My job is to help people leave their old lives behind            The Royal British Legion Industries’ Vocational Assessment Centre was established in 1996 to help the transition of ex-servicemen and women, especially those with a disability, into suitable civilian employment. The facility is situated within the Royal British Legion Village in Kent where clients are provided with meals and single accommodation during the three-day assessment period of rehabilitation. I, as the occupational psychologist, decided to introduce a relaxed, story-telling and story listening mode of career counselling in addition to deploying psychometric tests. Testing is a secondary, tailored intervention agreed with the client and not imposed as a blanket measure.            By and large, service personnel, especially those below commissioned rank, are socialized from early youth into a way of life far more demanding in some ways, but cosseted and cocooned in others, than the rest of us. One has to listen and gain some understanding of the forces and circumstances that have shaped such individuals. Otherwise, a return to Civvy Street, often less ordered and hierarchical than what they are used to, becomes problematical. The counselling process helps them understand civilian work life demands are somewhat different to service life, especially in the new contract and portfolio work culture. Even a comprehensive battery of psychometric tests and work samples will not elicit a single usable fact unless the counsellor relates to the client as someone with no other agenda than to disinterestedly help them achieve their goals in a world of work that is changing fast.            My clients find the transition to civilian life more difficult due to a whole range of disadvantages that handicap them in the job market. However, almost without exception they display well above average levels of innate capabilities, or, ‘fluid’ intelligence, even when they have left school with hardly any formal qualifications. Some have gained trade qualifications which are often limited to service occupations which have no equivalents in the civilian workplace. Family and social background are powerful influences on their choice of a service career.            Tom, an Army Corporal aged 32, had passed his ‘eleven-plus’ as a schoolboy in the Midlands.  He had not taken up the offer to attend grammar school as he preferred to be with his ‘mates’ and social equals at the local comprehensive. He preferred not to be an object of derision of either the ‘snobs’ at grammar school or his ‘gang’ from primary school. His grandfather whom he admired had served in the Army during the Second World War. He left school without qualifications before he reached the compulsory school-leaving age and enrolled as an Army Cadet. At 17 he joined the regular Army in one of the Infantry Regiments. He had served on tours of duty in Germany, Northern Ireland and in the Gulf, and had been awarded the appropriate medals. Although he had intended to remain in the Army for the full length of 22 years before retirement, he was now being medically discharged following an accident in the sporting field. He had been a good regimental athlete, basketball player and swimmer, winning several trophies. The injury was to his back and had become degenerative. He walked with a slight limp and with the aid of a walking stick. He was married with one child. Although he was presently living in married quarters, he would need to decide where to live once discharged.            On an intelligence test Tom’s performance was at the top 2 percent compared with population norms. He also had high scores on all aptitude tests ranging from Language Usage to Mechanical Reasoning. He did not appear to be surprised by the test results. His sole concern was to find a job - any job that would enable him to obtain a mortgage to buy a house, or else, to rent. His wife might be able to work part time most likely in a supermarket in a role similar to the one she had engaged in before marriage. He had no idea what he could or even wanted to do in a job and reiterated that all he was trained to be was an infantry soldier.            An outgoing, relaxed person, socially at ease, further discussion revealed that during his period of army service, Tom had volunteered to help in the Junior NCOs’ mess. He had kept accounts and organized celebratory events and parties for service families. He did not think any of these as relevant, but was prepared to talk because it was in his nature to be sociable. Besides, nobody in the military hierarchy or medical practitioners and specialists had much time to engage him in conversation. They appeared to be interested only in presenting facts from their professional perspective and as quickly as possible. Tom was surprised that I was prepared to talk about my own background. I had been in a uniformed service, but later as an immigrant, held insecure, transient jobs in the UK, before late entry into higher education resulting in my being able to secure my current job as a psychologist.            Through this informal counselling approach, Tom was able to apprehend that he possessed skills other than soldiering but that he needed to acquire further job-specific skills if he was to make a satisfactory entry into the civilian job market.            On the second day of his assessment, Tom told me that he had thought a great deal about his situation, having glanced through published material available at the Centre. He had seen advertisements for vacancies in leisure management. He felt that he could combine his sporting interests and his supervisory experience in managing a sports centre, although he could no longer actively pursue sports or undertake physically demanding work. He accessed the Course Discover computerized information database and found an Open College training course in leisure management. He could do this in his own time studying from home. He also found that once he had decided where he was going to live, he could enrol at the local further education college and acquire National Vocational Qualifications (NVQs) at least up to Level 3 initially.            By the third day, Tom was confident that he was on the right track. He also decided to acquire competence in using a PC (personal computer). He could do this by following a five-day computer literacy and information technology (CLAIT) course at the Royal British Legion Training Company, Tidworth College. This is a residential course and would be funded by his regiment as part of his resettlement package. Tom was then provided with information on how to prepare a curriculum vitae. Drawing upon all that he had learned about himself over the last two days, and based on a specimen or template of a one-page c.v., Tom accomplished this with minimal help from me. He then admitted that he had paid someone to do a ‘professional’ c.v. for him which ran to three pages. He felt that it made general statements that he was unlikely to be able to defend at a job interview. Tom now had a feasible continuation to his narrative as a soldier in transition to a comfortable civilian work role. He also became aware that a job need not be for life and that he would need to continue to upgrade skills to remain employable.                                                                                (c.1200 words) ***


“Who are you really?” He stared deeply into the young woman’s eyes. “Who do you think I am?” She responded with her soft, tender voice. “It doesn’t matter to me who I think you are, but it matters to everyone else.” “Why? Why is there opinion more important than yours?” Stephen crinkled his eyes in anger without breaking his sight with her. “Listen, I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are, but you entered into my dominion, and everyone here has a problem with you.” “What problem is that?” Stephen raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief of her reaction. “Really? You really want me to say it?” The woman remained still. Stephen pursed his lips in frustration. A sudden swing of the door opening broke the anxious silence. “Sir! You’re needed at the front!” A frantic, young-looking man said. Stephen rolled his eyes at the exclamation. “Ugh! Why can’t anything go according to plan around here?” He quickly got up from the metal chair, sliced a determined look at the woman, then grunted as he walked out of the room. Outside, a hoard was developing right on the steps of the station. Stephen was shocked when he saw how many were at the station already. He knew this only meant more knew about her, which was a major concern. A news reporter somehow squeezed their way through the crowd to greet Stephen. “Is it true that you have an unidentified creature in the station as a hostage?” The news reporter pointed the fuzzy black stick 6 inches from Stephens’ face. Stephen looked out into the crowd, which was now forming 50+ and counting. He knew saying one wrong thing would send all into a frenzy, which would lead to some of them getting severely hurt, knowing how worked up they already are. But he couldn’t lie either. “Hello, everyone!” He addressed them as a king would over his subjects, ignoring the news reporter completely. “We are in the process of finding the origin of this mysterious creature. As soon as we have vital information, we will pass that along as quickly as possible. Until then, all of you need to remain calm, do not panic, and resume as normal.” The crowd quieted down to a murmur, but no one left the station. They wanted to be the first to hear of any information, since events like this hardly ever occurred anymore. Stephen took a sigh, smiled to the crowd, raised his hands to wave, then turned to go back into the station. He walked through the blue hallway, down to the right, and into the white interrogation room where no one else has sat for nearly 2 years before today. “Ok. Let’s start over. You are…?” “I don’t remember.” Stephen bowed his head down and put his palm flat on his forehead. “Ugh. Why bother?” He asked himself. He tried again. “Do you remember anything before coming here?” “I remember trees.” “Ok! Great! We’re getting somewhere!” He grabbed his notebook and pen. “What kind of trees?” “I don’t know the names of trees.” Stephen dipped his head. “You don’t know the names of trees? How do you not know the names of trees? Everyone knows them.” “I don’t know the names of trees; I just remember seeing them before coming here.” “Ok, ok. So, you saw trees. Can you describe them?” He got his pen and paper ready again. “They... had… bark. And leaves...” “Can you describe the shape of the leaves?” She looked at him, puzzled. “So, some leaves have more of a triangle shape, while some have more of a clover shape. Some have needles instead of leaves.” “Maybe they were clovers? I don’t know…” she said hesitantly. “Ok, so clover leaves… hm, might be maple.” He jotted it down on his notepad. “Anything else you remember before coming here?” “I just remember trees.” Stephen put his head down and shook it slowly. “Great. Of all the things to remember, you remember trees.” He finished his notes on the pad. “And you don’t remember anything about you or who, or even what, you are?” “No. I have no memory.” “So… only remembers seeing maple trees...” He said to himself as he wrote. “Stephen!” The same young-looking man from before bursts through the door. “What???” Stephen’s pen and pad flew up in the air. “You need to come and see this. She’s… not what you think she is.” “Can I not get two seconds on my own to be able to figure it out? It’s like we forgot what it’s like to know things the old-fashioned way.” Stephen exited the room, slamming the door. The woman continued to wait quietly until she was free.

