don’t often come to the beach on my own and especially at weekends when it can get rather crowded.” Said Jenny. “Do you remember that row we had Jenny?” “Not really.” How could I forget it? She thought. “I don’t even recall what it was about now Jenny. Do you?” “No, I don’t. I don’t recall what we argued over.” Said Jenny. I caught you snogging with Amanda at the party. You won’t remember you were too drunk. Amanda had been after you for weeks and you couldn’t keep your hands of her. Jenny’s face flushed a little as she remembered that dreadful night. “Do you ever hear from your friend Amanda at all? I heard from David that you had had a big fallout with her. Is that true? She’s quite a nice girl and I thought she was your best friend.” Said Mike. “She was” Said Jenny. “But she isn’t any more.” “Oh, shame that. Such a good-looking girl too.” Yes, I bet in your eyes she was better looking than me and she had bigger boobs than mine too. Thought Jenny. “She was quite shapely too, If my mind still serves me well, Jenny.” Said Mike. “Yes, she was quite shapely. She took up modelling you know.” Said Jenny. “Oh Wow,” Said Mike. “Look, would you like to spend the evening with me back at the hotel. We can have a meal and listen to the pianist if you like or take a walk along the promenade together. It’ll be just like old days.” Said Mike. “No, I don’t think so Mike. Thanks for asking. I’ll probably just stay in and have my usual pizza and watch a film. The girls will be there and they’re good company.” Said Jenny. “But I thought.” Said Mike. “You thought what, Mike?” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe we could begin where we left off. I thought we could get back together again. I thought this was not a coincidence but was meant to be, Jenny.” “No Mike. What you’ve been thinking about isn’t going to happen. What you remember is another you, another me, another us.”


The Empty Room July 14 th , 1881 Suzanne Marsh Tad stared at the emptiness of the room. Had it only been two weeks since the stranger arrived? Ma didn’t ask questions but agreed to take care of the stranger. The stranger had been brought by none other than Sheriff Pat Garrett himself. This did not really seem odd since the sheriff always was bringing wounded men here to Ma. The stranger young, with blondish hair and the two biggest buck teeth Ma and I had ever seen. Ma told me to fetch a sharp knife and the whiskey she kept for medicinal purposes. The stranger withered in pain as Ma began to dig the bullet out in his shoulder. He glared: “Hey look kid, I don’t need nobody fer an audience. Soon as I’m healed I am headin fer Texas.” He passed out from all the whiskey Ma had been dosin him with. She continued to dig in his shoulder with the knife. Sheriff Garrett was holding him down until the fifth glass of whiskey took hold. Ma, her brown hair in her eyes was pushing strands of hair back out of her eyes. Finally Ma produced the bullet. The young stranger was passed out cold. It was my job to check on him for Ma. The following morning rumors were flying around Fort Summer that Billy the Kid was dead. Tad began to wonder about the identity of the stranger laying in the bed. He wondered why Sheriff Garrett had told Ma to keep the stranger under warps…no one could know he was there. The Sheriff told Ma he would return in a few days to check on him. Tad watched as the stranger turned over in his sleep, moaned then turned over the other way. ‘Restless like; maybe he will awake soon and I can find out who he is. Three days later Tad stood looking into the room. The stranger gawked at him: “Where am I? What am I doing here?” “This is the Sherman place just outside of Fort Summer.” Tad quickly ran down the wooden stairs: “Ma, Ma come quick the stranger just woke up.” “Tad, go get Sheriff Garett NOW!” Tad ran as fast as his legs would go, he finally found Pat Garrett in a saloon. Tad spoke in a low voice: “Yer prisoner woke up a little while ago, Ma sent me ta find ya.” Pat Garrett turned on his heel, following Tad back. Pat knew he did the right thing in saving Billy’s life; he just did not want to be caught doing so. The result would be a lyncing; his own. He thought about the Lincoln County Wars and Billy’s part. The shoot outs; no he was right to keep Billy alive, he deserved another chance. Tad and Pat Garrett arrived back at his home. Ma, was standing in the doorway waiting: “Sheriff, he been askin fer ya since he came to.” “How long before he can ride?” “A couple of weeks at least.” “Here is fifty dollars, don’t let him out of your sight, there will another fifty when the job is done.” That was more money than Ma made selling cattle. Ma, smiled a weary smile at Sheriff Garrett: “He is on the top floor the room on the right.” “Tad, show Sheriff Garrett the way.” Ma returned to butchering the cow she had started early that morning. Tad led Sheriff Garrett up the stairs to where the stranger was: “Hey Little Casino” “Hey Big Casino.” “Billy, when you are healed well enough I want you on a horse and out of here. Head for Texas and stay there.” “Sure will Big Casino, what happened?” “Well Billy, the only way I could protect you was to shoot you. I winged you in the shoulder; faked your death.” “Thanks Big Casino, I’m done killin. I would still like to kill that Dolan but I think you are right. I ain’t safe here in Fort Summer.” “Billy, I’ll be back before you leave with your six shooter and a rifle.” Pat Garrett stood tall at six feet four inches, he ducked out of the doorway; closing the door behind him. Tad overheard the conversation between Billy and Pat Garrett; this aroused his curosity even more. What was the Big and Little Casino? Could that possibly be Billy the Kid that was in that room. Tad, knew about the rumors that Billy the Kid was dead, killed by none other Sheriff Pat Garrett. He knew better than to ask questions that could not be answered. He turned to go downstairs, he could smell Ma’s roast all the way up here. His mouth watered as he entered the kitchen. The other boarders had already left for various jobs: “Ma, I got a strong hunch that stranger is Billy the Kid, right here in our place.” “Tad, I want you to promise me you won’t repeat what you have just said. Sheriff Garrett asked me not to tell who this stranger is. It will be better for both of us. Now, you go on, and take this upstairs to the stranger.” Tad, knew there was no possible way he could ever tell anyone about the stranger in the guest room. Later that evening Ma sent him up to the strangers room with a tray of food. Tad knocked on the door: “Come on in.” Tad entered the guest room: “Howdy, my name is Billy Bonney and your name is?” “Tad, Tad Sherman.” “I am glad to meet ya Tad.” “I hope ya won’t be thinkin I am nosey but are you really Billy the Kid.” “Sure am. Sit down and talk to me while I eat. I had nothin since the gun fight when Pat shot me. I know he did it for my own good. I am alive. I am thinkin about headin out of here in a few days. I have always had a hankerin to see Texas.” “Did you really kill a man when you was fifteen.” “Ya I did but it ain’t nothin I am proud of. Killin ain’t what folks think it is. Bein a gun fighter with a price on your head. No not any more I am twenty one years old I am sure fixin to live way beyond that.” Billy smiled at Tad: “Don’t go getting any bright ideas Tad. Take it from me breakin the law n murderin folks it ain’t no way ta live.” “I know Billy, my Ma been tellin me that since I was a little feller.” “Well listen to her she makes good sense.” A week later, Billy Bonney rode out of Fort Summer under the darkness of night. He rode hard and fast to a small Texas town he’d heard about; Hico. When he arrived he kept to himself. He knew that there was still a warrant out for him. He changed his name to “Brushy” Bill Roberts; remaining in Hico, Texas until the day he collapsed and died of a heart attack on December 27, 1950. “Brushy” Bill was known throughtout Hico as Billy the Kid. He certainly knew a great deal about Billy the Kid...maybe just maybe he was Billy the Kid.


