The Perfect Band I was tasked with making a story about three random items. They were a pedalboard, hair follicles, and silicon dioxide. The Perfect Band I have an odd story to tell. This happened during my second year of college during a rebellious faze in my life. One night I was with a buddy, whom I didn’t know very well but would hang out with on occasion. We were having a few drinks in his dorm and we began to talk about different kinds of music we enjoyed. We both agreed grunge and 90s rock was both in our taste. He mentioned that he always wanted to put together the perfect band and tour the world, becoming a sensation. I didn’t realize once we got to this point in the conversation things were going to get...weird. “Let me show you something.” My friend said as he crouched down and retrieved something from under his bed. He tossed what looked like a huge piece of junk on his bed. I wasn’t a music specialist in the least, but could tell it was some sort of homemade pedalboard. It was about the size and shape as one of those old school Ataris and looked older than dirt. “Oh this thing?” I said trying to take interest in it. Upon closer inspection the pedals on the board were marked with some weird letters. One was ‘O’, ‘N’, ‘H’, and ‘C’. There were also smaller pedals with many other letters scribbled on them which seemed to be unreadable. My friend seemed to be impressed with himself. “You see man this is how I’m going to make my band a reality. Forget this school stuff.” I kept focusing on those big letters. I knew I had seen them before. Then the biology major in me realized it. “Hydrogen, Carbon, Oxygen, and Nitrogen”, I said pointing out the pedals. He smiled and laughed. “That’s right my man. The main four elements that make up the human body.” He leaned in closer toward me as if he couldn’t wait to explain. “I just need some bodies dice them up and use this pedalboard to make the perfect band mates.” At this point he didn’t seem to be joking anymore. I backed up toward the door a few feet, trying to laugh it off. “Oh man that’s really cool. So um what’s that pedal?” I pointed out a smaller pedal that had the letters ‘SD’. He looked down at the board and chuckled as if I asked a dumb question. “You know man. Silicone Dioxide. I can’t have the band mates thinking too much man so I put that stuff in their head instead of them having a brain. They don’t want any of the glory. It’ll be all mine.” I was very concerned now as he was describing this sick dream of his. I quickly turned my body and grabbed the door handle. He grabbed the back of my shirt and tried to pull me back into the dorm. “Where you going my dude?” He said as he used his other hand to hold the door shut. I pushed my elbow back hitting him in the nose. Once I made contact I was able to pull the door open. He made one final attempt to pull me in by grabbing at me. He was able to clutch my hair and pull a large wad of follicles from my scalp. I got out of there nevertheless and slammed the door behind me. I ran all the way back to my car got in and just drove. Not feeling safe I went to my parents house to stay the night. The next morning I had a text message on my phone from him. It just said ‘Ditching this school thing. You’ll never hear from me again.’ That was eight years ago. Now may daughter is thirteen years old and she was begging me to buy her tickets to a concert she HAD to go to. Naturally I did a little research of the artist. It was a three person band consisting of a drummer and two guitarists. I watched a few interviews of the band on YouTube and oddly enough only the lead singer speaks in every single one I found. It sounds crazy but I think that’s him. He looks completely different now though. His hair, eyes, the way he talks it’s all changed but I know it is. The other members just stand there playing their instruments. They dint speak they don’t do anything else. They have a soulless dead look in their eyes. Oh and their eyes....are the same color as mine.


Sitting on a rusted metal bench in the middle of winter, there is a man waiting for the late night bus. He is worn down from a rough day and trying to find some warmth within the snowfall, slowly making their descent back down to be absorbed by the soil. His current companion is that of the freezing air that nips at any exposed skin, only to be complimented from the snow making his clothing damp. Becoming stiff from the air penetrating his bones, he notices a street lamp. Unlike many of the street lamps around him, ones recently replaced with newer technology and sharing the same shape, this one lamp is different. The light from this lamp has an orange hue, the type of light that may not warm the body but warms the soul. With eyes watering; nose running; and lungs full of the cold and dry air, the man proceeds to rise from the bench. Acting as a shuttle for the snow that has stuck to his clothing, the man proceeds to shuffle through the piled snow to that beacon of warmth. On his way there, things become darker and his surroundings become hallucinations of what he feared was lurking behind him. He reaches into his pockets to clench what he needs to help him get by. A new pack of cigarettes and a broken lighter emerged from his coat. Paranoid by the felling of being watched, he stops to notice his surroundings. As he looks around, he notices that he is at a playground, the type he use to visit before when he was younger, but now run down. Memories soon come back to him, as if the levy that held back water from floods slowly collapsed. He walks around the playground equipment illuminated by the same orange hue, seeing his youth before his eyes. What looks like small children come running around the slides. Concerned for their safety, the man calls out to them. Before he has a chance though, he notices that the children are the younger versions of himself. These figures run around as if there is no other thing to do. Amused by seeing this, the man cleans one of the swings of snow and joins in on the fun. Suddenly, there are the sounds of screeching air followed by a rumble that slowly faded away. Once the man heard these noises, he new he missed the bus. He is frustrated by this, but he does not have the energy to spend on it. Disappointed in himself, he reaches for his phone and proceeds to call a ride to pick him up. He finishes and notices that it will be a while before he will go back home, so he does what he can to conserve his energy. While waiting for the ride to come, the man notices that he is still holding on to the cigarette pack and lighter, albeit a little to tight. He loosens his grip a bit and begins to pull out a cigarette, slightly bent from his grip. As the cigarette approaches his lips, the man tries to bring a flame to his lighter, having to try a few times to get a good flame coming from it. Once he succeeds in bringing a flame to his lighter, he illuminates himself as he starts to light the cigarette. Cold, dry air rushes into his mouth before he can get a good burn on the cigarette. He then puts the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back in his pocket, only to pull out his phone to check on his ride. "37 minutes until they get here," said the man. "Guess I have some time to enjoy then." He proceeds to put the phone back in his pocket and starts to breath through his cigarette, filling his mouth with the feeling that the orange hue gives to his soul. His head then rises to look up to the sky, only to see more snow slowly drifting down to the earth. He still looks up to the sky as if he is reflecting on his life, but he is just staring into a void and not spending his energy. "Excuse me," speaks a soft voice coming from behind the man. "What are you doing here?" Surprised by the voice, the man freezes out of fear before slowly looking behind him. He notices a women standing behind the swing set, cascaded in the darkness of the night. "Waiting for a ride," says the man, unsure of the indentions the woman has. "I missed the last bus for the evening. What are you doing here?" A small pause lingers in the air before the woman breaks it, saying "I missed the bus too." She then gestures to the empty swing besides the man. "Is anyone else waiting there?" "It's all yours," answers the man, as he gestures back to show that it is free. The woman then proceeds to make her way to the swing set, having the curtain of darkness lifted from her. She then cleans off the swing besides the man and sits down in it. Once there, she then starts to rock in the swing, causing it to move a bit. She looks over to the man, who has resumed to staring into nothing and slowly working his way through his cigarette. Things go back to being silent for a bit before the woman works up the courage to ask a question. She asks, "Do you happen to have one I can use?" "I do," the man responds as he reaches back into his pocket for the cigarettes and the lighter. He looks for a cigarette that isn't damaged from his grip and hands it to her. "My lighter is broken. Do you mind if I light it for you." "Not at all," says the woman while moving closer for the man to light the cigarette that she acquired. "Go ahead." It takes a while for the man to bring an ember to the cigarette, but it eventually catches and a good draft is started. He then brings his arm back to his pocket, while the woman moves back to her swing and takes in a deep breath. She then lets out a small cloud of smoke that lingers in front of the pair, dancing in frigid air it contrasts and highlighted in the orange hue. The man is pleasantly surprised by this, as he always wanted to do something that looked so amazing. "Sorry about the lighter," the man blurted out as he forgot to apologize for the lighter. "It's alright," the woman replied in her soft tone. They continue to rock in the swings by each other. Glances and some half smiles are exchanged between the two, but still in silence.