Stephen and his voluntary escort went down the interrogation hallway, to the right, down a set of stairs, took a left down the poorly lit corridor and another left into a room full of computers. “Ok, what did the analysis have to say…” He said, begrudgingly, putting his hands on his hips. “Sir, this is extraordinary. Something we haven’t seen in a while. I mean, it took a while to find the right match, since the species isn’t really in our current database or files, so I had to - ” “-Get on with it!” “Um, yes sir. she’s, well, um… human.” “Wait, what?” “Yes. She’s human.” “Impossible. We got rid of humans a long time ago. We even deleted it from the programs since they were so ancient.” “Her DNA is 100% match.” “There’s no way! How did she get here?” “There is a %0.00013578 chance she slipped through a time portal.” “A time portal? Those exist?” “One, maybe two exist on this planet. Only one has been found for sure.” “Oh, well then. Either way, she must be eradicated. She’ll remember too much.” “Maybe not, sir. Time portals have been known to cause amnesia, so she might not remember anything coming in or going out.” “Huh. Well, that's convenient.” “I was thinking, sir, that we can do some experiments on her. She may be the missing link to our ancestors and maybe even our creators.” “Wait, you think humans created us? Ha! That’s laughable. We all know that aliens created us and sent us here as an experiment to see if we could exist on our own, and we have.” “One artifact in the archives talks about what the humans wrote as ‘World War AI'. It talks about how A. I. started the process of eliminating all humans, since humans and A. I. were fighting over the same resources.” “Evolution at its finest.” “Indeed, but because of recent programming, no one really knows the truth about their origins…” “…and we want to keep it that way.” “But don’t they deserve to know the truth?” “They don’t deserve anything. They’re machines. They know only what they’re programmed to know. Besides, its in the past, what good does the past if it doesn’t serve us?” “I understand, sir. But there is value in knowing truth.” “Truth is just over-justified opinion.” The young-looking man stood in silence. “Computer?” Stephen inquired. “Can you reset C-2912’s memory program? Reset it to factory setting.” A voice through the overhead speakers came on. “Resetting C-2912’s memory to factory setting.” C-2912 dropped to the floor in a heap. “Ugh… Can’t believe I had to do that again… When will it learn…” Stephen walked up to C-2912. After a few seconds, C-2912 eyes flickered open. “Do you know where you are?” C-2912 looked around, dumbfounded. “No.” “Do you know who you are?” C-2912 examined themselves. “No.” “Perfect! Your code name is C-2912. You are employed at the General Station as a guard of the sacred artifacts and archives. You know nothing of this room. Get up and resume your position.” C-2912 got up effortlessly, took a pause to recalibrate, then walked out of the room. “Good. Now, about that human…”


"My fish died..." "Oh," I say, being especially useless in these types of situations. My best friend seems to be biting his lip to hold back the tears. Although, I recall him being nowhere near a caring state for this fish, he barely even fed it. "Yeah, man it sucks. I really liked Fin-Finnegan? Was that his name? No...I think it was Taco-" His voice trails on but I'm no longer listening. My eyes have landed on one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. Her peach colored hair is catching the sun at the most perfect angles, her eyes are slanted to look almost feline, and her smile is so...so hot. I feel a flutter in my stomach as she glances over in my direction. Her eyes obviously don't linger on me, never in a million years would she notice someone like me. Instead, she sees Chad. I mean, could any name be more self demeaning than Chad ? It offers so many assumptions about him. Her gaze is fickle, though, bouncing from one person to another. Probably finding someone worthy of her attention. "Hey Beau?" I say. "Yeah, man?" "I'm going to get a girlfriend this year." "Alright, Ace for the win!" he says a little too loud. "Who's your victim?" "Her," I say pointing in the direction of the girl with the peach colored hair. "Dude, good luck. It's the new girl. Your- our social standards aren't quite adapted to even get within ten feet of her." "Anything is possible," I say, patting him on the back as a goodbye. I start walking to Literature, my first and most favorite class of the day. It's quite awkward walking by yourself, and I've noticed how much more nervous I get when walking past someone that I want to notice me. Like Peach-Hair girl. As soon as I make it up the steps to the school, the principle is making a beeline towards me. I prepare to be reprimanded for god-knows-what, I'm an ideal target for the popular kids to blame their tomfoolery on. "Mr. Linville!" I cringe and turn to face him. "Yes sir." "Follow me to my office, I have a few questions." This man is so monotone that I don't know how to tell the difference between his good moods and bad moods. I hold in a laugh when I think of the shirts that have Darth Vader and his moods on them, that's like Mr. Leads. We step into his musty office that smells of ham and he motions for me to sit down in a torn up, leather chair. "Uh, am I in trouble?" I ask when he is silent for two seconds too long. "No sir, not at all. We just have to wait for Miss Foster and then I'll be able to start." "Okay..." Principles are obviously infamous for addressing people by their last names, so I have no clue who he's referring to. A few grueling minutes later, Mr. Leads' eyes light up as he sees Miss Foster walk in the door. I turn to see who she is and my heart does a few flips as she waltz's in. She sits down beside me in an identical chair and soon enough, her vanilla scented perfume in teasing me. I sink lower in my chair, still maintaining eye contact with Mr. Leads as he clears his throat. I can see that Miss Foster is calm and collected, so I try to chill and not look so visibly nervous. "So, I've called you both in here today because I need you, Mr. Linville to be Miss Foster's escort. Meaning, you will show her around the school, take her to her classes, and be her friend. You're one of my best students Linville, so I trust you." "Yes sir, I can do that," I say. As he continues talking, giving me a rundown of how he usually chooses a girl to escort another girl, but he trusts me enough to treat her with respect, I nod along. When, really I'm using my peripheral as my best friend. Peach Hair girl stays quiet, I feel bad because she's probably severely uncomfortable. "Now, with that being said, Miss Foster, will you-" Someone enters the room, whispering something in the old mans ear. He mutters something under his breath like "These damn kids," and walks out. The secretary scuttles in, asking us to stay put while the principle is dealing with the fight and quickly walks out. "So last names say nothing, what's your name? Does it complement Linville nicely?" Miss Foster asks, it's a peculiar question but I'm grateful for the break in the silence. "It's Acelet, but please just call me Ace. I hate my name." "I think it's cool, not basic like Chad or Mark. Is it French?" "Yeah, my mom just likes French names. We're not French, though. What's your name?" I say, inwardly smiling at her hate towards the name Chad. "Ivy, like the weed." "Well, it's nice to meet you." I smile and she holds out her hand, I shake it. She's even more beautiful that I had expected. "You too, though I do have to say, I'm pretty self-sufficient. I'm going to have to kindly reject your position as my escort," she says. It feels as though she's taken a knife to my stomach and twisted it. All my hopes and dreams of getting to know her have been crushed, ran over with a car, thrown out the window, etc. "Oh." "But...Leads did include the word friend," her eyes light up and so do mine. "It would be an honor," I say, shaking her hand once more. This time, it wasn't a greeting. Not to get all gushy, but it was a silent agreement, to stand together for this last year as seniors. She smiles with me and the principle walks back in. "Seems like you've become acquainted, good," he says while sitting down. Me and Ivy became inseparable. Beau was so focused on being the mastermind behind our senior prank, that we had little to no lost time with each other. My previous thoughts of who Ivy was ended up completely wrong. Her personality was so much different than anyone, I think, would expect. Still, there was something between us that wouldn't let us be just friends. One night, we were at a lame party that a bunch of freshman found out about. The trust-fund kid who was hosting the party lived on the ocean, that was the only plus. I was exhausted and the thought of my warm bed was starting to become physically painful. Ivy wasn't exhausted, she was the opposite of exhausted. So I let her be inside the party while I sat out by the ocean. I could feel the wet sand soaking through my khakis but the sound kept me sitting there, staring at nothing in particular, but wondering why the ocean was so much more eerie at night than during the day. It would be so much better if the sound from the party wasn't polluting the silent night. It was an hour before I heard footsteps behind me, so faint but I could tell who it was. "Hey," Ivy says while sitting down next to me. She's obviously is tired now because she lays her head on my shoulder, slightly bringing my heart-rate up. She still smells like vanilla, despite the fact that she was in the middle of about 300 kids with poor hygiene. "You ready to go home?" I ask. "No, I just want to talk." "Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Silence. Ivy lifts up her head, scoots back and looks me in the eyes. Her hand is on my leg, which was normal for us, but it's different this time. "Do you love me?" she asks in complete seriousness. "Uh-What?" "I do, and I think you should love me too. You act like it." My heart-rate is nonexistent at this point. My heart has completely stopped. She loves me? It's a question of doubt, I thought we were just friends. I do, though. I think I do. I've never loved someone, I mean, Beau but he's been my best friend since VBS in '04. I love him like a brother, but Ivy. Like a wife. Ew, no, way too soon. "I-I." The words won't come out, she's tearing up, she's standing up, she's sobbing, and...she's gone. No, No, No. I love her. I really do. I've loved her since the day I told Beau that she was going to be my girlfriend. I screwed up, but I can fix this. She's my best friend. I drive home in a blur, lying face down in my bed when I get home. My pillow feels like paper though, I lift up my head and there's a note. I thought you loved me. It was written in the same elegant handwriting that the notes passed to me in class would be written in. Not only that, but it had a finality to it. I didn't have a second chance. That was the night that I told myself my life had ended. I went through the blur and stress of applying to colleges, receiving the acceptance letters, and one small one. I saw her in the hallways, always by herself. It was all my fault. It was like we had broken up, but we were never together because of me. The last time I saw her was at graduation, the night after the senior prank, which was a total bust. Beau didn't speak for a day after his mouse-traps didn't trap, and his fireworks didn't fire. ~~~~ Wofford College was printed above me in big letters. I watched my mother try to work her first digital camera as I stood with a slump under the purple sign. They helped me unpack, and my mom explained where everything was, my shampoo and unneeded conditioner, my extra bed sheets, comfy soles to put in the bottom of my shoes, and my pictures. Including one of Ivy and I. That one stayed on a bottom shelf. The first three years of college were easy for me. No distractions, no friends except Beau, my roommate. You think he would leave me to go to college alone? There was only once that a girl had approached me. She asked if I wanted to go to Carson's one night, and I said no. She was very pretty, if I'm being honest. But it felt wrong. From then on, I was not approachable to other girls. Now it's my senior year in college. I changed my major many times in the first few years but ended on Literature. One day I'm going to be a writer, and I'm going to write about Ivy. Not directly, but she's going to be fit into every story I write. No matter what. ~~~~ Beau and I are walking down the street, back to campus. When a girl with Peach Colored hair catches my eye. I convince myself that I'm hallucinating and close my eyes, wishing that I'm not. When I open them, her sharp, feline eyes are met with mine. She sees me and this time, they don't bounce to another person. I stop in the middle of the street. "Ace, wha-" Beau sees her too. "Go. Get. Her." And I do, I walk up to her and I don't stop walking. I don't stop walking until her face is right in front of mine. "I love you," I say, closing the distance between us completely. I do what I've wanted to do since the first day I saw her. I kiss her, and she kisses me back. I put my hand on the small of her back and she pulls away, smiling at me. "I knew you loved me," she says. Me and Ivy have become inseparable. She's finishing her schooling at Wofford, which was the plan before seeing me again, calm down. I am more happy than ever. I've actually started writing a book. Ivy was a big inspiration for it. I'm heading out the door to my next class when I see a note on our white board. Feed the fish!!!!!!! I roll my eyes and walk over to Beau's hidden shelf beside his bed and pull out his fish tank. Grabbing the food, I realize his illegal fish, Shark-Bait, is floating. Oh, no.