 Candy knew this had to be a joke. She had never heard of Cody Davis. How could she have an uncle she had never heard of, but this telegram said she did. Even more unbelievable it said he had died and she was his heir. The heir to his estate worth ten million dollars. Someone had a good sense of humor, but she really wasn’t that amused. She walked over to the sofa and sat down. She read the telegram again, it still said the same thing. Candy Wright was the heir of the Cody Davis estate. Well if it wasn’t a joke it had to be a mistake. Prehaps there is another Candy Wright she thought. Candy picked her phone up from where it lay on the table. She quickly clicked on the picture of her mother and waited for it to ring. “Please answer Mama,” she whispered. She knew her mother would know if she had an uncle Cody, and she needed to know now.

           “Hello,” her mother answered.

            “O Mama I am so glad you answered”              “ What’s wrong honey you sound upset?”               “I am not upset, just confused. Do I have an uncle named Cody Davis?

               “Well of course not. Why would you ask that? You know your father was an only child and I have

only one sibling, your Aunt Sophie.”                 “Because I just received a telegram saying that my uncle Cody Davis passed away and that he left me his estate worth ten million dollars”                   “What? It must be a mistake or a joke. You don’t have an uncle and I have never heard of a Cody Davis in our family or your father’s either.”               “Well the telegram says I need to be at the lawyers office at two p.m. tomorrow for the reading of the will. Do you think I should go?” Candy knew she needed to make her own decisions. Even though she was thirty, she was still very dependent on her mother.

                 “What’s the lawyer's name?” Her mother asked.

                “ Let me see, it is Mark Preston, an attorney at law, in

Westin Texas. Have you ever heard of him?”                  “Yes, I have seen his ads on tv. I Think you should go. I am sure it is some kind of mix up but you really need to go find out what is going on.”             “Will you go with me Mama? I am really nervous

about this.” Candy twisted a piece of her hair around her finger and chewed her lower lip.                 “I will,” her mother replied. “You don’t have an uncle.”

Nothing seemed to intimidate her mother, if only she could be more like her mother in actions instead

of just looks. She had thick black hair just like her mother’s.

She wore her hair long while her mother kept hers short, but people were always saying how much she favored her mother.

            “Thanks so much. I'll pick you up at one, since it will take about an hour to drive there.” she said.              “Ok I’ll be ready, Bye.”               “Goodbye Mama”

                  Candy and her mother exited the elevator and walked down the hall to the first office on the right. Candy read the title on the door Mark Preston Attorney At Law.                      “Well this is it,

I am so nervous. If only I knew what was going to happen,” Candy said. She had worn her most professional looking dress hoping to portray confidence. If only she could feel as confident as she looked.                        “ The way to find out is to go inside, standing in the hall will not accomplish anything,” her mother laughed. Candy knew her mother was right. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. They entered a small office and walked

up to the receptionist’s desk.                   “May I help you.” a middle aged woman with short brown hair asked.                   “Yes, I am Candy Wright. I have an appointment with Mr. Preston.”

The receptionist buzzed his office.

                    “ Candy Wright is here Mr.Preston.”                      “ Great, send her in please.”                     “Follow me please.” Candy and her mother followed her into the office. It was a larger Office very professional looking, but nothing extravagant.