Writers note: I just want to thank everyone that has been reading my chapters lately and giving me feedback it means so much! I also wanted to state that the mystery of what an emotional hair is will be explained later in the story when it seems less forced. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter please do leave feedback :)  Chapter 5 The Mark The knowledge spirit that had been by my side for nearly five decades swallowed the stone heart I had given it, the heart shattered into a thousand pieces and reformed into a black beating heart, each beat causing the spirit to be less translucent and more solid. My blood went cold as I started to suspect that I had made a huge mistake. “What is this?!?” I screamed demanding answers. “I am whole again child!” The voice sang in a hauntingly beautiful voice, light no longer passing through it. A beautiful purple wavy-haired woman stood in the place of the spirit, her scarlet eyes meeting mine and her purple lips parting giving me a wide evil grin. “Without you boy, I would have never gained my solid form again and for that, I thank you for being so trusting.” She said with a purr, clicking her long black fingernails. “You still owe me three answers!” “I owe you two you already asked one when I was transforming.” Damn, I thought to myself wondering how I could make such a rookie mistake. I stroked my white beard thinking of a question to ask her. “Who are you?” “I am called by many names child, but my most well-known title and name is the first queen of the first empire, Mavra.” My eyes grew wide and I felt like I could not breathe from the sheer panic of understanding what kind of monster I had just released into the world. I almost asked a trivial question stopping myself from making another huge mistake and thought for several moments as the woman gazed at me with a bored expression. I smiled slightly knowing the question I had to ask. “How do I defeat you and make sure you never exist again?” The woman’s face snarled at me making me flinch and step back as she hissed a curse at me. “You dare ask such a question!” She screamed at the top of her lungs Information poured into my mind on how to destroy her once and for all and her form blurred toward me and slammed me down to the ground her dagger-like fingernails slamming into my chest causing an excruciating amount of pain to go throughout my body. A voice echoed throughout the room repeating itself over and over “Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!” I woke up to Mrs. Zacharias hovering over me, her lips moving talking to someone out of my vision, her words not entirely reaching my brain. Mrs. Zacharias noticed I was awake and slowly sat me up making my head spin and she put my head in between my legs. It eventually clicked with me that the one talking to Mrs. Zacharias was our school nurse and I felt her handhold my wrist for a few seconds and then she lifted the back of my shirt and put something cold against my back and instructed me to take deep breathes in and out for her, while the other one checked my head for wounds. All of this was happening as my fuzzy mind inspected my life force by concentrating my senses on it and I felt it knitting itself back together growing slowly. That was an excellent sign I thought as I felt my headache gradually getting better and no longer felt the world spinning uncontrollably. After a few more moments they eventually picked me up and took me to the school nurse's office, sat me on the not so comfortable bed, and got me a small paper cup of water to sip on until my parents arrived. While I sat there waiting, my mind kept replaying the memories of how Mavra had tricked me into bringing her back from the dead. I gritted my teeth and I swore to myself that I would build my powers back up in this world and I would get back to my homeworld and slay that bitch Mavra for making a fool out of me. While my mind was jumping from thought to thought I noticed an odd tingling sensation coming from my chest that I had never felt before and rubbed at it through my shirt annoyed at the sensation. My parents showed up after a few moments distracting me from my thoughts and they asked the nurse a few questions, the nurse assuring them that I had passed out do to not enough electrolytes and suggested that I should take today and tomorrow off to recover and that if I got worse to immediately take me to the hospital. When we got home my Mother got me a big glass of watermelon flavored juice and I happily drink it down as I watched TV for a few hours taking my problems off my mind for a little while. After the sixth episode of the colorful world about three superpowered girls destroying evil my chest again let off a tingling sensation for the umpteenth time I scratched at it again and finally had enough and went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror and took off my shirt to inspect my skin. My stomach sank and ice went through my veins as I stared at the circle on my chest with a symbol’s inside it so old that not even, I could read what they said. I recognized the structure of the symbol though and I was confident that this was a curse mark placed on my soul and body. My heart pounded as several possibilities ran through my head on what the curse mark was meant for. My mother walked in not knowing I was already in the bathroom and stared at my shirtless body. “Jimmy are you okay? Your skin is looking pale.” She rummaged through the bathroom drawer for a few seconds and took out a thermometer and placed it in my mouth checking for a temperature. Right, I thought to myself, I forgot people that don’t use magic can’t see marks like these. Which was probably for the best considering I didn’t want to explain to my Mother what a curse mark was and how I had not the foggiest idea of what this specific one did. The thermometer gave a beeping sound and my Mother read it and ruffled my hair still looking worried and told me I did not have a fever. She hugged me, kissed me on the forehead, and told me to get some rest. She tucked me in turned my nightlight on and turned off my ceiling light and gently closed the door. My thoughts raced as I wondered what the mark was going to do to me or what it had already done to me. My eyes widened as I saw the shadows next to my nightlight move back and forth slowly as the objects that made the shadows did not move even slightly. “Shit,” I whispered and kicked the sheets off my body to get out of bed. I did not even manage to get a foot on the ground before shadows not attached to objects wrapped around my body and held me in place while other shadows swirled around my bedroom slowly whispering and laughing. My heart drummed in my chest as I watched the largest of the shadows crawl toward me and wrap around me like a snake engulfing my body in darkness and whispered in my ear. “Edward we have been looking for you.


Last night, while asleep upstairs in bed. I was startled awoke by the sound of something heavy hitting the living room floor. Mere seconds went by, then the sound of what appeared to be a chair falling over. I just lied there, too afraid to get up. All I could do was listen. I started to hear footsteps moving slowly throughout my house. After a few seconds, the heard the sound of a plate crashing to the floor in the kitchen. Is someone in my house? Do I have a poltergeist? Am I gonna die? These questions raced through my head. I thought about calling 911. But, I realized, I couldn’t, because I accidentally left my phone in the car like an idiot. Lightning crashed outside my bedroom window, lighting up the skies, as the thunder roared on and the rain came pouring down. For a moment, my mind got swept away in the soothing sounds of the falling rain. I started to doze off again. I was just about to fall back asleep, when the sound of creaking stair steps jolted me conscious from my rain induced slumber. Someone or something was coming up the stairs. I pulled the blankets up over my head and lied there, shaking, sweating, and praying for this thing to go away. CREAK!! — CREAK!! — CREAK!! Suddenly, the creaking stopped. I knew it had reached the top of the stairs, and was mere feet away from my bedroom door. Second went by, I heard the sound of a small tap on my bedroom door, causing it to slowly creak open With my back to the door, I could hear slow gentle footsteps enter my bedroom, then stop almost immediately. I could feel a presence within the room. I could feel eyes beaming through the darkness and deep into my soul. My body began to shake with fear. My heart beating fast, as if it was about to burst right out of my chest. Another lightning crash, frightened me. I screamed. Suddenly, I felt an enormous weight come crashing down upon my back, pushing me stomach first down into the bed. This thing was now on top of me I screamed again I started to squirm in a feeble attempt to free myself. I screamed at it. “STOP, GET OFF OF ME!!!” But, it didn’t stop. It didn’t move. I felt it’s forearm land hard on the side of my head, forcing my face down into the pillows. I felt it’s hot, wretched breath on the back of my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I knew I was gonna die. Through all the fear and chaos, I somehow remembered what my father used to say, “If you’re going down, you better go down swinging.” I took his words, and with a primal scream, I mustered up every ounce of strength I had within my being. I thrust back against this thing, finally flinging it off of me. What followed after that, was a loud thud on the bedroom floor. I quickly reached for the lamp on my nightstand, turning it on, and turning back around, just as this things head began to rise from the side of the bed. I was soon face to face, eye to eye with this…this monster. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever. It’s eyes, black as night, it’s teeth, as sharp as the devils blade. Finally, I sighed and said, “Buster...You’re one heavy dog.