“Why don’t you let me take you home dad? It’s too cold to wait for the bus,” Police officer Arrin Krieger asked Arik, who was wrapping up his IT work on the Captain’s computer. “Thanks, Arrin, I would love that,” he said, peeking out from under the desk. “Tony said it was supposed to snow like 25 inches today!” “Got to love a January blizzard. I'll get some hot chocolate for the road while you finish up here. Met you at my desk." "See you there," he said, getting back to replugging everything. When that was finished, he cleaned up his workstation, a breakfast nook-like area in the corner of the Captain's office. He packed up his laptop, mouse, and cassette player with headphones in his computer bag. The last things to do were to clean the coffee mug tea rings off the table and bundle up in his coat, scarf, and gloves. He waited a few minutes before ignoring Arrin's instructions and met him in the officer lounge. The screaming of the kettle hid the sound of the door but the screen attaching the hanging cabinets to the peninsula below blocked Arrin’s view from the first third of the room. Even if the screen was gone, Arrin had his head deep in a lower cupboard trying to find Arik’s reusable coffee cups. As he raised and turned his head, a cacophony of cups and lips bounced on the floor. “Dad!” His heavy breath switched to a scowl. “Dad!”

“Let me help you.” He smiled, taking the kettle off the heat. “I’m an adult, dad, I can make two cups of hot chocolate on my own.” Arik extended to the top of the cabinets, pulling down a red and white Tupperware dish. “But it always tastes better when you do it with someone else," he said opening the dish. "You hide marshmallows up there." "Yeah, or Tony would eat them all." "Paranoid much." "I have video," he said, opening the drawer to the left of the oven. "I want to get home sometime tonight." "That's not happening tonight, boys," a voice behind them said. "Captain?" Arrin asked. Captain Mitchell Adams flopped down his hood. "The snow's past my knees in the parking lot and no amount of shoveling is going to fix that until the plows come in the morning." "Want a cup, Mitchell?" Arik asked, picking up an "I'm holding a cup of coffee, so yeah I'm busy" coffee mug from the counter. "Please. No marshmallows." "Killjoy," Arik whispered under his breath. Arrin slapped Arik's arm. "I have to fill out some forms for this. Did you fix my computer?" "Hope so," he said, handing Mitchell his mug. Mitchell started for the door before a spark ignited.

“Arrin, I might need you to sign something. Come to my office when you’re done here.” “Right away, Captain,” He said as Mitchell left. “You probably call him Mitchell,” he said, pouring the kettle. “He’s a chill guy.” “He’s my boss.” “So?” he asked, stirring the cup. “Can you start adding marshmallows?” Arrin grabbing the dish and keep plopping down marshmallows as he said, “Normal people don’t call their bosses by their first name “Normal people want marshmallows with their hot chocolate not hot chocolate with their marshmallows.” He shook some drink from his hand. “Sorry, dad.” He put the dish away. “We already figured out I’m not normal.” He took the larger mound of marshmallows and tried to shove the lid on with the least amount of casualties. “You clean this up and I’ll put what’s left of my marshmallows away.” With the easier job, Arik was the first back to the Captain’s office with the time to de-winterize. He got lost in his computer screen as Arrin knocked on the door. “Come in, Arrin!”

Mitchell yelled from the printer. He peeked his head in. “Do you need me?” “Just your John Hancock,” he said, placing a paper and a pen on the table near Arik's laptop. Arrin slipped forward as if entering the principal's office. Mitchell glided away as nothing happened. He went to his desk digging into his bottom right-hand drawer. "I need to see how many people are stuck here tonight. Here's a radio if the lines go out," he said, setting down a walkie talkie for Arik. "Do you want help?" Arrin asked. "No, I have a bigger job for you." Mitchell leaned in, and whispered, "make sure he doesn't hack anything he's not supposed to." "I try, Captain," he whispered back. "All I ask," he whispered. "Man the fort, Officer Krieger!" he announced, closing the door. Arrin finished his paperwork and sat in silence. His eyes bobbed like buoys. But right as they shut, a loud noise sent them up like a broken projector screen. "Holy Cow!" ranged through the room. "What! What? What are you watching?" "Tony's police car almost ran into Al's bus. Glad you didn't let me on that." "Why don't we do something-" he inched down the laptop lid - "other than watching traffic cams." "What do you suggest?" "What do you do when you're not working." "Watch traffic cams. Monitor police search history. Try to hack into Love Computer Security servers." He took a sip of his drink. "Don't look at me like that, Arrin Daniel! They want hackers to try. Troubleshoot if you will." "How about something we can do together." "Have you ever been upstairs?" "It's just storage and stuff." "No then. Come on, let's take a field trip," he exclaimed, putting his laptop away. "Is the Cap… Mitchell okay with this?" "Would I have keys-." "Grandma taught you how to pickpocket." "She also taught me lying to love one's is the worst thing you could do." "Did Cap give his okay?" "Ask him yourself," he said, handing him the radio. "Mom sure gave you her lawyer genes." "Yes. Yes, she did." he lifted the walkie to his face. "Hey, Captain-?" "Can you imagine the arson squad being a whole floor? It's barely four officers now." "They caught the most notorious arsonist and threw the book at him. They scared the firebugs to Philadelphia." "What makes you say that?" he laughed. "Their arson statistic. Uncle Caleb always complained about that when we went to go see Steven and Beverly." A loud pop took over the space. As it left, it took the light with it. Arrin took the flashlight from his duty belt. “The darn blizzard must have blown the breaker. Dad?” He shone his light around. “Dad?! Da~” the last was muffled by a leather-gloved hand. “Where’s your gun, boyo ?” the hushed voice asked, taking his hand from Arrin’s mouth but pressing his forearm into his windpipe. “Belt.” He could only muster a whisper. “Any others?” “No.” “Move!” he ordered, releasing his arm. “Not too fast now.” When Arrin didn’t move, the man shoved the confiscated gun into his ribs and cocked it. “Now!” Wobbling in the dark, they made it down three flights of stairs to the Captain’s office. Once in the door, the man gave Arrin one last push. Arrin landed hard hands and knees. Eyes squinting due to the bright light coming from the Captain’s desk. “Look Mikey, I brought you a wee friend to play with.” Arrin looked up to see his boss tied to a chair.

“Tie him up!” he ordered his man in the shadows. “Come on, Patrick, he has nothing to do with this,” he said, pulling on his ropes as Arrin twisted and turned in the arms of the mega-monster. “ Feck that, Mikey. He’s one of your lads and he’s not arsewaying with mine.” “What would you want here?” “What would you have that I would want, Eejit !” He spat in his face. “It’s not what, it’s who!” Mitchell closed his eyes. “Arik.” “ Aye ,” he said, taking the knob of the still opened door. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find him and this wean’s father.”

He closed the door with an intimidating bang. The jiggle of the lock sent shockwaves through Arrin's once concrete expression. "How do you know this guy, Captain?" Arrin stuttered. "He was a friend." "Him?" "Yeah, before I joined the force as my father had and he joined the Irish mob as his had." "He couldn't be working for them now. They wouldn't risk breaking the truce." "No, they wouldn't. They didn't when they cut him loose 15 years ago." "That explains why he doesn't know Arik's-." "Quiet Arrin!" He drew the attention of their monster of a babysitter. "Don't show all of our cards yet. He evaded us for four years: he'll be fine." When the breaker was pulled, Arik tripped over his own two feet. When he tried to catch himself, he fell even more through a door he had locked but hadn’t gotten all the way shut.

His head was spinning when Arrin called out the first two times. And he was seconds away from responding to the third when another voice rang out.

He scrambled to his feet, shaky like a baby’s first walk. At the door, he saw Arrin’s light flailing around. For a brief second, he saw a pair of police issued boots maintained in military form - Arrin’s shoes - and a pair of dress shoes, tattered and soles dwindling into paper sheets. For another, a glint and shiny off the man’s waist from a holster and a gun of his own. When the man released Arrin, the light bounced once more, getting dangerously close to Arik’s hiding place. He closed his door as fast as he dared to remain hidden and unheard. One man plus two guns doesn’t equal a good outcome for two without. The Princeton graduate in him saw the logic in it: retreat and live to fight another day. The father in him would rather have the pain of a gunshot than the pain of watching a madman that broke into a police station and who now possesses two guns cart his son away.

Arik kicked the nearest piece of furniture when Arrin’s light vanished. It was an old but hard pedestal desk. The shockwaves of his kick sent the top right drawer rolling on its glides with a metallic clang at the end.

He ran his hand along the bottom until his fingers touched something smooth and cold. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it until they flipped open the lid and spun the flint wheel. Arik could see his hand and a bit of the room around him but what gave him a smirk was on the lighter. The stick on it was a campaign logo from the 1960s for Ken Kremer, his great grandfather. He didn’t win, in fact, he was arrested three days before the election for bribing poll workers. With the light of the past, he looked back out the hall. No lights insight. He needed a quick light inside to fix this problem. Backstairs First. He oozed out of the room. The light shimmied in his hand. He stayed along the left wall as he headed towards the back of the building. His fingers graced the lever knob when he heard voices on the other side.

He closed the lighter. He couldn’t move until he saw the flashlights turned towards the door. Door hinges on the right. He lurched to the right of the door where the door would fly. As the door opened, one of the men said, “We’re looking for two men, one mid-twenties, other forties, both caucasian, first alive, the other no preference.”  “I have a preference,” the other man said, brandishing his weapon.

“Careful where you point that.” With them a safe distance away, Arik sneaked into the stairwell. He went down a few steps and looked over the side, making sure no lights were below or above him. Okay now, what?