                     “Hello I am Mark Preston. It is nice to meet you Miss Wright.” She was surprised to see he was a young man. He looked to be in his early thirties. She had expected an older man for some reason. He was also rather good looking. She was surprised her mother hadn’t mentioned that.

                     “Thank you this is my mother April, I hope you don’t mind her coming with me?” Candy asked.                       “ It is nice to meet you April,” He responded

as he shook her hand.

“I am glad you came with your daughter. I know my telegram has probably confused you, but I can assure you it is legitimate. Please have a seat and I will explain everything.”                       “Thank you,” Candy said as they took a seat. “ I am confused, because I don’t have an uncle Cody Davis. My mother says she has never heard of him either.”

                      “ You never heard of your uncle Cody because your Grandmother gave him up for adoption before she married your grandfather.”

                 “I

have never heard anything about this. My mother never had a child before she married my father.” Candy’s mother stated.

              “That is true. I was referring to Candy’s paternal grandmother, Irene Wright. She gave up her child after her first husband was killed in a wreck. She was only 16 and her parents never liked her husband. They talked her into giving the baby up for adoption. I assume she never told anyone, because she was ashamed of what she had done. My client, Mr Davis hired an investigator to find his birth mom, but unfortunately by the time he located her she had already passed away. He wanted to meet the rest of the family but didn’t want to cause problems. He did keep up with the family and was very saddened when he learned his brother Frank had passed away. He regretted that he had not made himself known, so they could have met each other.                  “Do you have proof of all this? I just want to make sure this is true.” her mother said. “After all, we have never heard about this before.”               “Yes I do. I have all the documents here. You may take them and study them. Take them to your own lawyer if you wish. They are all in order. I would really like to go ahead with the reading of the will, if that is ok with both of you?”

                Candy looked at her mother. Her mother shook her head yes. Candy knew she was

leaning on her mother again. She had always been the shy type, but she needed to learn to make her own decisions.                      “Yes go ahead with the reading of the will” she said hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.                      “ I will begin then,” He begins to read.

“I, Cody Davis, being of sound mind and body

do leave the majority of my estate to my niece Candy Wright. I do have one request that she must adhere to in order to inherit. I want her to attend worship service at my congregation, Main St. church of Christ,

every Sunday for one year. If she does not do so she will forfeit the money and it will be given to my chosen charities. Candy I hope this is not too much to ask. I only want you to know the Lord the way I do. I have seen your posts on social media and realize you have become very bitter after your father’s death. I never met you but I love you. I have only one regret in my life, that I never met you and my brother Frank. Maybe I could have helped your father with his drinking problem. Please do as I request. Also please use the money wisely and help others. Your uncle  Cody.”

                  Candy sat stunned. This stranger she didn’t know wanted her to go to church. He must have been crazy. There was no way she was going to church every Sunday, She wouldn’t go even if someone paid her a million dollars, but someone was paying her ten million dollars to go. Could she make herself go? It was a lot of money but she really wasn’t comfortable going to church. She couldn’t believe he had been following her on social media. What was she to do? She was determined not to look at her mother. This had to be her own decision. She could always pretend to be sick a lot,

after all she couldn’t go if she was sick. She would just have to make herself go, even if she was uncomfortable. She couldn’t just give up ten thousand dollars.                    “Ok I’ll adhere

to the terms of the will. I don’t like it but I guess if I want the money I have to.” She had done it made her own decision, but could she really go to church every Sunday?                  “Your uncle would be very pleased. I would like to make one thing clear you need to attend every Sunday. If you miss because you are sick or for a family emergency that is understandable, but unless you have something really wrong you can’t use sickness as an excuse every Sunday. Since I attend this congregation I will be aware if you stop attending” Mr Preston said with a slight grin.

                  Candy felt as though he had read her mind.

                   “I understand,” she said “I guess you are going to be watching me every Sunday for a year?”

           “Yes, I will be. I hope it doesn't make you too uncomfortable?”             “No, it will be fine.” She lied. “When will I receive the money?”                “You will receive a check every month for 6,000 dollars until the year is up then you will receive the rest of your inheritance. Well if you don’t have any questions, that should conclude our business.”                  “I don’t have any I can think of. Do you mother?”

                 “No, I am satisfied. I will show these documents to my lawyer though,”her mother said.                  “ I understand,” Mr. Preston replied.                   He stood and walked them to the door. “I will look forward to seeing you Sunday, Candy.”              “Yes I will see you then.” She smiled hoping he couldn’t tell how much she didn’t want to attend.

                                                                 Sunday morning came way too soon for Candy, but here she was pulling into the parking lot. Could she do this, make herself walk into that building. She hadn’t been to worship service in years. Before her father lost his business, they had attended services every Sunday. He couldn’t seem to accept the loss and blamed God for it. When he started drinking and then died in a terrible wreck, Candy began to blame God too. She had no desire to worship a God who had taken her father from her. Her father would have never died if God had only answered his prayers to save his business. Slowly she opened the car door and exited. When

she entered the building, several people greeted her and introduced themselves. Everyone was very friendly to her. She went into the auditorium and took a seat near the back. She felt a little less nervous since the people were friendly, but she still wanted this over. She couldn’t believe she would have to go through this every sunday for a year.