(Chapter 1) My alarm goes off at 4:30 in the morning, and I struggle to open my eyes. My head aches from where I rested it against the bare concrete corner wall over the night, and my blanket had gotten pinched in between the bed and the wall, leaving me mostly exposed and cold. I shiver and exhale, letting my body try to catch up to my mind. As I attempt to sit up in my bed, grunting and groaning, I can feel my joints and my bones doing the same. I’m only 25, but age is starting to take its toll. I wonder how much it’ll hurt by the time I hit 40, or even 50. *If* I even get that far. I immediately try to push those thoughts out of my mind. *“Another day…”* I rub my face with my hands, getting the sleep out of my eyes. I glance around my dimly lit room, covered in cracks, grime, and mold. It’s a tiny square, with an ancient stove and sink in the corner opposite mine, and right next to it is a very worn out couch Mr. Ling is sleeping in. A door on the wall at the foot of my bed leads into the bathroom, and another door next to that leads into the room Ms. Laura is currently sleeping in. The only light in the room is a lone light bulb dangling from the ceiling, it’s glass cover long since been destroyed or stolen. The faint sound of water dripping from the sink less than a foot away and the snores of my roommates are perfectly accentuated by the whirring of a box fan on the floor. I can faintly hear the sounds of the city outside my window, like horns, some minor chatting, and the sound of food cooking. Upon stepping over to the window, carefully walking around the tofu boxes and the pop cans, I crack the window, and I immediately smell exhaust fumes, rain, and cooking tofu waft into my room. The smell is lovely compared to the smell in my room currently. I lazily look down into the street, down onto the people from my fourth story building inside this rats den I call home. It’s nowhere near as busy as it’s going to be, but a few people are still bustling around, getting their day ready. I wonder if they ever look inside, and wonder if anyone is looking out at them, wondering the same thing they’re wondering. 4:51 A.M. My body instinctively shuffles by itself over to the shower, my mind trying to take control of my body. I turn the heavily corroded knob, hearing the water gurgle and the air get forced out of the pipes. I place my large washbin under the shower head, and eventually the water thunders out, before petering out a few seconds later as the pressure in the line is relieved. I stare into the washbin, seeing the water fill it up, the sound and sight almost hypnotic. Snapping out of my trance, I turn the shower off just at the right water level, and the water gurgles and surges back down the pipes for more residents to use. I pick up the bin, my body a little wobbly from the weight, and I gingerly take it out of the bathroom and through the main room, being careful to not wake up my other roommates. I tiptoe into the main living room/bedroom, the washbin sloshing around like it’s trying to reenact ‘The Poseidon Adventure’, and I pass by Mr. Ling, snoring on the torn and heavily stained couch, his booze and egg drop soup spilled all over him, the smell appalling. His thin white hair is very long, covering most of his face, a face that’s travelled thousands of miles, and he could tell you a million stories about each mile. A very dirty and calloused bare foot sticks up on the armrest, the rest of his body covered from a heavy wool blanket. I look at the faded green door on the other side of the room, behind it is Ms. Laura, an American exchange student, talking in her sleep while her soap operas she likes to watch are still playing through all the static in the TV. I gently set the washbin on the stovetop, and with the squeaky turn of a knob, the hiss of gas and the click of the igniter, I begin to warm the water up. I head over to the fridge and pull some packaged pork and sealed rice and I throw them into the water to get them cooking. Mother would be proud of that little shortcut, using your cooking water as your shower water. Ms. Laura says they have ‘microwaves’ over in America, that heat up food with just a few presses of a button. Yeah, right. 5:02 A.M. While they cook, still sealed in their bags, I take another look outside, seeing the sun begin to rise over my home of Hong Kong. The traffic is starting to pick up, and the world begins to turn again. The streets are starting to see its first commuters, the street vendors and shops below unlock their doors with clacks and thuds and the roll up doors slam open, trying to be ready for the morning rush. The street lights begin to turn off, and a few of the signs of the vendors flick off as daybreak is upon us. A glance over at the pan reveals hat the food is done, so I gently take the bags out of the water and I tear open the bags of pork and rice, dumping the pork into the rice bag. I then grab some soy sauce from the cupboard and I toss a few drops in. I then turn off the heat to stop the water boiling as I eat my breakfast. As I sit down on my bed, Mr. Ling stirs in his sleep, tossing and turning, making the blanket fall off of him. “M-Muu… uuuugh… *hic* I-I love... you…” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around himself as he feels the heat from the blanket get lost. “N-nooooo… pleeease… don’t go…” I glance up upon hearing that, must be the prostitute he rented out last night. Not that I can judge the man too harshly, he just lost his wife. I damn myself for smirking and I pick up the newspaper sitting on the back of the couch. Looking at the date, the old newspaper is from June 14th, 1988, last Tuesday. Oh well, it’ll give me something to read. Looks like… 600 Americans have all congregated here for some business meeting or something. Figures, Americans trying to fix problems that aren’t their own. Biting into my pork and rice, with a grimace I realize the pork still a little cold in the center. It’s food, at least. That’s a lot more than what most people in this place have to eat. I turn the paper over to the next page with a crinkle and a snap, and I see Tian Jiyun is going to meet with the London Stock Market to see if they can send people to learn how the stock market works. Oh, joy. 5:32 A.M. I quickly down my food, throwing my empty bags into the trash. Grabbing the handles of the washbin, I forgot to grab some old shirts, and my skin touches the still piping hot metal. A silent dance and some very quiet cursing later, I take some cold wet rags and put them on the handles, chilling them instantly. A quick jaunt over to the shower again and I can finally get my day sort of started. I undress, feeling the cool and sharp porcelain tiles make contact with my bare feet, sending shivers up my spine. I step inside, and take a tiny bit of water and wash my hair, repeating the mantra in my head as I lather my hair and body as best as I can. “2, 6, 9, 9, 3, 3 goes to 32, then to 11, and 12…” Over and over and over again, while I dump the still somewhat hot water over myself. Ms. Laura always talks about how this is downright archaic compared to the West. Maybe it is, I wouldn’t know. Nor do I really care, honestly. That place is very, very far away, and there are more important matters to worry about than what ‘could be’. I dry off and dress up, putting on my white button up shirt, blue pants, and black boots. I quickly dress my hair, and take one last look at myself in the grungy mirror, adjusting my name tag. I put on my smile, and I walk out of my room and down to the street, heading down to the post office to pick up my rounds for the day. “12 goes to 36, but not 24. 7, 7, 9, 10, back to 9…” My name is Mir Lui, and I’m the mailman of Kowloon City.