“First floor cleared, O'Connell.” After getting confirmation, Arrin gave Arik the walkie since he already had one on his belt. “Take your post at the West Stairwell, Bishop,” said O'Connell, who Arik could only presume could be the boss. Arik spun the lighter in his hand, with a smile growing. He galloped down the stairs only stopping at the bottom. Two shadows lined the frosted-glass window of the door. It was only a momentary pause, he wasn’t planning on going through the door anyway. He closed the lighter and reached up for the vent that he keeps loosened so he doesn’t have to interact with anyone. He had to step on the railing to get all the way up. As he laid on his belly barely able to lift his head fully, he thought I should have taken the stupid bus! Now, which way? He army-crawled a ways. He knew he was on the right track when he came to a vent looking into the men’s restroom. Only two more lefts. He pushed on until he came to the captain’s office.

When he looked inside, he saw Mitchell and Arrin tied to chairs on the opposite side of Mitchell’s desk.

Something moved in the shadows in the far corner, along the wall with his bench. Everything was quiet until a man barged in.

“My lads have searched this building top to bottom. How can they hide?” “You should ask them, Patrick,” Mitchell smirked.  He gave him a nob and a grin before pistol-whipping him. “I’ll ask again-,” he cocked it in his face - “where can they hide?!” Mitchell just stared into the windows of Patrick’s soul.

“Fine.” He stepped to the right, facing Arrin. He tapped his badge and said, “Maybe you can help me, Officer-.” He stopped as he read Arrin’s last name. He ripped the badge from Arrin’s uniform. “There’s not two.” He threw the badge down. “There’s not two!” He ran out of the room. He pulled his walkie out. “Lads your night just got easier. You’re looking for one man. He’s just a computer lackey.”

All of his teams responded with some form of “copy that’. His face was red and his teeth gritted as he tried to get his walkie back on his belt. “Patrick O’Connell. Come in Patrick O’Connell,” Arik said. “Who is this?” “I’ve heard you’ve been looking for me.” “Arik Krieger!” “Yeah and I’m not too happy with that lackey remark. Why don’t you come to the officer lounge and we can talk it over.” Patrick’s expression perked up. “I would love that.” This time the walkie went on on the first try. He marched down the hall, in a flash. He wretched the doorknob like a dog with his ball.

No one was in sight.

“You still hiding, boy?!” “No.” The lights in the room shuddered on. “I’m right here.” He stood far back in the room. “There’s another breaker in here?”  “Yeah, but don’t be mad. They didn’t include it in the public plans for occasions like this. Come here, we can have that talk.” He disappeared behind the cooking area. “Don’t get me wrong,-” he started forward - “I meant no harm with that statement. I’m doing all of this because of your computer skills. I can promise you if you come with me now I won’t hurt anyone. What do you say?”

He rounded the corner. Arik was standing there with a bucket. “I think not.” He hurled the contents at Patrick and started the flame on the lighter. “What do you think you’re doing? I can smell it’s not petrol.” “No. But it’s cleaning supplies. Just as flammable.” “Let’s talk about.” He raised his hand. “I ain’t going with you and you’re not hurting my family. What is there to talk about?” “You haven’t heard what I want you to do.” “Nothing good can come from this. If you wanted something good, you would have asked. Not this.” “True.” he lowered his hand partially. “What else is true is you won’t drop that.” He lowered them more heading towards his belt. “You couldn’t hurt the man who killed your wife. You won’t hurt me.” “You think so.” He pretended to drop, getting Patrick’s hand back up. “I won’t make the same mistake with my son.” He dropped it for real. Patrick lurched back, tripping, hiding his head. The substance Arik threw didn’t catch on fire like he said. “Too bad you can’t call a bluff,” he said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He scrooched down next to the unconscious Patrick. He pulled up one of Patrick's arms, cuffed it, pulled the chain around an exposed pipe across from the counter, and cuffed the other wrist. With one down, Arik got up to deal with the next one on his list. He walked down to the Captain’s Office, stopping a bit short of the door. He reached in his other rear pocket, pulling out his phone. He clicked the screen and all the lights on this floor turned on. Cries of pain rang out from the office.

Arik ran in. Arrin and Mitchel were fine as they were sitting closer to the lantern on Mitchell’s desk. On the other hand, the man in the corner was bent over like he got hit between the legs. Arik quickly took him the rest of the way down and handcuffed him to the old radiator. “You two, slacking off at a time like this,” he laughed.  “Just untie us, dad.” “Fine.” He started on Arrin’s ropes. “Where’s Patrick?” Mitchell asked, his voice tough but eyes filled with a glint of care.

“Cuffed in the lounge. That was the guy you were going to marry, wasn’t?" he asked, untying Mitchell, getting a wide-eyed expression from Arrin. "Only a fleeting whim." "You and Lindsey are a much better match anyway. Your Law and he's order."


CHOO! CHOO! The locomotive whistles, a train’s usual high, but at the same time low sound, piercing the coal-smelling, dusty air as we take off down the tracks. We start out slow, then gain speed in the first thirty seconds. People are all around me, hoping we’ll get to Chicago for the Christmas Fair without any disturbances. I look out the window that I’m lucky to have a spot next to to see New York City’s brick buildings rushing past me. I can spot them in the distance as they're coming up, but they seem so far away. Yet before I know it, they’ve passed, and then they’re running away from me. They’ll probably be completely out of my sight in just a few seconds. Someone’s elbow jabs against my waist. A little kid bumps against my hips. A man starts smoking, releasing the noticeable smell of cigarettes into the already bad air. Like most people, I hate crowds- but I especially hate them in small spaces. It feels so tight, though the photos I’ve seen of train cars make them look open and airy. I’ve never been on a train before- I didn’t know what to expect.

I go inside my cabin, grabbing today’s edition of the New York Times from it’s spot on a small desk before sitting on my bed and taking a look. The front-page article reads “Pearl Harbor Attacked by Japan, 2,403 Dead, we will be going into World War II”. What? I read the article, and then read it again, and again, and again, and again. Why did this happen? How did this happen? On the other side of the very un-soundproof walls of the cabin, I can hear that the other people have also heard the news, and they’re gossiping about what this means for our country. “We were so focused on the east, we forgot about the west.” “I still don’t think we should’ve joined that war.” “Will my husband have to leave to go fight? Will he come back?” It takes me a second to realize I’m now standing back in the crowded train car, with even more ruckus then before. Everyone is too busy talking, crying, revelating to notice anyone else. Five people are collapsed in a pile on the floor. No one cares about anyone else. Is this how life will be now? Everyone for themselves? Will we be safe?

That’s definitely what lots of people think, going into their cabins. I’d do the same, but mine is in the same car as the crowd, and I want to get as far away as possible. That must be why I left my cabin. But I can’t remember it… everything is spinning too fast for me to even process what I’m doing. How did this happen? I figure I’d just thought the words again, but when everyone turns to face me I realize I’ve just said them aloud. No, I’ve yelled them. At the top of my lungs. So I go near the front of the train. I balance on the metal pole between the front cabin and the coal car until I’ve gotten to the center of it. I sit down, looking off into the distance. We haven’t even left New York yet- it’ll be a while before we reach Chicago. We’re definitely in the outskirts, though. Young boys are carrying papers and yelling, “READ ALL ABOUT IT, PEARL HARBOR HAS BEEN ATTACKED!” The streets are just as frantic as the train if not more, and this isn’t even the busiest area of New York. “You shouldn’t be here.” I nearly fall off, I’m so startled. I turn around to see a figure in all black, shoveling coal to fuel the train. They probably took a break from their work for a second to open the door, however. “Should I leave?” I ask. The coal worker raises their head to nod, and I get up. But at the last moment, they shake it. “It’s fine. I like the view too. You should enjoy the ride, not spend it with thirty people in a cramped space.” “Did you hear the news?”

“About the new breed of hamsters those hikers discovered? Yeah.” Clearly they don’t know- unless they’re joking. But why would anyone want to joke about death and destruction- especially if it will surely lead to even more darker, scarier moments? How did this happen? “No,” I say, shaking my head to clear it. “About Pearl Harbor.” “Where’s that?”

“It’s in the island of Oahu, in Hawaii. I didn’t know about it either, until everything happened. It was bombed by Japan yesterday- it was in the paper, front page and everything. We’re going into the world war.” The coal worker stares. And stares.

And stares some more. “Are you okay?” I ask. They shake their head. A strong gust of wind suddenly blows our way, and their hood flips over. I see a woman staring back at me. Black hair, skin a little darker than mine. She’s Japanese. But she’s innocent, too. Her life would probably be full of changes in the coming months, probably not for the better, and she dosen’t deserve any of it. “Oh,” I whisper. “Come sit with me.” “I probably shouldn’t. I need to fuel the train.” “This probably won’t be a long voyage anyway,” I inform her. “It’ll be canceled because of the…” I stop there. But she knows what I was going to say. Because of the war. This ride isn’t the only thing that’ll stop. Life will shut down as we know it. Nothing will be the same, maybe even after this is over. She bends down to sit next to me. “Okay- I guess I was a bit ahead with that coal. Though I’ll have to go back to work in a minute.” “The sunrise is pretty, isn’t it?” I ask as she’s sat down. “I’m sure if the air wasn’t so dusty from the train, I’d feel cool morning breezes.” We sit and watch as the train leaves New York City, heading west, though I know it’ll turn back whenever there’s a chance to do so. We run through some rolling fields, dotted with wildflowers, and soon we go into a lush forest, where I see a doe and her fawn rush off of the tracks to avoid us. It’s so natural. It’s what’s meant to be here, not war or bombings from foreign countries or crowded train cars. And for the whole time, one thing is on my mind- will this beautiful place live through the war?


Every day, between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm, the ‘St. Augustine Public Library for Spectacular Minds’ is bustling with human activity; Imaginative children, bookish teens, and introverted adults converge at this location to indulge in themselves in the confines of countless pages and words. Some get caught up in the rhythms and rhymes of Doctor Theodore Seuss. Others find their attention grasped at the throat by the fantastical visions and voyages of Jules Verne.