           A gentleman stepped to the podium and made some announcements about those who were

sick and news concerning the

congregation. When he was finished, another gentleman stepped forward and began to lead the congregation in singing. The singing was beautiful, slowly Candy began to sing with them. She was surprised how good it felt, deep down she missed worshiping God. She wished she could believe he really cared the way the songs said he did. If he cared he could have saved her father’s business and he could be with her today. After the singing and the Lord’s supper, the preacher went up front and began to preach. As he began to talk about the love of God and how he sent his son to die for our sins, the more Candy wanted to leave. She didn’t want to hear about the love of God. she was thinking of leaving, when she turned to look toward the exit her eyes met Mark Preston’s. She knew she couldn’t leave, so instead she began to list all the things she would buy with the money, new house, new car, all new clothes. By the time she finished her list, the service was over. She hurried toward the exit but before she made it she felt a hand on her shoulder.                 “Glad to see you here today,” Mr. Preston said.                  “ Well I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have too.” she replied.                    “ I am sorry you feel that way. I was hoping you enjoyed the service.”

                    “Well I didn’t,” but Candy realized that was not true. She had enjoyed it until she shut out what she didn’t want to hear.                    “Well maybe you will enjoy it more next week,” he said with a smile.                       Candy just walked away without another word, she knew she had not been nice, but she didn’t feel like being nice.

                       Several weeks went by, Candy had attended services several times now. Each time she enjoyed it more and began to realize that just maybe she shouldn’t blame God for her fathers death.

After all it was her father who made the bad business decisions. He had really been the one to ruin his business not God. Her father made the choice to drink and drive and that is why he died in that terrible wreck. Candy was beginning to see that the choices we make are the cause of most of our troubles and we just like to blame God. Maybe she had needed someone to blame other than her father, it is hard to admit your father isn’t perfect. Even though he wasn’t perfect, he had loved her.

            That next Sunday Candy went forward and was baptized. She finally had the confidence she needed, because she had God as her savior and she could always rely on him. As she was walking to the exit that morning she felt a hand on her shoulder.

                     Mark, as she now called him, was looking at her with tears in his eyes, “your uncle would be so proud. This was what he hoped would happen when he made his request. By the time he decided he wanted to meet his family, he was too sick. He only had a few days to live, but he hoped he could still be a good influence in your life.”

                     “He was. I am so thankful he made that request of me. I now have a better inheritance than I ever imagined, eternal life. I plan to use the money wisely as he suggested, my list has changed a lot in the last weeks since the first one I made.”

                  “That’s great. I am proud of you too. May I take you to lunch to celebrate your new life in

Christ?”                     “I would like that very much.” she said with a smile. She had a feeling this was the first of many lunches together.


God died for me a hundred times. once, when i was 5 and my sister died in front of my eyes. attached to a metal grill, stuck in the same position for minutes. on the gray, rainy day, when it was the age of counting stars, i started counting the hardships felling on us. the electric shock, the sudden darkness in life, my light vanished and so did the God. second, when we four had to leave school and stay at home for an unknown period of time, when my father was away, miles away. struggling to earn, struggling hard to bring us there with him in a foreign land. we waited and waited and saw the day turn in to night and the nights in to days. i had nightmares, maybe my father was a laborer or followed rich people with his files. my childhood wasted counting the best moments i had before in my life. third, when we had to return from the land we died waiting to live in. the land where it felt like even my most bizarre dream would come true, we had freedom of youth, freedom of dreaming and freedom of living normally. my hands are the witness of wiping all the tears and dreams escaping from my eyes the time when the pilot announced landing. fourth, when i couldn't go to my dream college. after years i saw a gleaming ray before me dancing. i thought i could catch every single nightingale, i can go to my dream college. i can start things from the bottom all again and forget the haunting past in my brain. i can walk those classic halls and sit in front row of my class, be good student who respect her teachers. i show them the spark in me gradually increasing in to the brightest fire of youth. fifth, when my grandfather left us although we weren't close. the absence of my paternal grandmother was grand and worst than anything, having him no more was no different. humans are bad yet humanly absence is worst, my dear. its weird to have things living longer than humans. we had one less human heart. what kind of failure. sixth, when my favorite publisher rejected my book, left me on seen and blocked me from every where. my first novel had my heart, i tried to put my best vibes in to it, my silver lined hard work in it, my burning patience in it. my broken thoughts and love in it. my heart of glass in it. it shattered in to pieces, the moment a stranger with black eyes and hair rejected my work. i could hear the shattering of glass, i walked on those pieces back to my home. seventh, when my mother got diagnosed with diabetics, i couldn't believe it, she spent the entire night staring at the bare ceiling asking why me? she loved eating sweets and fruits and cakes and ice creams and what not. and now suddenly she has been prohibited with it all. "how can she live like that?" i cried in the darkness of nights. eight, when my brother failed his college exams. he sat in the corner quietly listening to my mother complain how it feels the end of everything. i never saw my brother this quiet before, as if he can not do it anymore. can not handle the pressure to be successful, study anymore. the excruciating pain in his eyes, i think i will never forget it. ninth, when i finally fell in love with this perfectly molded human being. who sat in front of me for two weeks, without uttering a single word and watched me study and complete projects. he too did his work and in the end left a coffee, with a note of 'be happy life is short' and a smile until one day, i talked to him and we decided to visit every single museum in the country. it was a planned love, a prayed love, a wanted love, a love more than just a desire, i-want-you-here kind of love. the feeling of touching and being touched is exclusive, its indescribable. with very tracing, a new love island is made. but it didn't last long. i got a call at 12:00 am one day, my lover died in a train crash. 120 people dead and several missing. the agony inside me watched the clock until days passed by, reminding me of my childhood. my sister's death, my grandfather's death. next day, i rushed to the hospital, searching him in room to room, from hall to hall. from doctor to doctor. but all i found was h=other hundreds of people searching for their loved ones too. until today, god for me, took a birth for the first time. when i saw him waving at me with a fractured hand inside my favorite person, my lover. i never saw God any where except in him, except in humans. "you thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you." the air whispered in my ear, in my paused body. we hugged hard in middle of no where, "i missed you and the God in you!" i muttered. and suddenly, i saw my own bleeding body in middle of the buzzing street, the cars screeching to stop and the women screaming on top of their lungs. the kids crying their heart out as if mourning on my death. people gathering when they lift the coffin, people praying for my here after. and soon everything is fine and back to their routines. sometimes, people die suffering. sometimes everything ends like that. sometimes death is way better than living. sometimes crying your heart out looks the best option. sometimes my heart get numb. sometimes i want to talk to every single human on earth and tell them how unfair my life was. sometimes i want to watch people be happy. sometimes i sit by the tree watching the passerby s. it wasn't my fate, I inherited it all.