A few months ago I stayed a few weeks in a small duplex in the suburbs of NYC while I worked a freelance job. It wasn’t the best neighborhood. As in, while walking home in the dark I would often comfort myself by thinking I was in a foxhole in Afghanistan. To paint a picture, the place was situated between an abandoned gas station and a Boost Mobile, and the section 8 housing across the street sported three sports cars in the parking lot. A few days after I moved in, I was getting ready for work, and just as I was leaving I found a series of photos under my door. They were of me, inside an apartment that looked identical to mine. I was tied to a chair over a pentagram, surrounded by… Teletubbies. Now, I’m going to go on the record here and state that I fucking hate Teletubbies. I don’t mean they annoy me, I mean they genuinely scare the endorphins out of me. You know how some people are with clowns? I’m that but with Teletubbies. Aside from teaching kids how to walk like morons and how to count in an annoying manner, there’s a sinister atmosphere around the freaky impish dancing of those furry sinspawns. In a parallel universe, where the water is tears and air is made of fear, they exist as bloodthirsty lunatics, something you’d want to fire a twelve gauge into, only to recoil in horror as it continues its death march towards your soul. Oh, and did I mention they’re 10 feet tall? Fuck that. Whoever invented them is in need of dire intense psychiatric evaluation and should be on an FBI watch list. But I digress. There was no doubt the photos were me. I looked at my face in the photos, my expression was the epitome of fright, the same face of every rational American when Trump was elected. I was so baffled I couldn’t quite process it. My logical reasoning short-circuited, as it seemed so unreal I just threw them in the trash and went on with my day, hoping I could bury that memory in some dusty corner of my mind, behind my distant high-school knowledge of algebra and the French Revolution. But then it happened again, the very next night. This time I couldn’t just brush it off. I observed them closely they might be coming from my neighbor’s apartment. Because in each photo, the room looked just like my room, but the doors and windows were flipped, like it was a mirror. I realized that must be how the apartment across the hall from mine is set up, like a backwards layout to mine. So I called the police. But I didn’t know what to say. The officer took one look at the photos and said, “you know, I could be sitting comfortably in my squad car, using my police database to spy on the 20-year-old nursing student next-door and score some dates, but instead I have to deal with this bullshit. Did you know, right now my arch enemy in the department is dealing with a guy on meth who hijacked an ice cream truck and is running down innocent people? And my partner is in a high-speed chase with a college freshman with alcohol poisoning driving her dad’s BMW down the wrong lane on I-95, yet I’m supposed to one-up their stories tomorrow at the water cooler with this horseshit?” He was there for a mere 20 minutes, and most of it was spent arguing my way out of being charged with a false-report. Seeing that the fuzz was unable to help with my dilemma, I figured my next step was to do some investigative work on my own. So I took the photos to a developing center, and they confirmed the photos were developed by hand, and were authentic. They could find no signs of photoshop or digital manipulation. I thought I was going crazy, but as work piled up and I was missing phone calls from my clients by the hour, I figured I could distract myself from the astounding reality that I’m being terrorized by Teletubbies with some good ol’ fashion excel spreadsheets of hair-care product inventory. If I can make some quick cash over the next few weeks with this job, I can get the hell out of there sooner than later. But it only got worse. Day after day, I would wake up, in excruciating pain, with more photos slipped under my door. After a full week had gone by, I decided to set up a camera to record myself as I slept. But upon awakening the next morning, my camera had suddenly shit the bed. It wouldn’t even turn on, and the SD card was corrupt. The following day was a Friday, so I had another plan—I’ll just pull an all-nighter. I gulped down six Red Bulls, figuring even if my heart explodes, it would be better than dealing with this. From dusk to nearly dawn, I was awake. But all that caffeine mixed with the waterfall of emotions caused my heart to beat like a dog in heat and my brain to flatline like a vegetable. Just before the sun came up, I knocked out. Not more than an hour had passed, and I awoke again, in the same position I was in when I knocked out. But this time, in excruciating pain, and once again, more photos on the floor. Over the course of the week, I had continued to contact the landlord to inquire about the apartment across from me, but she refused to answer. I finally went down to her office and banged on her door, upon answering I shouted, “who the fuck lives next door? And what do they want from m—“ she cut me off. “Nobody lives there, dude. It’s been under construction since the last guy dropped a deuce hotter than a Hiroshima bomb and caused a catastrophic detonation of the plumbing system. It’s speculated he ate from the Chipolte down the street earlier that day. I suggest steering clear of their pork burritos.” Well, that was a bust. But I wasn’t having it. I was sleep deprived, terrified, angry, and ready to go full Harambe on whoever was hiding out in that room, because somebody was in there, and I was not going to be their sacrificial lamb to the church of satanic Teletubbies any longer. I stormed back into the building, and armed with a can of pepper spray and a baseball bat, I kicked down the door and bursted in, ready for a death-match with some Teletubbies—but the room was empty. In fact, it looked like nobody had even stepped foot in the apartment in ages. Regardless, I crossed into the bedroom, where the photos were taken. Lo and behold, was a chair bolted to the floor, with a pentagram painted around it in blood. Just to the right, a tripod with a camera was set up in the corner. I hauled my ass out of there faster than Sonic the Hedgehog on adderall. I called up the police and waited anxiously outside. And sure enough, it was the same cop. “You again? Jesus, what is it this time—mutant Ronald McDonald with a chainsaw? Santa Claus with a lightsaber? This better be good!” I took him upstairs to the apartment, but upon entering the room, the chair was gone, the camera was nowhere to be seen, and the pentagram had disappeared faster than an 8 ball on Miami Beach. I moved out that day.


When I was in high school I was in love with this girl . We were only friends like classmates not best friends or anything we used to talk occasionally and I always used to try to make her laugh. I didn't talk to her much because I was too shy at that time. She was in my mind day and night so I thought of asking her out finally and I proposed this idea to my best friend who knew I had a crush on her and he said "Dude don't you know she's dating that tall dude on football team from last month". Fuck. I thought they were cousin or something because they both were redheads and looked kinda similar. I still had my hope on and thought of asking her out after she broke up with him. Sadly they broke up just before the high school graduation he was cheating on her or something. Again when I use the word sadly it's because now I couldn't ask her out just after she just got out of relationship. University came up by then and I had to leave town she continued in the same town so I thought okay maybe I can ask her later when I come back at home. I got into a relationship in university so I forgot about her though her picture came up in my mind now and then. I did saw her once when I was back at home at Walmart but I didn't say hi or something. I don't think she noticed me I was wearing a hoody because I had fever at that time. That was also the last time I saw her. I didn't follow her Facebook or something at that time because I thought it would look creepy. I don't know why I thought that. Anyways after that I got into many relationships and used to still think of her now and then. My marriages didn't workout. The first one went wrong after she turned to alcohol because of her work stress due to work pressure. She is a lawyer so I don't completely blame her on that but soon I found out that she was cheating on me with another lawyer. We had a 6 year old son who she got custody of which broke my heart. My second marriage was when I was 32 it's actually quite interesting. We both were friends from work and one night we got drunk at a party and started making out and stuff. Later we were friends with benefit and then we decided we should get married as we both were compatible and we were aging. It was her first marriage .My second divorce was last Christmas. Today at my 36th birthday I thought of searching up her online and trying to talk but I realized I forgot her name. I cannot even remember her face clearly it's just bits and pieces , I tried guessing her name and looking up but I don't even remember her face. All I remember is how she made me feel and how mad I was for her and all this story crap but I can't remember her name. It's hilarious. (Any feedback would be highly appreciated).