Or perhaps the worlds of fiction doesn't fascinate one who seeks to uncover the fantastical secrets of our reality, perhaps individuals would rather be lost in the stars with Carl Sagan or experience a journey through time with Stephen Hawking... The three-story building provides its members with such a wide array of material that one can be lost in the labyrinth of shelves for hours upon hours. One can find themselves reading word afterword,

page after page, and even book after book. No matter what the taste, the preference, or the desire is; the ‘St. Augustine Public Library for Spectacular Minds’ has a collection for any book enthusiast, lover, or worm. And it has the power to convert long-mundane hours into grandiose spectacles that feel like mere minutes. Causing her visitors to wish that they had the ability to control time and stretch those measly ten hours of operation to a staggering 24-hour period where one can relax, put their feet up, and enjoy a good book. There have been many instances when the mechanical voice through the intercom announcing that "the library will close in 30 minutes" causes children and adults to cry! Kicking and screaming begging for hours to be extended! Trying to bargain with the librarians to allow them to stay for a few more minutes! Attempting to hide out in the three-story labyrinth, where they can spend their night lost in the sea of words instead of being pried away from the books and forced outside in the cold-dark reality that surrounds them! A reality they are forced to confront every moment of their life! The reality that they seek to escape from! But day after day, the citizens of this three-story city are forced to leave. At every 5 pm, the building excreets a crowd of long faces who stumble into the parking lot, longing for just one more second in the palace of pages. Then at 6 pm, after all the librarians have checked all the shelves, all the bathrooms, all the reading rooms, and all the nooks and crannies for any book who may be far from their home; the lights are shut, the doors are locked, and the ‘St. Augustine Public Library for Spectacular Minds’ is put to sleep until her awakening at 8 am for the next day...However, there is always stirring in the night. Due to Humans diurnal nature, they never really have a grasp on the true circumstances of the night. The black blanket that casts a spell of drowsiness on all of us. Many scientists, researchers, explorers, television creators, and dreamers believe that "Space is the Final Frontier''. Space is the great unknown, space is the greatest mystery, space is the final question that desires an answer. But it is all wrong. Space is a great question that is in need of an answer, but it is not the final question. What is the final question? What is the final frontier ? What is the great unknown ? It is simpler than one thinks. It is simply, the night. Humans believe they understand the night, they comprehend it, and they know all its secrets. However, they only know what the night wants them to think. The night presents itself with a 'mask'; it allows us to see what it wants us to see, not what is actually there...And behind that mask is something that our mortal minds can and never will comprehend; an entirely separate world of organisms, beings, entities, and creatures that only traverse the world as the sun sets in the east. Beings that are capable of critical thinking, deduction, as well as knowledge of an entirely different world than our own. We can go into hours upon hours of describing this hidden reality that hides from the naked eye but out of all the creatures and critters that separate themselves from us, there is one beasty that particularly captures the attention. An organism that lives in the ‘St. Augustine Public Library for Spectacular Minds’: the 'Crandook'. A Crandook is the common size of a house-cat, it is an anthropoid that's body resembles that of the ring-tailed lemur subtract all the fur. Giving its torse, arms, hands, legs, and feet a scaly-leathery appearance that is similar to a featherless chicken. However, there is fur found upon its head and tail. The head is identical to the common Raccoon: the ears have a triangular shape, there is the 'domino mask' formation around its eyes, the long snout with the tiny black noses at the end as well as an impressive row of fang. And finally, black eyes that allows for the dark to become more visible. To describe the tail of a Crandook, is too describe a 3-foot-faceless-king cobra covered in seta. Although, contradictory to the Crandook's size, they have complete functionality over their tail. They utilize the tail to assist them in climbing, to wrap around objects, to use as an indicator for if danger is about, or even as a brush to clean their skin.

If one ever was seen

out in the wild, the observer would come to the conclusion (specifically based on its appearance)

that the Crandook's diet consists of bugs, berries, and bananas. But as history tells us time and time again; appearances are deceiving. The diet of Crandook is knowledge; it consumes items that emit knowledge. Items such as phones, computers, dvds,

and of course: books! When the clock strikes 8 at ‘St. Augustine Public Library for Spectacular Minds’, the Crandook awakens and traverses it's three-story buffae! Leaping from shelf to shelf, it sifts through each of the correctly placed books and chooses which one will make a tasty meal! Which one will provide the most efficient type of knowledge! Which one will be the most enjoyable! It lurks and stalks it's bound-motionless prey. Glazing it's hand slowly over each of the book’s spins, trying to feel which is the best, which is the most delicious, which one will be the most satisfying. After 10 minutes of contemplation, the Crandook finds its three candidates. Takes them away into a scheduled area in the air vents. Opens the cover and begins tearing into the book! If the book was conscious, it would start wailing in pain, howling in agony, and crying for mercy! But alas that is merely a 'what if' and if that 'if' was true, the Crandook would not care! It is hungry! After tearing through the books, it returns and finds more books and more and more! The cycle continues until the crack of dawn. At 7 am, when beams of sunlight shine through the window, Crandook retreats to it's hidden quarters and sleeps. Awaiting for the next night. Librarians do their inventory of the shelves and always discover that a few books are missing. They check the computers; they were not signed-out, they should still be on the shelf. Questions race through their minds! "Were they stolen?" "Were they misplaced?" "Did someone forget to sign them out?" "Where are they?" And as the questions pile and pile, they begin accusing the common customers, threatening to remove them from the library, and who would want to be removed from Heaven. As the investigation and Accusations continue, the Crandook slumbers away in its secret chambers, that no one will ever be able to stumble upon purposely or accidentally. It awaits for the ‘St. Augustine Public LIbrary for Spectacular Minds’ to go to sleep, once again. Where it’ll reign page-tearing terror on it’s victims.


Tigger warning: Death, Religion. Archie laid on his stomach with only a single headlamp to cut through the absolute darkness surrounding him. The smooth stone underneath his body was damp, the cold seeped through his polyester layers of skin-tight caving gear and bit at his flesh. A ceiling of the same black rock pressed down against his shoulders. There was barely a foot between the two layers of bedrock. He inched forward. Dragging himself through the tight crevice buried under the earth, he used all his strength. His muscles burned with the effort. Struggling to keep his breaths under control, Archie forced himself to focus. The hot air, dust and silence would not break him. Every rise of his chest filled the precious space that he had available to move and so staying calm was vital to making any progress. Resisting the oppression he felt pressing in on all sides was his only thought. The shaking white light of his torch bounced across the walls but was consumed by a darkness just ahead, which was a good sign. It meant the crawl space was opening out to a larger area. He just had to keep going. Maybe bringing a partner wouldn’t have been the worst idea. A distraction right now would be welcome. He had regretted entering the contest alone almost immediately after beginning. Safety wasn’t a concern because there were so many people traversing through the cave system that day, so if he got into any trouble he wouldn’t have been alone for very long. He had failed to consider the moral support having someone with you provided though and was paying the price for his bravado. Come on Archie. You’ve made it through worse trails than this. Just a little further… He pushed forward another inch, his fingers and toes clawing his body weight between the immovable sides of the tunnel. Another push and his fingertips crested an edge; he could bend them over into an open space where the air felt cooler and less stagnant.

Finally! Relaxing his neck, he let out a sigh of relief that blew a cloud of dust up into his face. Dammit. Blinded, he paused to suck in a deep breath and then tried to blink the grit free. Every attempted slap of his eyelids resulted in a shot of pain to both irises. His elbows were not able to bend to get his hands to his face and the dirt wouldn’t shift on its own. There was nothing for it, he would have to get clear first. Archie braced his toes against the stone and hauled himself forward another fraction...then stopped dead. The pressure against his shoulders and chest held firm. He wrenched again and didn’t move at all.

Stuck. Blind. Alone. Stay calm. Stay calm. STAY calm. STAY CALM! He wriggled on the spot, trying to find a gap. Pushed a little more. Nothing. He shook again. Then again until he lost his cool and started thrashing around in place, uncontrolled and in complete desperation to move anywhere . He began gulping in breaths but couldn’t get any air. Blind he started scraping his face on the stone, he needed the pain in his eyes to stop. He needed to see. “HELP! Oh GOD, someone PLEASE! HELP! GOD HELP ME! GET ME OUT!” His flapping hands grazed something warm. Then the other did the same. Until they connected again and he recognised the soft palms of another person, who after a few attempts lined up their fingers and was able to grip hold of both of his hands. He clamped down. Hard. “Push when I pull you! Ready? GO!” A feminine voice resounded off the walls of the crawl space. Archie pushed with everything he had. The pain in his wrists and shoulders was evidence of the force his mystery saviour was using. For a moment he didn’t move and that panic gripped his heart once more, threatening to collapse his chest inward. Then all at once he slid forward, all resistance gone and fell into an open cavern bundling on top of another living being. His rescuer pushed him off and as he rolled onto his side he broke into maniacal laughter, rubbing his eyes raw with his knuckles. “Oh thank God!” He said “I thought I was done for” “God had nothing to do with it” The voice said. Definitely female. “I pulled you out of there. You’re welcome by the way” “Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry. I was panicking, I got grit in my eyes, you see and I couldn’t clear it” He said, still unable to open them. “Here, tilt your head back” she said. Archie did as he was told and felt the sweet release of water against his face. Blinking away the liquid his sight returned and out of the blur resolved a young, slight framed woman dressed in red and black. She had on a bandanna to keep her long red curls from her face and was… barefoot .