X marks the spot. He threw the knife at the red inked cross on the map where it sank in with a dull thud. Bullseye. Thirty years he’d searched. Thirty years of ridicule and obsessive need, and he had found it. The Iris was within reach. That elusive treasure hidden by the best of the best during the golden age of pirates. Bracken retrieved the locket from the pocket at his breast and opened it. The words inside were words to live by. ‘Calm as a gentle breeze.’ They reminded him of a past long gone but not forgotten, and of the family he had given up in favour of his fruitless quest. Sharp pain lanced through him. He put the locket away. A knock came at the door, rousing him from his seat at his desk. The lad, a tiny creature whose name he had forgotten, beckoned him on deck. The smell of salt and the sourness of the vast ocean hit him first. Then came the icy spray of the turbulent sea across his face. The stench of human density wafted across the deck. A sickly concoction of sweat, shit and piss so pungent he could taste it at the back of his tongue. He walked deliberately to his quartermaster and watched the waters while the man spoke. Food stores were dwindling, and his men were dwindling faster. If something wasn’t done soon, they’d all die painful deaths. This was it, then. His final sail. If the treasure wasn’t there, then he’d die the delusional fool everyone said he was. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. His legacy would not end here. Though his heart drummed a frantic beat in his chest, he felt calm. Calm as a gentle breeze. The mist cool against his face and the gentle calming sway of his ship beneath his feet. The mists passed soon after. There was no sound in the dawn as he stood at the helm, but for the muffled creaks of wood against wood as the ship made about a particularly hard turn. He supposed it mattered little. If the island had the treasure, then he would leave the richest man across the seven seas. If it didn’t he’d be deader than dead. “Ahoy,” came the cry from the mast. Land in sight. Captain Bracken braced his stomach and licked the grease off his bearded lip. It was time. Calm as a gentle breeze. The ship anchored some distance from shore. Boats were loosed into the blood-warm waters. His men, excited, boarded the shabby vessels in droves. Captain Bracken took his time. There was no need to rush. Best to savor the moment. Even through his boots, the sand scorched his feet. He knew now why people called this island the Devil’s Land. Surely only the Devil would know welcome here. The sun, as though furious at his arrival, beat down harsh light and severe heat that turned the air into a shimmering haze. Sweat beaded on his brow and his throat soon turned raspy and pained with each breath. But there it was. The crypt, larger than he’d imagined, stood as the sole owner of the hellish land. Black walls and faded blue marbled traceries crawling across in patterns that, perhaps, looked beautiful once. He felt the stone, warm to touch and relished in it. The first of his men stormed through the doors like the careless idiot he was. He was the first to die. No great loss. Many and more booby traps came and went. Only two more died. One a deckhand and the other a cook. No great loss. They soon came upon a room, empty, save for the short pillar at its head upon which something gold glinted in the light of their torches. He knew in his heart, this was it. From a distance, the Iris was hard to make out, small as it was. Bracken knew better than to approach it without care. He sent his men first and promised larger shares of the spoils to the first who laid his on the treasure. These were greedy men. They scrambled and pushed each other, abandoning all pretense of caution. As expected the traps were triggered and sprung. His men did well but died all the same. Once he was sure no traps were left, he walked in, taking care to follow only the paths his men had already taken. In the shape of an eye, the thing on the pillar shone with the golden light of his torch in his hand. Its body, translucent, beamed and glittered like stars. Something swirled within it in sharp spirals, and he knew it was the world. Above it, etched as stone into the wall, was another eye. Bracken raised his arm towards it, slowly—very carefully, blood pounding in his ears to drown out everything else. The eye above groaned as though angered by his motions. It wheeled in place, the scrape of stone on stone echoing into the empty silence. Then everything went to hell. Blood coloured roots sprouted out of the grounds in the blackness behind him and in momentary bursts and spasms splintered the room to pieces. The floor beneath him shuddered and split itself from the pillar where the Iris sat. Even still, excitement pulsed in his bones and his fingers seemed to tingle. He reached out, grasping. The pillar looked to be fleeing from him. Running as though it knew nothing of his suffering! He couldn’t reach. It was too far. He stepped closer towards the platform, teetering on the very edge of the island on which he stood. He needed only a touch. To leave this life knowing he had achieved the world. The stone eye on the wall turned and turned, and the floor beneath his feet quivered and wrenched itself apart. Bracken felt the vibrations shake through him. Dust fell into his eyes and mouth. Blinded, he scrambled, flailing. He wasn’t far. The Iris was close at hand. If only he could just— reach! He leaned too hard against the crumbling floor. It turned to dust and rubble and the gaping chasm between hi and his purpose yawned wider, beckoning. Desperate, he leapt. He missed. He fell.