People go missing whenever Dad’s around. I can’t explain it. They just disappear. Mum disappeared. Greg disappeared. And now Stephanie has disappeared. \*\*\* What’s the latest caper? I’ve not been out of prison one week and I am sitting in the back of his car and he’s handing me an envelope with a map inside. It’s one of those safe storage centres. There’s a few brands around: **Big Yellow Storage** – the print out said. He tells me that he knows someone that made off with all these precious First Edition Books in a murder/house-robbery and he’s got them stored in one of those big storage centres. “Books?” I say, “you can’t even read.” Never learned how to read. Never saw the need to. That’s why I was holding the map to the storage centre. “Someone tells me you get these books, they’re classics, almost 90 years old. They sell for about twenty thousand pounds a copy – that’s one book. You know Deacon? He managed to get inside a bookseller’s house. Made off with all these precious books. Only thing is, he’s kept them in a storage centre because there’s too much heat on it at the moment. Dumb fuck gave me the information before he went inside.” Deacon’s another sadist. Been put away fifteen to life because he set a pub landlord on fire. So, we planned a heist for some books. I got Stephanie involved. Asked her to drive the getaway car that’s going to be parked round the back. Dad doesn’t attend the actual robbery. He just demanded 40% because it was his idea and he’s waiting back at the apartment for us. It’s me and Greg. Ski-masks, Kevlar and hunting rifles (traditionally used for clay pigeon shooting). We asked the guy behind the till for the number and keys to Deacon’s storage unit. Only thing is that the guy played dumb. Said he doesn’t know any Deacon McGregor. I didn’t expect it but Greg pulls out a pair of garden shears and cuts his index finger off. Finger falls on the front desk and bobbles to the ground. It worked: **Deacon McGregor – UNIT #75.** When we get in the unit there’s all kinds of shit from previous heists. There’s gym equipment, watches, books and there in a leather bound case – a stone. A diamond stone. A stone about the size of a Clementine. Greg didn’t notice it. I did. Greg doesn’t notice anything. “Fuck the watches and shit. Just take the books.” I said. I don’t tell him about the stone and I slowly slip that shit in my pocket. I feel the hard bounce off the cloth of my trousers. We come out of there with a suitcase full of books. First editions. Dad has a buyer. Guy will pay £50,000 cash for the bulk of them. He initially said it’s twenty per book and now we are selling all for fifty. But he tells me what with the heat and the fact it’s cash up front it’s not a bad deal and we got to just take what we can (criminal economy and all). As we come back down the stairs we see the guy at reception – still bound and gagged. Only this time he’s dead. Didn’t expect it at all but his finger bled out and his body must’ve gone into shock. He’s white as fuck and still as a dollhouse. I gave him a kick – more of a nudge. Then I gave him a hard boot. He’s dead. “You killed him.” I told Greg. “Fuck.” He said. “You’ve turned simple larceny into a murder.” I said. “Fucking heat.” He said. “Everything turns into a fucking murder.” I said. Back at the apartment. I only told Stephanie about the diamond. I don’t tell Dad. I don’t tell Greg. I tell Stephanie because I want out. I don’t want to go prison. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. Carrying dead bodies from behind a reception desk and into a locked storage unit – I don’t want to do stuff like that ever again. I told her I don’t want to go back inside. I can’t go back inside. Not now, not ever again. She understands. She wants to come too. We take the diamond and split. We find a buyer first. We take our cut from the books and we split. She told me she loved me. Nobody had ever told me that before. I can’t muster the courage to say it back. A couple weeks later and we’ve been paid £8,000 for the books. I don’t quite get how Dad has worked it out but he’s given us our cut. Only problem now is that Greg is on the front of every newspaper in the country. They matched his DNA to the finger. Somehow, they found a stray hair on top of the finger. Don’t ever tell me the fucking odds. Police National Crime computer linked the hair to a fucking drunk driving charge Greg got when he was 19. Now he’s fugitive number one for first degree murder and robbery. Greg’s got links to us all and he isn’t the type to not throw us under the wheels at the first spot of bother. “Let me take care of Greg.” Dad said. “We can’t have another body connected to these fucking books.” I told him. “I’m taking care of it.” Dad said. “Fucking national manhunt and for what. Eight thousand fucking pounds.” I said. My Dad cut me one of those looks. It’s a look that you don’t argue with. You do what he says, when he says. My Dad. The man that forced me into shoving a rifle into some desk clerk’s face one week after I’d left prison. The man that makes people and money disappear. My Dad. Greg is missing. We don’t ask questions. We don’t want details. The less we know, the less implication for us there is. We just know that Greg is now gone. My last conversation with Greg. “You know you really fucked up cutting that guy’s finger off.” I said. “You have a better idea on how to get to the storage unit.” He replied defensively. Greg, always fucking defensive. “Yeah.” I said, “break his nose.” I think back to when my mother first disappeared. I was only sixteen. My Dad had been running some contraband import/export business with a group of Georgians importing it all in from Azerbaijan. My mum didn’t like it. She didn’t like large amounts of heroin sitting in her garage. She’d yell. She’d throw things. She took it a step too far when she said she’d go to the police if that shit wasn’t gone out of her house by *tomorrow.* I came home. I asked Dad where Mum is. He shook his head. That was the last of it. I never asked again. I knew not to ask again. Now with Greg. All I know is he’s gone. My Dad sat there reading his newspaper with his bifocals on. Looks up at me – *that look –* I know that it’s just like Mum. Don’t ask. I’d known Greg since I was eleven years old. Fucking bifocals. Like a gentle old-man. The kind that would slip you a Werthers Original and ask you how your math classes are going. Stephanie tells me she found a buyer for the stone. The stone could be worth millions, but again in a criminal economy you got to take what you can – it’s hard cash after all. They will buy it for £50,000.00. That and the book sales makes £58,000.00. Buy a camper van for ten. Line the inside of the van with the cash and drive to Spain – once in Spain arrange some Western Union transfer to your guys in the Caribbean. Don’t tell Dad. Don’t tell anyone. Do it quickly before Brexit has been finalised. Less need for visas and background checks. Just get out. Stay out. Take a new name. Take a new life. I’m going to start calling myself Joseph Brooks. She told me she loved me again. I still couldn’t say it back. I don’t know how to say it. Stephanie is now gone. My Dad calls me. Asks me about the stone. He found out... . I hear it in his voice. I don’t ask. Once again; I don’t ask. I just know. Stephanie is gone. “Oh. The stone.” I said. “That’s right. The stone.” Dad said. Stephanie is gone... An inflexion can tell me so much. “Dad...” *Where’s Mum.* *Where’s Greg.* *Where’s Stephanie...* “Meet me and I’ll give you the stone.” I said. We met at a cafe. A London cafe. A busy one... With lots of people. I don’t have the stone. Stephanie had it. Whatever happened, she died and didn’t give it up. I don’t know where the fucking thing is. And now I’m done caring. I still have my £8,000. It can take me somewhere. God knows where but out of here. “Where’s the stone.” He asked. He’s talking heists and murder and throwing ketchup on his plate like it’s a pleasant father/son lunch. “Hidden. Too much heat.” I said. “Where?” He asked. “I’ll take you there.” I said. “You lied to me son. You kept from me and you lied.” He said with fatherly righteousness. “From this day out. No more lies.” I promised. I meant it too. We drove out to where I told him the stone was. It’s a vacant warehouse in Romford. It’s Sunday. All warehouses are vacant on a Sunday but this one is especially vacant. There’s nobody around. It is deathly quiet. This lot has been vacant for years. It’s all boarded up and rusted. Greg used to stash his shit here when he was peddling. It never got taken. Nothing ever gets taken from here. I crowbar one of the boards and we go inside. “I hear that stone was worth a lot of money?” Dad asked. *She never gave it up.* “Hmm.” I said. It’s always about money. That’s the game. That’s why we do this. I tell him it’s stashed in the rusted, derelict sink – he’s got to bend down to look. Remove the porcelain base and it’s in there. As he crouched down and gently starts to slip out the base, I finally decided to ask. “Dad. Where’s mum?” I’m holding the crowbar still. They’re all in the same place. It’s Epping Forest. A couple miles in. Dumb c remembered the co-ordinates all this time. I’m driving there now. It’s nearly midnight. In the boot I got a flash light. I got a shovel. I got spare clothes. And I’ve got two graves to dig up and one grave to dig out. It’s going to be a long night. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Nobody wants to have bury their own Dad. Let alone burying them alive. But I want to give him time to think. Think long and hard while he’s under there. I finally say it. I loved them all. I loved mum. I loved Stephanie. I loved Dad. **The End.


The white people It hurt my head the first time that the white people came. Shouts and screams were fizzing about my head ready to make it implode. That’s a word Jenny just taught me: it means when it goes into itself then becomes a little football. She also told me to write everything down when I have this cold. The white people say that it is a cold but every time that they do, Scary Woman starts crying so now they say nothing when she is around and when they think that I’m asleep they call it ‘cancer’. I like that the white people do not say anything about why I’m in this white room with tubes and metal beds. When they do Scary Woman goes outside screeching, which blurs my vision and means that I can’t write my thoughts and then I have nothing to do in this lonely forgotten cell. I like what Jenny does in our time together, she gives me fun colouring in tasks and that’s my favourite. The other person who used to do the thing that Jenny does with me now was not very nice. He used to scowl at anything I did wrong and he used to often make Scary Woman sad after she took me back. He called me severely artistic, which I really like but Scary Woman doesn’t, Scary Woman is weird like that. The white people took me to a room as white as their pearly aprons and everything in here is white, even the bed. The thing that the white people don’t notice, though, is the speck of blood at the bottom left corner of the white duvet on the white bed in the white room. It is very serious, so I’m not sure why they are not cleaning it. Scary Woman is holding my hand whilst I am writing this so my handwriting will not be as good as Jenny taught me. Scary woman came in screeching which is making my head hurt. She came from the mirror door, not the corridor. The one the white people use. She’s clinging on to me like a ragdoll which I don’t like. She is making my arm hurt like dad does with his late-night breath. But it’s fine now because I am always with someone so he can’t do that anymore. Before Scary Woman came in with a big screechy voice, I was having my daily time with Jenny and she was reading all of the work that I had done about my thoughts until she got the bit about the ‘cancer’ after which she denied it very quickly and told me to not ever think like that again and she then told me about real life cancer and how this is not cancer. She wasn’t stopping so I did what Scary Woman normally does to get Jenny to stop. Screeched. That was when Scary Woman came in and has been holding my hand for the last thirty minutes. The white people are packing up all my stationery except for the pencil I’m writing with right now and they are about to wheel me somewhere else. I like this room. I enjoyed finding all the little nooks and other bits the white people forgot to paint. Now I have to start all over again in a new room. They are now rolling my bed away and the Scary Woman has started wailing again which has put me into a cycle of blurry vision and headaches. My dad just turned up and smells of his late-night breath but all over. He nearly fell over my bed when he came in. I have just been told to go to sleep but I’m not sure how I am going to with the wailing of Scary Woman, the scuffs of dad and the quick beeps next to my head.