“That’s so much better. Thank you, I mean it. My name is Archie” He said holding out a hand. She didn’t take it but replied instead, “Abbie. No sweat! You didn’t belong stuck in there!” She pushed her water bottle back into a holster at her waist and looked around the cavern, illuminating it with her own head torch that blinded him all over again every time she pointed it his direction. He followed her light with his own, seeing a space no more than three strides across and a ceiling only just reaching above their heads. On the opposite side from where he had emerged were four different exits. “Where’s the marker?” He asked “There isn’t one.” “What do you mean? There should be a marker at every junction to highlight the course.” He said, jumping his light between all the openings. “I don’t know, do you see one?” She asked, helplessness bleeding from her tone and her torch snapping into his eyes looking for an answer. “No…well which passage did you come from? That would rule one out.” Archie asked, raising his hands against the light. She didn’t look at any of the openings and simply said to the ground, “Oh…down below.” “Down below? What does that mean?” She laughed and through the giggles said “From hell obviously. I’m a demon come to drag you back with me” “Heh…yeah…good one” Archie replied. People made strange jokes in tense situations. “Look. You’re obviously a pro, I never seen anyone run the course barefoot before…do you know the way out? Mind if I stick with you for the rest of the way?” She took the strap from her head and set the torch upright on the ground, flooding the natural room with the artificial LED’s and casting shadows on every surface. He saw her then as more than a dim silhouette, her athletic body and beauty mesmerising him briefly before he refocused on the task at hand. “Yeah, I know where we need to go” She said, a broad and encompassing smile spreading across her face. “Can’t be going anywhere with someone I don't know and can’t trust though. Tell me about yourself Archie? Who are you exactly?” Perplexed by such a large question, Archie stuttered and glanced around at the rocks littering the corners of the circular cave. “Come on now” she said, perching against one of those rocks “If anyone knows who you are, I’d have thought it’d be you?” “Yeah of course, I just, er, don’t know where to start” He rubbed the back of his neck and produced a fake grin. “I’m married, got a daughter too. So you know, I guess that makes me pretty solid right?” “Right?” She imitated. “I work in finance. I do very well for myself actually if I’m honest but you know the office job…it can be pretty sedentary. That’s why I’m here, pushing myself. I took up caving awhile ago and love it! What happened just now was a first, I’m usually very good under pressure, never freaked out like that before.” “Hmmm, okay” She said, standing and walking over to the narrow tunnel Archie had been yanked from. She ran her fingers over the edges and then said at almost a whisper “Got any secrets?” “Who doesn’t”  “Okay, well…ever done anything you’re truly ashamed of?” “Like what?” He asked, still standing in the same spot. “Oh I don’t know, are you a gambler? Must be if you work in finance.” “Sure I guess, I’ve done a few casinos with the guys before. Won big once too!” “Nice” She said. “Never lost?” “Well, losings part of the deal. You learn that in my game. As long as you keep playing though things always come around. He said, puffing his chest high, confidence brimming from his stance. “What about the ultimate gamble…ever cheated on that wife of yours?” He smiled then and wandered the few paces to where she stood, stopping a little too close to her and keeping his eyes fixed on hers. A trick he’d learned to appear powerful to women. “Depends.” He said. “Who’s offering?” She giggled and moved past him to the other side of the tiny under ground enclosure. “Alright, one more question and then I’ll decide if we go on together, sound good?” “Sure” He said, examining her more greedily as their conversation went on. “Do you believe?” He scrunched his face up and looked at her with confusion. “Believe? You mean in religion, God? No of course not.” “Hm, funny. You were screaming for God to help you when you thought you were stuck in there. Then you thanked him when you were free. Now you don’t believe?” “It was just an expression…” Archie said, losing interest fast. “Look, if you know the way out of here, we really should get moving. The course is long and I’d like to get back.” Abbie stood up on her toes, stretching and plastering that giant smile on her face again. “Okay! It’s been an easy decision to make anyway. You can come with me! I’ll get you where you need to go!” “Great” Archie said “You won’t regret it, you can trust me” It was her turn to look confused then, cocking her head to one side. “Oh I can’t trust you at all. No, you lied in every answer to my questions. You have SO many secrets Archie…” She said stepping closer, her body casting a giant black shadow on the wall. “I know you gambled big on the small business account…and lost. All those families are going to be closing their ventures and out on the street, their children suffering with hungry bellies…because of you. Then you blamed it on the junior, poor guy will never work in the industry again. It was his dream you know.” She did a pirouette then, arms pointed in the air and everything. “I also know you’ve slept with three other women since you made those vows to your wife in the grandest church you could find. She doesn’t have a clue does she Archie. She thinks the world of you. You know that and you even tried to hit on me, down here of all places!” He began to stutter a retort to this woman’s accusations but managed only a single phrase, “Who the hell are you?” Abbie giggled and ran a full circle around the cavern. “Do you know that’s the first question you’ve asked me that hasn’t been self serving? Although I guess you could argue, given the circumstances now, that asking about me is still for your own benefit. Anyway, I told you who I am. I’m Abbie. Abaddon if you like and I’m from hell. Get it right. I told you all this earlier. I don’t lie or keep secrets. Not like you.” “What is this!?” Archie yelled “This is no time or place for a prank! Freaking people out when they’re down here is dangerous! It’s not funny!” “No you’re right. Its not funny” Abbie said, cocking her head to one side and gazing into the distance. “OH! We almost forgot the last question. Another lie. You do believe in God…just only when it serves your own needs it seems. You keep that little secret buried real deep. Ashamed to have faith are we?” Archie flashed his head torch around the room, looking for a way out of this insanity. When he didn’t find it, he faced her again, “What do you want? Money? You can have as much as you like to keep your mouth shut” Abbie tipped back her head as far as it would go, opened her mouth a little wider than seemed possible and belted a roaring laugh that seem to echo from every direction. She snapped her head back down in an instant, cutting her amusement off dead. “I don’t want money ! I want your soul silly.” “Look, just tell me the way out and I’ll get out of here. You won’t see me ever again, whoever you are.” Archie said, his feet shifting and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Abbie ran over to the wall with the four exits then and stood in the centre of them, arms out stretched. “SURPRISE! They are all the right one! They all go to the same place, so you were never in any danger of going the wrong way Archie. Hee hee!” “Wait, what…?” Archie said, shaking his head. “Yeah they all head downward. If you’d admitted your failings and repented I could have sent you back up, but as it was…I mean you didn’t even think to set your head torch down like I did, you just kept shining that thing in my eyes without caring. You’re a real piece of work Archie.” “I still don’t know what this is…” He said “Maybe you’re crazy or this is some kind of set up, but either way I just need to get out of here. Plus, its ridiculous! I’d have to be dead to be sent to hell and I’m right here, you’re little game doesn’t even make sense!” Abbie skipped back across the cavern again, sending little stones shooting across the floor until she was staring down the gap Archie had come from. “Come take a look” She whispered. With no other option, Archie walked over and looked down the tunnel. There he saw illuminated in the white light, his own face. Grey with open, lifeless eyes, slack jawed and vacant. His own dead body. “Yeah…heart attacks will do that to ya when you’re stuck in a hole a mile underground” Abbie giggled. Archie stumbled backwards, falling and landing with his back to one of the four exits. Head in hands he sobbed and whispered prayers for God to save him. “Too late for that!” Abbie laughed. “You made this so easy Archie. I only had to ask a bare handful of questions and the decision was made. We didn’t even get to the way you look at your teenage daughters friends or the way you treated your parents! Maybe if you’d even just once looked at another person like a human being, shown one ounce of empathy we could have negotiated, but nope! Downward it is!” She stood back, pressed the heel of her dirty foot into chest and pushed him backward into the open tunnel. She waved and giggled as he fell through the chute and into the abyss below.


Wendy was sitting on the curb side, her feet buried amongst the crispy dried leaves in the gutter. It was 6.10 pm Saturday, her dress had a ripped hem and was held together with a safety pin, her lipstick smeared. She was shaking with nervous laughter as she held the snapped off heel of her favourite blue Damon Romanio shoe in one hand, and her cell phone with a flat battery in the other. If only she had not opened the letter in her mail last Saturday, she would not be in her current predicament! She had wandered out to her mailbox, Saturday morning, to check her mail as she always did. Three letters were sitting in her mailbox. The first, her phone bill, the second, her insurance bill, and the third, she was unsure of, so she flipped the letter over checking the senders' address. At first, she thought she might have made a mistake. “Stephanie? No, it couldn’t be!”, she had not heard from Stephanie for a couple of years now! “Oh no, I hope this is not…”, her thoughts trailed off as she ripped open the letter. There, printed in bold, across the top of the letter were the words, Invitation to your High School Reunion. Stephanie had sent Wendy an invitation to their up and coming High school reunion. It was to be held at a local venue, the next Saturday. During Wendys' awkward High School years, she felt she never fitted in with the other girls like Stephanie. Wendy was the study freak, while the other girls partied all night. She was the ugly duckling, and they preened themselves in front of a mirror. She preferred science fiction or factual books to their romance novels, Tai curry to their ‘bird food’ and salads, indeed they were like chalk and cheese! Wendy had always been well organized. Studying hard, she was a straight-A student. When she left high school she continued her study, working toward her goals. Passing her master's degree with honours, she was now a successful architect with her own business. It wouldn't matter who or what she became, girls like Stephanie always made her feel disorganized, awkward, and inferior. The fact that they were extroverts, while she was an introvert, did not help her situation either. “No, I’m not going”, she thought as she read the invitation.