It was a bright mid-day in Lagoon town, but for blind prince Johnson, one of the three surviving sons of King Warrior of Lagoon, it was mid-night because all he could see was darkness. But since the mind is like a window, he looked through his mind. He often sat in front of his father’s chamber, observing every movement. * From his mind, he could see the beautiful flowers in his father’s compound which he touched every morning when he woke up, and the birds which pitched on the flowers, whistling so loudly every morning. Besides this, he also saw the company of people who visited his father, the king every day either to pay homage to him, to bring a letter which was usually a notice of war from another king, or to lay complaints to the king about people who offended them. From their voices, he could distinguish if they were men or women, or if they were boys or girls; and by their footsteps, he knew if they were many or few. By experience, he had devised a means of knowing what time it was at any moment, he kept the time in his mind and therefore knew the time when every action took place. Moreover, blind Prince Johnson listened attentively whenever his father the king described lagoon and everything in the town to his guests who often visited him from other towns on certain festive days. King Warrior often boasted to his guests about how beautiful Lagoon was, the number of people in the town, the rich cultural heritage of the people, the positive attributes they had, their beautiful tourist sights, the natural resources found there, and every other thing they needed to know about lagoon town and blind Prince Johnson, having heard this description over and over again, created a picture of lagoon town in his mind. Though he was blind, he saw lagoon through his mind’s eyes! The townspeople often got amazed whenever the blind prince described the town of lagoon to them accurately as though he had seen it before. They only knew that his eyes were closed but never knew that his mind was open! * Five years later, King Warrior fell sick and died. The entire town of lagoon was in deep sorrow, they hardly believed that their great king was dead. The king’s family was not left out, though the king died at a good old age, yet they expected him to live a little longer at least to have the few black hairs on his head turn white like the rest. However, they were consoled because as his name implied, he fought many battles and won them. He restored many properties belonging to Lagoon town which was forcefully taken by their enemies who fought and overcame the kings who reigned before him. * After the king’s burial, there was an urgent need for a new king and according to the law of Lagoon town, the new king must be one of the sons of the former king, and whichever of them that would be crowned king must be proven to know the town very well in every sense of it and must be proven to possess enough wisdom to rule the people. So the elders of the land and the kingmakers appointed a day in which to invite the sons of the late King Warrior for an interview to appoint a new king among them. * On the day appointed, the three sons of the King Warrior, Prince Edmond, Prince Walker, and the blind Prince Johnson took turns to stand before the kingmakers who asked them questions concerning Lagoon town and concerning the vision they had for the town if they finally became king. The first to be interviewed was Prince Edmond, the first son of the late king. When asked about the history of Lagoon town, the kingmakers were stunned to see that he knew nothing about Lagoon town. He had lived abroad all his life and only managed to visit home once in a while and then flew back overseas. Concerning his vision for the town, he said he was going to rule the people from abroad and replace Lagoon’s rich cultural heritage with that of the western world. Upon hearing this, the kingmakers laughed him to scorn and immediately disqualified him. The next in line was Prince Walker, the second son of the late king. He was able to give an accurate history of Lagoon town and also described the town accurately. But concerning his vision for the people, he said he will return all the properties his late father took from their enemies back to them as a way to make peace with those towns. Then all the kingmakers laughed again and disqualified him. At this point, everyone had given up, though they knew that one person was still left but what can a blind man see when even those who had their sights could see nothing? However, they proceeded to interview the blind Prince Johnson just to fulfill all righteousness, but they started changing their minds when Prince Johnson started giving the history of Lagoon town and also described the town and everything in it beyond the normal. His understanding of the town and everything about it was exceptional and the wisdom he exhibited was top-notch. No one believed he was blind. He proved that he knew the town even more than those who had seen it physically, however, he only saw it through his mind! Finally, when asked about his vision for Lagoon town, he behaved like a wise man by simply saying the opposite of the things his brothers had said that disqualified them. He started by promising to live fully in Lagoon town and work with able-bodied men to carry out the things he had in mind which were to improve Lagoon’s rich cultural heritage and make it among the best in the world and to fight all the remaining enemies of Lagoon town just like his late father did, and to bring home even more properties than his father brought to the town. These sayings pleased the kingmakers, this was certainly what they wanted to hear. They were most impressed by blind Prince Johnson’s boldness which showed that he was brave, as well as the deep wisdom that accompanied his words. He never spoke like he was blind and the manner with which he spoke was evidential that he could see, irrespective of where he was seeing from. So the kingmakers straight away took late King Warrior’s crown and placed it on blind Prince Johnson’s head, together with the king’s robe and beads, and crowned him the new king of Lagoon kingdom! They also gave an order that no one should refer to him anymore as being blind rather, he should be referred to as ‘The Visionary King of Lagoon!’ The entire town was already waiting outside with shouts of jubilation and all manner of musical instruments, singing and dancing as they waited for their new king to be presented to them. The celebration increased greatly when King Johnson stepped out majestically to see his people. They all went and bowed before the king and the king cheerfully received their accolades. * In less than two years of reigning in Lagoon, King Johnson succeeded in bringing the picture of Lagoon which he had in mind to reality, and it turned out to be that the picture he had in mind was far more beautiful and excellent than what Lagoon looked like before he became king. He sent and cut down the trees and bushes which surrounded the town and made it look primitive. Then he created new roads in some parts of the town, planted beautiful flowers everywhere, and reconstructed the markets in the town. He trained thousands of warriors who fought and conquered all their enemies and brought back their enemies as slaves, together with their cattle, silver, gold, and farm produce. These slaves were used to till the ground and plant all manner of crops in large farmlands across Lagoon town. In a short while, Lagoon was known as one of the greatest exporters of agricultural products in the area. They were also respected for their highly trained intelligent and brave warriors who never lost a battle and who have left all their enemies and neighbors alike in deep fear. At this point, it was very clear that King Johnson had positively transformed Lagoon beyond recognition. This transformation drew the attention of the government to the town. The government built modern schools, hospitals, companies, and firms in the town and other investors also came and invested in Lagoon. If only King Johnson’s eyes had opened even if it was for a minute to see what his mind had done! However, there was no need for his eyes to open because his mind was already open and had seen everything his eyes should see and God had helped him to achieve them. * On the day the government was to commission the projects, the governor expressed shock over the rapid development that took place in the town since the emergence of King Johnson as king of Lagoon, he further stated that he was most surprised by the fact that King Johnson was physical blind and was expected to underperform but rather, he did more exploits than all the previous kings of Lagoon who all had their physical sights. He, therefore, noted that physical blindness is better than mental blindness because, those who are physically blind can still see, but those whose minds are blind are blind indeed! King Johnson was given an award of excellence by the government and he ruled Lagoon for many years and did more exploits to the amazement of all the people.