Chapter 6 The alliance I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I felt the shadows continue to get tighter and tighter around my body binding me to the bed as many more circled my room slowly like rotating clouds laughing and whispering. The largest of the shadows stared at me from the ceiling its red eyes gazing into my eyes waiting for a response. “How did you know my real name? Who is your master and why haven’t you killed me yet?” The whispering and laughing grew louder and they circled the room faster their shapes constantly changing forms. “Our master has sent us to give you a message and to lend our assistance in keeping you alive.” I was dumbstruck. Who the hell was siding with me? I thought most of my allies had either turned on me or was killed in the war against Jackeal’s army. This supposed ally I had must be one hell of a necromancer to be able to control this many shadows at once. He might even be on the same level as I was back in my former body. “Who is your master?” I asked in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and authoritative but, instead, it sounded squeaky and pathetic. Damn the gods for putting me in such a useless body. “Our master is someone who rather keep himself unknown to you for now.” “Okay, what is his message that he has sent you to give to me?” “That he is aware of the question you had asked Mavra right before she sank her claws into you. He knows that you know how to kill her and he wishes for you to do so.” My eyes widened at that, how the hell did their master know what happened that day? I gritted my teeth and doubled down on my authoritative tone not caring if my voice sounded squeaky or not. “Your master can speak to me in person if he wishes me to help him. I am the great Edward the one who raises the dead back to life, I am the one who makes the holiest of priests turn from there god and get on their knees I am the one-“ The shadows body tightened around me harder cutting my speech short causing me to grimace in pain as I felt my ribs on the edge of breaking. The shadows circling the room abruptly stopped went silent and all the shapes of the shadows turned into snarling humanoid faces. Hollow eyes everywhere in the room gave me the death stares. “Your arrogance disgusts me, you are trash compared to my master!” It’s face also turned humanoid and snarled at me and stared red daggers into my eyes. Bloodlust and anger filled the room all of it directed at me threatening to suffocate me. “If it weren’t for my master’s explicit commands to keep you alive your small body would be torn apart by now and thrown into the garbage where you belong! Do you think you were brought to this world by pure coincidence?! Do you think that you were so great that the gods themselves decided to reincarnate you into another world to give you a second chance at life?! If it weren’t for my master your soul would have been ripped apart and tossed into the void by Mavra!” My heart pounded so hard it hurt my chest and my confidence was felt nonexistent. Questions ran through my mind about the identity of there master and how he was able to put my soul into this world. “I’m sorry.” I whispered to the shadows trying to calm them down. “Forgive my rudeness and tell your master I beg his forgiveness to, please quiet down though you will wake my parents up if you continue to yell.” “No sound can leave this room thanks to the spell my master has given us.” The shadows started rotating around the room again with their faces still filled with rage. “So, I’m not under some dream spell, then right? So, I really did die that night that she sank her claws into me?” The shadows red eyes stopped drilling holes into mine and seemed to ponder the question. “Your body died but your soul was saved by my master since you are a valuable weapon, he can use against Mavra in the future with the knowledge you have on how to kill her.” “Why doesn’t he just ask me how to kill her then? It seems to me that would solve his problems and he could simply do away with me.” The shadows circling the room all grinned and began to chuckle and rotated faster and faster around the room causing them to start blurring together. The largest of the shadows loosened his grip on me, my ribs thanking him for doing so and a deep chuckle rumbled through the room and his red eyes smiled at me. “You might be garbage mortal but, you are amusing garbage. To answer your question my master even with your knowledge could not kill Mavra himself it has to be a mortal wizard that does the deed.” “But I only know how to kill her.” I said staring at the shadow with a pleading expression. “How does your master expect me to kill her if I don’t know how to get back to my world yet?” “There is no need to get back to your original world mortal. Mavra will eventually arrive here in this world to slay you. As we speak, she is attacking the wall that separates your world and this world and trying to pour her soldiers into this world to find and destroy you.” Well, that is not good I thought to myself wide-eyed not knowing what to do with that information. The shadow spoke again now with a calm voice the anger seeming to completely evaporate from the air. “We have been protecting the wall since you have arrived here, and we will continue to do so until we can no longer. Soldiers of hers will eventually slip past us this we are certain of. This is why we are going to provide you with your own shadow that has already been paid for with mana, he will be your protector and help you grow your powers, he will still need some of your mana to stay in this plane of existence but, there will be no summoning fee.” I blinked at the shadow's face. All the information swirling in my head made my head begin to ache and I sighed. “So my shadow has already been picked out for me? I don’t get to choose who my partner is?” “No, you do not get to choose he has a debt with our master and this is how he will be repaying it off by protecting you until Mavra is defeated. You both have a debt you owe my master so you must work together to defeat her once and for all.” “Who’s my partner?” “Right here!” A shadow said cheerfully as he glided towards me. The shadow snatched up my hand and a burning tingling sensation went through my hand causing me to wince in pain. The shadow let go of my hand and a tattoo was left on my skin representing a bond between me and the shadow, my mana now was directly linked to the shadow allowing me to siphon energy into it. “You can’t just make me bond with this shadow!” I said in protest. “We can make you and we will my master owns your soul. After all, he did save it from annihilation. Have fun working with him.” The shadow said waving its gigantic shadowy hand in my direction and released his grip entirely on me the others doing the same and all shadows started to go into regular non-supernatural shadows and went back to their dimension. All except for one that is. My now new partner which was my shadow now I guess drifted around the room making noises of excitement and paid my death glare no attention. “This is going to be a wild adventure buddy!” The shadow said and then it rushed at me stopped near my face and grinned.