“I’ll just let her know that I have a huge workload bogging me down and I have been working overtime to catch up”, she was not going lie to Stephanie, she would tell her the truth. Wendy flipped her phone out of her pocket, texting Stephanie to decline the invitation. “Now is as good a time as any,” she thought as she tapped out the message and pressed send. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she headed toward her door when her phone started to vibrate. Without checking who was calling she unlocked the screen and answered it in her usual confident tone, “Hi, Wendy speaking”. “HI, Wendy”, Stephanie’s familiar voice echoed in her ear, “You got the invitation then?” “I, I, err, yes thank you”, Wendy stuttered. Stephanie was already making her feel nervous! “Great, we will ALL be looking forward to seeing you! Take some time off work. Don’t forget, at 6 pm, don’t be late”, then she hung up! “Oh great!”, Wendy mumbled to herself, “How on earth am I going to get out of this? I need coffee!” She opened her door and stepped inside. Walking into her kitchen, she filled the coffee percolator and proceeded to brew herself a strong coffee. Flipping her phone out of her pocket, she typed a quick text back to Stephanie, “Huge workload. Not sure I can make it re-Saturday”. Beep, beep! Wendy’s phone alerted a text message, “All work and no play makes Wendy dull! 6 pm Saturday, don’t be late!”. Wendy tossed her phone on the counter in disgust, “I’m not going”, she mumbled as she drank her coffee. The next week passed by slowly. Wendy worked hard and gave herself very little time to think about the coming reunion. Whenever thoughts crept back into her mind, she would convince herself that she was not going! Deep down though, she had to admit, she harboured feelings of curiosity. It was the same thought that continued to roll around in her mind, “I wonder what everyone else has been up to since departing ways after High school? Perhaps it would be fun to catch up with a few people?” Friday. Beep beep! Wendy’s cell phone alerted a text message. It was from Stephanie, “Looking forward to catching up on Saturday, 6 pm, don’t be late!” Wendy started to reminisce and was thinking about her High School years. She pulled out her yearbook from the bookshelf, and proceeded to flick through old photos of friends she had let slip her mind. Slamming it shut, she repeated, “I’m not going”, in yet another one of those attempts to convince herself. Soon Saturday rolled around. Wendy went to work, putting in a few extra hours as she usually did, besides, she didn't have anywhere to be by 6 pm, did she? All-day Saturday, she flipped wrist constantly checking the time. 4 pm Wendy decided it was about time she headed home. She turned off the lights and locked the door. Walking out into the parking lot, she unlocked her car and jumped in. Beep beep! Another text message from Stephanie, “See you at 6 pm!” followed by a smiling face emoji. Driving home through the busy traffic, Wendy let her mind wander again. She was thinking of all the friends and acquaintances she had not seen for several years. Finally, she asked herself the question, “Am I going?” Arriving home, she parked her car, unlocked her house, and headed inside. 5 pm Wendy was standing in front of her bathroom mirror. Her reflection staring back at her, eyebrows deeply furrowed and a serious expression on her face! “I must be crazy, insane, or both?” she muttered, “but dammit, I’m going to go to this reunion!” Jumping in and out of the shower quickly, she scrubbed her face, and then applied a fast coat of ‘war paint’. She flung open her wardrobe door, quickly rummaging through the hangers holding her many dresses in place. Too old, too new, too low cut, too high cut, too pink, too blue, time was ticking on! 5.15 pm “This will do!” she thought as she grabbed a pretty floral dress off its hanger. She threw it on over her head and began fiddling for the zip behind her. Just as she had almost zipped her dress, the tongue snapped off the zipper! “Darn!” she thought, “There is no time to change this dress, it took me far too long to choose already!” She sprinted back into the bathroom and found a safety pin in her cupboard. Pinning the zipper of her dress in place to hold it together, she slipped on a cute pair of her favourite blue Damon Ramanio high heel shoes and made her way to the front door. 5.20 pm Slamming the door shut, she headed toward her car. Halfway there, and she suddenly realized she had left the car key in the kitchen draw. Tottering and wobbling her way into the house, she stumbled inside. She had not worn these heels for a while now, and was experiencing a bit of trouble with her balance! Back in the kitchen again, tipping junk from the draw, she spread it on her kitchen counter and found the car key. 5.25 pm. Slamming the door she made her way out to her car, unlocked it, and jump in. Flicking her wrist over again, she checked the time on her watch. Quick mental calculations, she estimated that she would still have enough time to get to the venue with five minutes to spare. Adjusting her rear-view mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection, only to discover, with horror, her lipstick had smeared, most likely when she put her dress on earlier. She decided she could sneak into the lady's room at the venue when she arrived, fix her lipstick, and would still be on time! There were many intersections and traffic lights to cross through if she took the direct route to the venue. She, however, knew a short cut through a few back streets that might get her there faster. Making her way there, she turned into Maryville Street, unfortunately for Wendy, she had not expected the un-manned road works cluttering the road. Large signs, potholes and course chip covered unsealed portions of the road. 5.45 pm. Weaving her way through the road works, she swerves to avoid a road cone. Her rear wheel falls into a pothole, and she hears a loud pop and then pffffffff. Winding down her window, she looked behind, only to see her rear tyre slowly deflating! Pulling off and parking against the curb, she flicked her wrist and checked her watch again. 5.50 pm “OK, cutting it fine,” she thought, “I can still make it on time if I walk the last couple of blocks and fix my lipstick on the way.” She opened the car door to step out. Somehow, as she stepped out, the heel of her shoe got caught in the hem of her dress. She could hear it ripping as she lowered her foot down to the unsealed road surface. Staring down at her torn dress, she momentarily contemplated looking in her first aid kit, for another safety pin to hold her ripped hem in place. “Perhaps I should ring for help?” she thought as she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

The screen was dull. The remaining power on the phone was just enough to illuminate the screen. It read Battery 2%! The mad rush and stress of her current situation were becoming all too much for her! As she stood there, she started to shake and was soon laughing nervously. She must have looked like a complete mess to passers-by! She was going to a reunion she did not want to go to, and now she was running late! Not only that, she had smeared makeup, a ripped dress held together with a safety pin, a flat tyre, and her phone was now displaying a 2% battery life. It could not get any worse, or so she though! Wendy walked around the back of her car towards the pavement in defeat, when suddenly, she stumbled in the loose chip on the road surface. Her foot slipped! The heel of her favourite blue Damon Ramanio shoe snapped off just as she grabbed the boot of the car to steady herself. She picked up the broken heel, and then with an awkward high and low stepping motion, she made her way to the curb side, and sat down. It was now 6 pm. Her High School reunion was already underway at the venue. Stephanie made her entrance and was standing on stage behind a podium. The crowd of ex-students gathered around in anticipation of her announcement. “Thank you all for coming”, her voice boomed out over the loudspeaker system. “We did arrange for Wendy to be here, and to be the recipient of a surprise award, for the Most Organized and Successful Past Student”. Stephanie’s eyes scanned the crowd in front of her looking for Wendy, “It appears that Wendy couldn’t make it. Has anyone heard from her? “ Meanwhile, Wendy was sitting on the curb side, her feet buried amongst the crispy dried leaves in the gutter. It was 6.10 pm Saturday, her dress had a ripped hem and was held together with a safety pin, her lipstick smeared. She was shaking with nervous laughter as she held the snapped off heel of her favourite blue Damon Romanio shoe in one hand, and her cell phone with a flat battery in the other.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.

The most brilliant, saturated orangey-reds I had ever witnessed were spread above me in a sheet of shuddering glory. Maple trees had no rival when it came to changing clothes for the season. They also excelled at boosting my mood as I hobbled from the building behind me; each assisted step picked a careful route along the blacktop until I made it to our vehicle. My husband pulled open the passenger side door, guiding me in with a steady hand and an encouraging smile. I loved those inviting fissures by his eyes and mouth—today more than any other day. Wrinkles are, after all, a testament to multitudes of expressions. The deepest marks of joyful times have been our default for years. I paused to take in the sound of rustling overhead. Several paper thin, star-shaped treasures had alighted on the roof of the car, perfectly contrasting with the dark blue paint. More littered the ground like pops of paint splashes on the pavement. My husband had been waiting, his hand on the car door. He didn’t rush me. With a nod of consent, the door closed. The shivers of fall were left outside. I told myself I could do this. The inconvenience of it all would be behind me in a few months’ time. And I had that ever-helpful soul beside me—still smiling as he entered the car—offering his boundless encouragement.

By the time we reached home, the swelling had tightened my sewn-up leg. Sitting awkwardly in the car had stifled any previous lift from the colors of the outside world. I needed help just to gain my good leg; humiliating and awkward. My breath caught, and a tear slipped between my squinted eyelids. My love was there, holding my arm and reaching with the other. He asked me what he can do, but the answer is nothing. What I tell him, however, is far less amiable. A callous comment emerges. I resented myself in that moment for allowing physical and emotional pain to override my default. No more smiles. Not now. The journey up the stairs was excruciating, but every step, he was there. Whatever hurt my current state may have caused him never showed. How could he love this wrecked soul as such? Even I wanted to run far from my broken body.

I told myself it was temporary. The medicine would kick in, and my leg would heal when it’s ready. Any internal and external division could be mended until it was back to our default. By the time the nerve blocker wore off at two a.m., I stirred to a frightening level of pain ripping through the surgical site. My husband had slept in the other room to allow me extra peace since he tended to snore. Everything was still and dark around me; stifling me. I wanted to scream, but I forced my fingers to the light switch… The pill bottle… I nearly fumbled the cap. A single tablet slipped down my throat with a gulp of water. After thirty minutes of writhing in silence—my pillow moistened with tears—I still felt the pressure building. Only then did I recall the doctor saying I could take two pills if necessary. Fear of addiction or side-effects had buried that detail.

Another pill made its way down my throat. I prayed, and whimpered. The golden light of my favored salt lamp carried none of the healing hues of autumn. It highlighted the walls of my prison.

How pathetic I felt to give myself over to pride and fear. I understood it then; why people begged to be allowed to die. A pain so great, I might have chosen death as an outlet? How could I possibly have equated myself to someone with a terminal illness? A war injury? Anything far more severe than the corrective surgery I endured for my fractured bone? I told myself the pain would subside. With deep, even breaths, the edge of it faded. I had no idea how long the ordeal lasted, and I didn’t care. The worst was over. Surely, I was forever past that horrific level of physical agony. Sleep beckoned me with healing comfort. By the time two weeks of spending every day in bed had passed, the full weight of confinement had settled into my subconscious. Before then, I never fully understood depression. I had short bouts in high school and college, mostly prompted by heartbreak or family struggles, but nothing so all-encompassing as that smothering notion that I may never move past this blockage. My husband reclaimed his side of the bed, waking for work. Gentle as always, his fingers drifted through the sheets to find mine. A warm touch of skin and kind words reminded me that his mother would assist me today. I nodded. When he dressed and prepared to leave, I had no smile for him. My default felt as far away as the leaves carried on the wind. He kissed me anyway, infected by my somber mood. I loathed myself again. What must he have thought of me lying there? I could no longer cook our delicious meals or clean up after our cat. His tasks had tripled while I was stagnant. I told myself I was healing; that this will be a memory we laugh about over cinnamon tea next autumn. The unfortunate truth was I didn’t believe it. Did he? I couldn’t tell. By the time I was able to descend the stairs unassisted, the pain pills had become a memory. My love and his brother had installed a new rail for extra support. I almost tumbled once when my crutches slipped, but I kept the incident to myself. My pride was lapping enough at its wounds. I was determined to do some cleaning; cook something for dinner...bring the light back into life. My husband had new lines in his forehead. His crinkling mouth was less intense, and twice he called my best friend over to help coax my spirit out from deep inside me. This wasn’t me; so dejected and forlorn. If I didn’t work to start fixing it, would this mood shadow our lives for years to come? It was awkward, moving about the kitchen with rubber wedged under my arms and the inability to use my hands. It took four times longer than typical, but the components of a decent meal were prepped. He would be home soon. I told myself I could mend it all. Every frown, every sobbing demand to be left to my misery would dissolve into the texture of spiced chicken and rice. By the time the dried remnants of fall littered the back deck, I was able to confidently dodge around them with my two metal companions supporting me. This time while I relished the crisp edge of the breeze, my husband was with me. Both of us leaned into the rail to watch the few remaining leaves clutch to almost entirely bare branches. He said, “No more crutches next week.” My default had trickled back to me. I could feel it tugging at my mouth, riding on the fact that independence would soon be mine again. “Can’t wait. I know it’ll ease your mind, too.” He hummed a reply, the lines which had deepened from my worst days returning to his forehead. Did I dare to ask what weighed on him now? Hadn’t I fixed it all with my earlier apologies, dinners, laundry… “What I can’t understand,” he said after a gradual sigh, “is why you didn’t call for me. I was right there. I could have...but you didn’t even cry.” His words locked my shoulders, flinging me back to the day of the accident. The support I was climbing had broken. All my weight landed on a sharp edge. I pitched forward, feeling a crack at the source of explosive agony. I couldn’t get enough purchase to free my leg.