She never wanted to be a mother, not in any of the ways that could sustain her through the first eighteen years of a life, that is. She wanted to be a mother in the way that some want to learn to play an instrument or wish to discover a hidden talent. The wish is genuine, but the dedication to following through is flighty at best. The older the child grew, the less they held her attention. Every day they grew more independent and less a living doll, the more her interest in them seemed to evaporate. After all, what good is a living doll if it can tell you no? If it can push back against your control, opinions and desires rather than being the trophy and living accomplishment you set out to harness to begin with.

She never realized this about herself, though. That she was having child after child in order to grow closer to a mother who had kept her at arms length all her life, just as her mother before her. Three generations of women devoting their every choice to getting the attention, acceptance and love of the other and being unable to harness it, at the cost of their own freedom and long forgotten dreams. But Sandy was different, or at least she hoped to be.

As a child, Sandy had been prone to daydream and get lost in thought. Her mother had thought she was flighty, a child untethered to reality for the sake of escaping responsibility. But Sandy was dreaming herself into this very moment that lay before her. After a decade of having door after door slammed in her face, or worse yet, sending project after project into the endless void, she was finally going in for a second interview with a woman who seemed just as passionate about her stories as Sandy was.

Walking into the sparse office, the modern decor and leather seats crafted into what some may call futuristic angles, Sandy found herself feeling once again out of place. But this was nothing new for a woman who had never felt at home in her own body. A body she was taught to feel ashamed of and attempted to hide, only to seemingly draw more unwanted attention to herself. Sandy sighed as she scanned the room for a seat she could squeeze herself into, settling on the one she thought would cut into her sides the least but knowing getting back up may present its own challenge whenever the secretary called her name. These spaces were never designed with her body in mind, a fact she had faced as far back into her childhood as she could remember. Most of the world wasn’t designed with her in mind if Sandy were to be as honest as she wished she could be. It was as though the bigger she got over the years, the more invisible she became, and so her writing grew into the one outlet that never abandoned her.

“Sandra Davis?” The smooth voice of the secretary cut through Sandy’s drifting thoughts, finding herself taking a deep breath as she gathered the courage to attempt to lift herself from the seat she had squeezed her frame into. You learned a sort of secret ballet when you were bigger than the world thought you ought to be. A dance you did with every seat, doorway and transportation source you encountered to ensure you could maintain that invisibility that society expected you to uphold at all times. The relief on must have flashed across her face as she popped loose from the seat, the secretary gracing her with a knowing nod. “I always hated those chairs. I keep telling her the look is not worth the discomfort it brings nearly everyone but you know how some folks can be about ascetics.” Sandy did her best to keep up as she followed behind the woman down a series of hallways through the offices, not daring to do more than nod along for fear of sounding out of breath should she dare to utter a syllable.