In the early hour, the frost is still thriving in the shadows of the trees, hidden from the dawn, in the vacant park. The bench gradually grows warmer from my weight upon it in the brisk Autumn morning. No voices, no obtrusive sounds penetrate my ears. Only the sound of distant traffic, and the occasional flutter of wings. For the first time in a long while, I get to sit and embrace the silence without worrying about work and responsibilities. It’s been two months. I sit and try and remember every feature of her face. Every curve, every dimple, every blemish. She always told me not to frown too much, or my face would wrinkle before I was even thirty-five. She was seventy-eight and still so full of life. When I first met her in Maple Leaf Retirement Home, I thought we would never get along. Being hired immediately after graduation, I was excited to finally move onto real life- no more classes and reports. I could finally help keep the elderly healthy, it’s what I had wanted to do since I was a child. That was until June 6th, 2014; the day I met her. Beverly Jane Edith Williams was a dainty seventy-five year old with dyed red hair and thin eyebrows that always seemed to be drawn on in a scowl. She only liked to eat green foods on Thursday’s, and meat on Saturday’s. No food could be touching and forks had to be three pronged. Long crew neck t-shirts must have had one sleeve folded across the top and one underneath the bottom. So precise that Beverly Jane was. Widowed, but no next of kin, no relatives currently living. Her lonesome life was all laid out in front of me in her file. She would have killed me if she knew I read through it. “That’s an invasion of privacy,” she’d say, “You’re probably some Russian spy our government doesn’t know about. Those politicians are some lazy bastards, I tell ya.” Corrupted by her own insecurities, she pushed everyone away in an attempt to keep herself safe. She shared her secrets with me one day when I shared mine. It had been my first midnight shift, which was stressful enough, and my long-term boyfriend had dumped me for my best friend. “Two birds with one stone.” I had asked what she had meant by that. “You’ll have people come into your life and make it seem like they are going to be there for the rest of time. They’ll take and take all they can, until you have nothing left to give. Then when they realize they have no more use for you, they leave. You’re better off without both the lover and best friend in the end. They were never real, they never cared. Instead of finding one out now and another later, you got them both out of them way right off the bat.”  “I guess you speak from experience.” “Now listen here, dear. You may’ve just shared something personal with me, but it’s not like I wanted you to. You should expect nothing from me in return.” Her soft advice was now replaced with a stern order. “Now get out of my room and wipe those tears. I can’t stand to see them slide down your face any longer.” As I had been drying my face and reapplying makeup, another nurse had knocked on the bathroom door. “Emily, the patient in room 237 has requested you visit her immediately.” I had re entered her room with a fake smile plastered onto my face. “Did you need something, Ms. Williams? I was told you called for me.” “Yes, I did.” Silence. “Ms. Williams?” “Just call me Beverly. And get over here and sit your ass down.” “What is it?” “Just don’t speak. Let me talk.” I signaled for her to continue along. “My daddy left for the Korean War when I was nine years old in ‘50. I had an older sister, Meredith, and a pet dog, Rufus. After he left, Mama told us that we might not see him again, that something might happen and we would lose our Papa. Only nine years old, I refused to believe I could live without my hero, my first love, my father. She paused, reminiscing in only what I could guess were memories of her dad. I knew she was finally opening up to me, so I sat and waited for a few minutes for her to start again. “You know, I can’t believe I’m actually saying any of this to you. I ain’t ever told anybody about my childhood.” Another pause. “Meredith had lost her right leg, and eventually her life from Polio in ‘53, only a year after the news of my father’s death had reached home. Rufus ran away, probably with some bitch he found in the neighborhood, when I was fourteen. Get it, cause female dogs are called bitches? She let out a soft chuckle, and I couldn’t help but grin. After another moment of her collecting her thoughts, she resumed. When I was sixteen, mom started to have strange men over at the house every night. I’d hear her sobs through the walls after they left each morning. It soon seemed like there was never a moment she was sober, so I left. I got on a train and headed to Chicago, in hopes of finding work, but unexpectedly, I found love instead. My sweet Richard Wayne. He worked as a mailman for the small town I had moved to, and I’ve never seen a man look so sexy in a uniform.” She gave me a sly wink. “Oh you should’ve seen him, Emily. I don’t think anyone else could have been in love like I was. And believe it or not, I was the one that made the first move. After meeting his lovely mother and sister, he had proposed to me May 5th, 1961, the night the first American man landed on the moon. We wed September 13th the same year and life was perfect. We moved in together, and each got a job at the local university, Rich being a janitor and me a secretary. 1964 rolled along and Richard had decided to enlist for the army to fight in the Vietnam War. With much hesitation from me, I had finally agreed to support him. I kissed him on the doorstep of our house, and that was the last time I really saw my husband. He returned in ‘68, but he wasn’t the same. Only now do I know he had PTSD. He was there, but the spark behind his eyes and the genuinity behind his voice was gone, he was monotonous. We still loved each other until death did us part in 2012, when he died of a heart attack in the middle of the night. After I had no one else, I decided I didn’t want to be alone and I came here, to Maple Leaf.” After laying everything out there in front of each other, exposing our weak spots, we both gained more respect for one another. We became each other’s best friends. I helped her get around when she couldn’t walk, she comforted me when I had no one else to turn to. We stayed up through the nights just talking and sharing jokes. We calmed each other down when her roommate, Diane, stole her last piece of cornbread, or when my co worker, Janice, filed the wrong charts and blamed me for it. We threw our own 2016 New Years party in room 237, drinking sparkling grape juice and eating cheese cubes. As the ball dropped and the shouting of numbers began, I felt a smooth hand clasp around mine, and as I looked over to her face, silhouetted by the light of the TV, she only wore a content smile as she kept her eyes focused ahead, and in that moment, I never felt like I had left home for college, or work. I didn’t feel like I had no one left to care about me, I no longer felt like I was alone. She had become my home in only three years time. Whenever I was with her was when I was most comfortable living in this boring, lonely life. But she started to get sick. Fluid filled her lungs and it was no longer green foods on Thursday’s, and meat on Saturday’s. It became pleurodesis\* on Monday’s and 100 mg of Furosemide\*\*. No more smooth laughs, only wheezing breaths. Just like her husband returning from war, she was never the same. September 13th, 2017, what would have been her and Richard’s 56th year anniversary, was the last time Beverly Jane Edith Williams took an agonizing breath. I thought I could move on, that I could just find another patient to connect with, but everyone had a part of them that reminded me of her. So as I sit on this park bench, in the middle of November, not caring that I had quit my job not even 24 hours prior, I reach up to my face and smooth it out. “You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.” Well, Bev, I can’t seem to do much else these days. # \*Pleurodesis- Operation in removing fluid from the lungs by draining it. \*\*Furosemide- medication used in treating Pleural Effusion (Fluid buildup on the lungs.


The one legged mule One cold Monday dougal McDermott woke up to find his mother standing menacingly by the doorway of his room shouting,” get up boy we haven’t got all day!” , “ Your great aunt Marge is coming home for the weekend and I need you to help clean the house.” But dougal didn’t feel like getting up it was cold outside and his bed was warm and cosy so dougal stayed in bed. Dougal's mother shouted at him again but dougal didn’t even budge. Then dougal’s mother got fed up and shouted,”dougal you are as stubborn as a donkey!” Around half an hour later dougal felt thirsty so dougal went to get water but as dougal was going back to his room dougal’s mother saw him and said,”oh I see you finally got out of bed so you can come help me wash the dishes, however dougal didn’t feel like getting washing the dishes so he carried on walking. Dougal’s mother got annoyed and shouted,”dougal you are as stubborn as a donkey!”. At twelve o’clock dougal’s aunt Marge came and she asked dougal to make some tea but dougal did not feel like making tea so dougal carried on watching TV. But little did dougal know his great aunt was a witch. Quick as a flash she pulled out a wand and placed a spell on dougal that every time he is stubborn he turns a bit more into a donkey. Dougal’s great aunt then asks him again to get her some tea and again dougal did not get it. However this time dougal’s ears turned a bit grey and a bit more hairy. Dougal on the other hand did not notice any difference to his appearance at all and carried on being stubborn. Eventually even dougal noticed and he began to worry about what will happen to him and how he might get bullied when he eventually goes back to school. Being a donkey however had its positives and by the time dougal went back to school he already had donkey legs. This to many may seem like a negative but it’s usefulness showed up one fine Wednesday when the school bullies Richard Dickson and his best friend Patrick were bullying dougal as usual and were about to dunk dougal in the toilet when dougal reared his hind legs and kicked Richard in his stomach. The bullies then left dougal alone and went back to bullying small people. The end of the year was nearing and dougal was almost fully donkey when a strange thing happened, dougal’s rear back leg fell of! Dougal’s mother rushed him to the vet where the vet informed him that he was in fact a mule and not a donkey. As dougal was climbing into the car both his front legs came of and dougal just rolled onto his back. Dougal’s great aunt has since learnt what had happened to dougal but as she said in a hoarse voice on her dying day, the spell was irreversible but it thought a great lesson to all the kids in his town. Even today if you go to Warwickshire you will hear the great legend of dougal McDermott the one legged mule.