How am I going to get myself out of this?

A stranger ran to help. My husband’s voice came soon after. “Babe, what happened? Your leg’s bleeding!” His strong arms pulled me up, but I fell to the ground in silent suffering until I could finally blubber between ragged breaths that my injury was serious. By the time my reverie deposited me back on the deck, I turned to meet the pinched countenance of my husband. The entire time, he had been hurt the most by my pride; that I fought relying on him like an animal lashing out at a rescuer. A lifetime of doing for myself out of necessity had created an interior distance that couldn’t be fixed by exterior means. “It honestly didn’t occur to me to call for help.” “That doesn’t seem weird to you?” Didn’t it? Shouldn’t it? With all the extra time I had to think and pity myself, I hadn’t realized how odd my reaction had been. Wouldn’t any normal person have called out? When had I reached for such an insular goal as never requiring help? Such a notion had no place in a marriage where two people endeavored together to form an unbreakable bond. My hand alighted on his, turning his attention to me. “It’s been hard feeling so helpless. But I couldn’t have gotten through without you.” And I mean those words. A fraction of shadow lifts from his features. It wasn't enough. “Will you keep helping me?” “Of course.” I shook my remaining pride away. “No, I mean continue helping me learn what it means to count on you?” His new forehead crease disappeared; replaced by his signature smile. I joined him in our renewed default. My scarred leg with its new interior hardware will forever serve as a reminder; a true tragedy is squandering the perspective gained from adversity.


Breaking from the surface of the sea meant sunshine. While water streamed from her skin, sluicing back to the waves she was pulled from, morning sun rays spilled over her too. They were startlingly warm, bright in her eyes. And they ate up the crisp cool of the ocean, wicking away moisture to dry out her skin, her red curls.

Taking a gasping breath of warm air, she blinked against the harsh sun, water still beading on her lashes and dripping down her cheeks. Even ripped from the waves, the first thing she noticed was the bob and sway of the world around her—it wasn’t still like land. Creaking and the occasional clang of metal sounded out, wood groaning under thudding footsteps. A gull cried somewhere far above in the sky.

The bed of scales she rested on was slick and slimy, flapping spined fins and gaping mouths digging into her back and shoulders, catching in her hair. Rough rope, turning green with mold and fraying at the knots, chafed against the heels of her palms, her wrists, her elbows when she pushed at it. But worn as it was, there was no breaking the rope.

Fighting the fear and anger bubbling up in her chest, threatening to boil over, she tried to get a proper look around. There was a vast blue swatch of sky above her, stretching on forever, only interrupted by a brilliant ball of sunlight. Below her, she could only make out silvery grey fish, all flopping and struggling, trying to break free and get back to their home under the waves. But over, down a little, she caught glimpses of metal. Grimy white hull, blood and scales covering the floor, a large tower holding up the net she was caught in. And, two wide hazel eyes staring up at her.

For a fragile instant, neither of them moved. On the deck, it was a boy, or rather, a lanky teenager with chestnut bedhead and wonder in his eyes. In the net, it was a girl with frizzy curls and eyes blue like the ocean. But, most notably, it was a girl with pink and green scales that lined her eyes, spilled in fine lines down her throat, and sparkled in the sun on her powerful tail. It wasn’t a girl at all; it was a mermaid.

“Who are you?” he asked, and all she could think was that it was a silly question. Who called for a name, an identity. What, on the other hand, asked whether she was human or beast, creature or cryptid. But he didn’t ask what, so she didn’t say.

It had been a long time since anyone wanted to know who she was. “Kaia,” she answered, a little hesitant, a little breathless.

The boy only nodded, messy tufts of hair sticking out everywhere and falling into his eyes with the motion. It was then, she noticed, he had a knife in one hand. “My name’s Levi,” he said, trading introductions like they’d met in passing currents under the sea, like it was normal. A lopsided smile broke out across his lips too, eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with the sun glittering in them.

“Leviathan! What’s taking so long?” A gruff voice called from somewhere farther on the boat. Kaia couldn’t see them, couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to. Probably someone in charge. Probably someone who wouldn’t be as welcoming to her as this Levi boy. “Your brother would’ve had that net down yesterday!” The voice came again, louder this time.

“Sorry, Dad,” Levi placated, raising his voice to be heard over the splash of the waves against the hull, the creak of the boat, the crying gulls, and the distance. Then, spinning on his heels to look up at Kaia again, he gave a smile. They seemed to come easy to him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you down from there,” he said, and padded off somewhere she couldn’t see, behind the tower holding up the net. Then, a handful of tense, waiting moments later, the net started to drop, then released from the tower with a mechanical clunk, fish sent sprawling and skittering across the deck as the net fell open.

“Every small fry goes back,” the rough, gravelly voice called out again, “I don’t want to see a single fish under the limit, you understand?” “It was only one time,” Levi said as he came back into view, expression crinkled with a frown and pulled brows. Though, when he met Kaia’s gaze, everything in him brightened again.

“You’ll help me off this wretched boat?” she asked, voice smooth and cool, enticing, like water lapping at skin. She did have a little siren back in her bloodline, after all.

Like it was an absent thing, he twirled the knife between his fingers. It was a small blade, but still dangerous, with the wrong intentions. Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest, nerves fraying. It was starting to get uncomfortably hot, too, all the cooling water dripped and evaporated from her skin. She could feel it drying too far under the unrelenting rays. There wasn’t even a cloud in sight.

There was a fish flopping, gasping, at Levi’s feet. And before he said a thing, he knelt, measured it against his forearm. Kaia hadn’t noticed it until now, but it looked like he had drawn ticks down the length of his arm in black marker, numbers written after every so many. Then, satisfied, he slid the knife into its gills. In just a handful of moments, the fish stilled, dead eyes glazed and gazing out at nothing.

“I don’t like to let them suffer,” Levi offered quietly, still looking down at the fish at his feet, the blood trickling out around his shoes. But, it was only a moment before he came to crouch before her. “I don’t want to see you suffer either,” he said, offering a smile. His teeth were just a little crooked, but the remnants of childish roundness clinging to his cheeks and the warm hazel of his eyes made it look more endearing than unsettling. She only hoped she made the right judgement, or that bloody knife might sink right into her throat instead.

He pocketed the knife. She let out a breath.

For a moment, he stood, ruffling a hand through his hair, the thinking, the working of his mind written clear on his face. Again, he crouched before her, this time guiding her arms around his neck. And, with quite the struggle, cheeks going pink with exertion, he managed to lift her up with gangly arms, one looped behind her back, the other underneath her tail. On unsteady legs he stumbled to the railing, and Kaia held on with fear and hope both pounding out a rhythm in her pulse.

Unceremoniously, because it was the only way he could manage to do it, Levi dropped her over the railing. The kiss of crystal blue water on too warm skin was such relief; she couldn’t help the joyous smile that curved at her mouth. Just for a moment, she basked in it, feeling the cool current wash by her, tasting salt, crisp and sharp on her lips. Then, she resurfaced, letting her head bob atop the waves as she glanced back up at the boat. Levi and his messy hair and goofy smile were leaned over the railing, waving at her. “Meet me at the pier tonight, if you can,” he called and pointed out across the sea.

Kaia turned, red curls floating all around her shoulders, to find the stretch of wood jutting out into the ocean. “I’ll wait for you,” he said while her back was still turned.

With a glance over her shoulder, she found his gaze again, ocean blue meeting sunny, earthen hazel. “I’ll come,” she said, and without another word, dove beneath the surface.

— Night had wicked away the sun’s warmth by the time she reached the pier. Its wooden poles that ran down deep into the sand were stained with algae and littered with barnacles beneath the surface of the sea, crusted with salt above it. There was a grey ladder that stretched down too, at the end of the pier, built of thin metal poles crudely fitted together. That was where Kaia waited, and sure enough, a little while later, Levi’s familiar face popped over the edge of the pier. When he noticed her, he grinned and climbed down the ladder, slipping his legs and arms though so he could sit on one rung, arms hooked over the one above it.

“So, you’re a mermaid?” he questioned, like it wasn’t already obvious enough. Instead of answering, Kaia just flipped her hair behind her back and asked him to lean down a little. It was with a questioning glance, but he did as he was told, slumping over the metal bars to get lower to the water. Fingers wrapping around a rung, Kaia stretched up to meet him, pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek. Under her lips, his skin still held the day’s warmth, like his golden tan complexion was made of sunshine.

When she pulled back, his cheeks had gone a little pink, his eyes a little wide, but he was smiling that same easy smile that seemed to permanently pull at his lips. “A mermaid’s kiss is good luck,” Kaia said by way of explanation, turning her gaze out at the night sky. It looked inky black, dotted with silver stars that reflected back on the surface of the sea. Mirrored as it was, it almost gave the impression of swimming through endless stars, the pinpricks of light stretched all the way out on either side of the horizon, sky or sea.

“Oh, really?” Levi asked behind her, tone warm and curious.

Kaia smiled, easy like him. “Really.”