“And here we are. Abbey should be with you in just a few minutes. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?” Sandra didn’t dare look at the seating situation before the woman left. “I’m alright but thank you so much.” Turning on her heels, Sandra realized how much faster her footsteps were when alone, a sting of all too familiar pain hitting Sandra’s side. Even in the smallest of ways, she felt herself a burden. But that was why she was here today. She was finally at the door to taking hold of her life, of the dreams nobody in her family seemed to believe in beyond the niceties of not outright telling her to not pursue them. Her mother in particular had always been a difficult nut to crack in this regard. She would never tell her not to pursue her writing, but she would also take every opportunity to remind her of every possible plan b she could be looking into. Sandy would share a breakthrough she’d had with her work, hesitantly so, only for the conversation to inevitably cycle to her mothers’ long forgotten dreams of publishing and how she just never could find the time but always hoped to. Never a “well done Sandra” or an “I’m proud of you, dear” to spare, her mother was neither supportive nor unsupportive. Squarely placed in the middle as she was with almost all things, Sandy had finally given up on seeking her approval at all. Had stopped sharing updates about her life and her work for fear of feeling that al too familiar pit in her stomach grow each time news of any progress was met with her trademark silence.

Shifting eagerly in the equally uncomfortable seat in the publishers office, Sandy found herself wondering what her mother would say if she could see her sitting there now. She was further than either of them had ever gotten. Surely that counted for something? She had spent years bringing her stories to life herself, recording herself reading them for her small YouTube following, even crafting some into her own one woman radio shows. But this was the goal she had set for herself. The ever elusive mark she couldn’t quite seem to hit and at any moment the woman who held the key to the next step would be walking through that door at her back.

Sandra winced a moment at the thought of what she looked like from behind, having poured herself into the seat in a way only those who battle to fit into seats regularly can. She was a cat in a box two sizes too small, but would have to play it off as always from the moment Abbey entered her office, which judging by the clicking footsteps that were approaching, would be in the next few seconds.

“Well there she is! Sandra Davis, the newest voice to grace my desk.” Abbeys’ voice was warm but firm as she swept across the office and into her seat behind the large desk. “Now then, I’ve spent a great deal of time with your submission as well as pouring over these other short stories you submitted within your portfolio. The good part is, you have an incredibly distinct and strong voice, which isn’t something I can teach so we are in great shape there.” A laugh bubbled up at the end of her sentence which Sandra was sure was meant to soften what came next, but nothing ever seemed to soften what she had grown to see as the inevitable. “That being said, I think you still need some time, Sandra. I need for you to make more direct, firm choices in your work. No standing in the middle of road and waiting for traffic to push you in one direction or the other. Now, I—“ A high pitched buzzing began to creep in above Abbey’s voice as Sandra fought to hang on. Another no. Another door closing in her face when it felt like surely this was going to finally be the yes she had waited for.

How could she be indecisive? How could she be exactly what her mother had always been, when she had fought so hard to remove every last trace of her influence from herself? Sandra caught herself just as the room began to spin, coming back to reality, back to the present moment once again in spite of the disappointment sitting like a two ton weight upon her chest. “But what I will say, “ Abbey continued, “is the bones are good, Sandra. More than that, the bones are fantastic, which means we have something to work with here. You just need more time.”

More time, always more time. Always wait a little longer, always fall down seven times, get up eight but something inside her wanted to stay down this time. Wanted to give in because this had been it. This had been the moment that Rebecca, her mother, would finally see her. And just like that, it was gone in an instant, like scraps of meat tossed to a horde of hungry hounds. Her dreams were ribbed to ribbons for the hundredth time and it would be up to Sandra to put them back together again. Abbey wasn’t telling her no, but she wasn’t telling her yes either. Sandra found the irony of her being called indecisive while being sentenced to a veritable no mans land almost laughable. Almost.

The car ride towards the hotel was lingered on, traffic merging and battling all around her, but Sandra was worlds away inside her own mind. She couldn’t help but think of the year she had spent dedicated to her latest project. A world filled with vampires, elves and humans all attempting to find balance and peace amongst each other while in the real world, humans couldn’t even find a way to agree on seemingly anything. The worlds contained within Sandras’ mind were an escape she longed to share but continually ran into every conceivable obstacle along the way. And a part of her as she blinked through the tears she hadn’t realize she’d begun to shed, wondered if the path forward was one she had to blaze all on her own? If maybe the door that awaited her, was one she’d need to build with her own two hands, because not everyone was ready for someone who looked like her, to create what she longed to. But did any of her heroes wait until the world was ready for them? Had Kitty Black Perkins waited for the world to be ready for the first black Barbie she created? Had she coyly designed a doll to everyones’ tastes? Or had she brought her own view of our beloved culture forward and dared to stand out? She imagined where NASA would be had Katherine Johnson waited for permission to do her job during the first manned space mission in ’62. So many black women who had come before her, unapologetic in their dreams and aspirations, willing to be the first and to build the doors and windows through which others would follow.

Maybe it wasn’t the way Sandra had dreamt it, but she was going to publish this book and the subsequent installments and whatever other worlds she could manage to capture on paper as her mind would race faster than her fingers could manage. Because if there was anything Sandra knew in this world, it was that she was meant to be a writer. She was blessed with the gift of storytelling and she would not rest until that gift was one she could share her way. She would not settle into life to please anyone else and just maybe that determination could set a blaze that would catch on. Maybe setting herself free could finally free Rebecca and Sandra could have the one thing she wanted just as much as she wanted to be a writer. Her mother.