The great cactus revolution Did you hear the story of the cactus’s great revolution? No of course not the government had a hard time covering it up so it is remembered by few and spoken about by none. The story starts in 1742 in the Sahara desert where cactus are oppressed and sold as slaves to the Americas. A decade prior the British government discovered that cactus plants are actually very strong and hard working. They came and colonised the great cactus canyon and enslaved the local cacti. But colonising the canyon came at a great cost to Britain. They lost over a 1000 men in the once infamous war of the canyon in which the great prickly chief peyote led a mighty army of over 20000 cactus. The cactus army almost won until aid came to the British in the form of a passing battalion of American soldiers came and destroyed almost three quarters of the cactus army before the chief was forced to surrender. For decades cactus lives were made terrible. They were enslaved and sent to America to work on the farms until one day a great cacti by the name of Gymnocalycium mihanovichii more commonly known by humans as just cactus started a great rebellion. He led a mighty army of over 100 000 cactus over the Mediterranean and conquered England. He walked for a long time but as we all know cactus are succulents and don’t need much water so they walked to England. On the way they teamed up with the aloes and their numbers increased greatly. Afterwards in the great book of cactus a cactus poet wrote,” the cactus took a walk with the aloe.” Anyway the opposing army marched into England and arrested the queen and took over the house of commons. But the cactus did not stop there. However they did not want to take over the world and rule. No, they wanted all races to live together in harmony. So they set of to free their friends and family from America. The Americans did not like this and the American scientists set out to create a poison that renders the cactus immobile but not dead. However the American scientists did not finish their research by the time the cactus had landed in America. The American army put up a good fight but they were losing. The scientist managed to finish their research just in time and deployed it on the cactus army just as they were crossing Texas. The poison was supposed to only effect the cactus but however also effected the land around them. The climate became hotter and there was less vegetation in Texas This is why today cactus is only found in America and the only type of cactus left in the Sahara is a cousin of the cactus who was to cowardly to take part in the war but was later poisoned too. This is also why today that Texas is very hot.


I died, and I enjoyed it. Something about the moment of death they don't tell you about. The more emotion pent up inside of that life, the more orgiastic the death. They say death is like taking off a tight shoe. "I" could vaguely remember who "I" was...as if "I" mattered; it was a life of nothing but pain and disappointment for "me". Nothing ever mattered I thought, what was the point? I floated along, for what had felt like years. It must have been a century, in that awesome darkness. Wading through the dark matter fluid. I, a single spark, floats along the sea of pure equanimity. What I am, or what I was; was gone. Who I am, what I am being, is now. I am being. I roll on like this forever, in this sea of equanimous delight. A cascade of images fill the background that was just the dark void of my darkened velvet screen. Faces, places, and things morph in front of me conceiving the next object out of itself. Inside the space within space, my being has no weight. Images flash again in front of me. It is recognizable. Every mistake, every problem I ever had, every disappointment, every failure. Every unlucky thing. All of these images enfolded out in front of me. Then immediately they compressed and compounded into a single unit in space. It collapses into a singular voxel. Like stepping through a doorway on the inside of my mind. A familiar sensation of being thrust into the physical dimension, as if being thrust from the womb. I was in a very familiar place. A place I had been many times before. It was your home. I opened the front door, and stepped into this very real place that I couldn't recall being in, since well... before when I was alive.. and had my body. It was different, but only slightly from what I remember. it was christmas time, but it was decorated in a way that I couldn't recall. Then you came from around the corner, from the kitchen. You had a cup of hot cocoa in your hand, and a smile on your face. I hadn't seen you in over 4 decades, and now you were standing here. Young, alive, and in front of me. I couldn't make a single decision or choice. I could only observe, carry on a life, that I never seemed to have had. everything collapsed into a single voxel again. that wasn't me, wait a second. each time I opened my being, another life would flash before my eyes. each time, I shudder and convulse in pain and delight. i realize i am not the being i am time, yet even I addict and I attach. I follow you through this portal of dimension, they kissed. This is when they were in love, when we were in love I thought. "I love you" I said. and then I was stuck in the moment, "What do you want to have for dinner tonight hunny?" "I don't know! You decide!" she said and then the eternal debate began.


After seeing that so many people in the world are suffering, Jesus decides to walk on earth again. The story is set in 1900s. He chooses a Sunday and a medium size town. He starts walking towards the church and noticed people staring at him , some smiling others frowning. He notices a sick beggar lying on the side of a road with eyes full of pain, he decides to heal him. He bends to touch his head and heals him. The beggar who was originally expecting some change lights up as his pain vanishes and he feels like a young teen full of energy. He stands up and starts thanking profusely and asks " Who are you? ". Jesus replies that he is Jesus, son of God and after seeing so many sufferings on earth he decided to walk again. A crowd was gathered there surrounding him and people who went for the Sunday church mass were also returning and joined the crowd. " Look another con godman " Someone said. People started criticising him and gave him threats that he will be beaten badly as he was trying to imitate Jesus with that attire and was mocking him. The beggar immediately jumped forward and started defending him. The crowd soon was divided into two , his supporters and haters. As things normally go, people started demanding proof that he is Jesus . Some asked him to turn water into wine and others asked him to go to swimming pool and walk on water. Jesus saddened by this asked them "If I don't show you any miracles , am I not Jesus? ". The answer was completely unexpected as even his supporters said that if he doesn't show any miracle it's hard to believe he is Jesus. After all how can a human who breathes and looks like us can be the son of ultimate creator? How can another human be superior to us? While all this was going on someone threw a rock at his face from the crowd. Soon he was captured and brought forward the supporters started shouting that they will kill him . Jesus asked everyone to calm down and asked him why did he throw the stone. The man replied that his family has stopped talking to him and he was harrased multiple times because he was gay and it was your fault. Jesus dumbfounded asked how it was his fault. This led to the man explaining all the core concepts and beliefs of Christianity. Jesus stayed silent for a moment and said that less than 50 percent of what he said was correct and all others were wrong. He then said that God loves all his creation and wouldn't care if you were Gay and following other religion or being an atheist wasn't wrong until you are a good human being. The crowd which was divided into two now United into one all wanting to beat him. They all tied Jesus and were going to throw him at the police station for causing disharmony. The beggar cried and pleaded and asked to take Jesus to the Father of the church as he is the one who is most qualified to decide. The crowd decided that it was not a bad idea and that the Father should decide. The father was a good old man and prayed to Jesus everyday of his life and has devoted his life to God. When Jesus was bought into church the father took one look into his eyes and said he was a conman. The crowd started muttering "we knew it " , the beggar crying. The father said that this issue must be handled by the church and what should will be done to him will be decided by the court tomorrow and till then he should be tied and kept at the attic of the church. Everyone agreed and what said was done. The father then asked everyone to leave and closed all the doors of the church. He ran towards to the attic crying and started cutting Jesus ropes while repeating "I am sorry". Jesus was confused and he was still in shock that what his followers did to him in a heavy voice he said " Do you know who I am? ". The father while crying gave a chuckle and said that" I have devoted all my life to you , how can I not recognise you? ". The father then started saying that he knew who he was after just having a glance at him but couldn't tell the crowd that. 'The society has a structure though some of its wrong it is stable, the religious books are more political and are changed by the authority as they want from time to time. If you were made free and you started shaking all there beliefs and rules soon they would have crucified you. I couldn't let that happen to you again. " Jesus with tears in his eyes understood what the father was saying he hugged the father who was lying on his feet and said that it was okay what he did and thanked him. He walked outside of the church from the backdoor. A lucky escape.


Times are hard with quarantine, especially in a full house. My mother, brother, sister and her three kids living altogether. Mom is a strong-willed Navajo women who did her best to teach native tradition and keep us safe. Vigilance took over as she had everyone in her household on strict disinfectant rules. Anyone who enters has to spray themselves in a cloud of Lysol to kill any trace of the virus. This was also paired with some prayers in Navajo language for good health. Once, while she was out in the middle of work, my sister called her to ask where she had gone. Bewildered by the thought, because she had been at work all day and hadn't left, the question was begged as to what she meant. My sister says she was just there. She continues to tell my mother she came in, sprayed herself down, and made her way to the bedroom. Once she and her daughter came to the room to ask her for a ride someplace, she was no where there. Only her other daughter was to be found and was puzzled when asked about mom's whereabouts. After asking my brother as well, it was clear he hadn't seen her either. And with no evidence of anyone leaving, everyone was confused. Where did she go? My sister and her daughter saw her come right through her own front door. My mother confirmed she never left work and so decided this deserved a call to a medicine man. The medicine men in our tribes perform ceremonies to pinpoint the root of a discrepancy or issue, and do their best to resolve it. She sent some pictures of my sister and her daughter to aid him in finding out what happened. He returns a call to my mother in disbelief. On the only second occasion this has ever happened in his practice, he tells her that she had a twin sister who died in utero. He saw everything in the fire used in the ceremony. The person who my sister and her daughter saw come back home, with such uncanniness, was not my mother, but her sister. I was chilled to the core as I grew chicken skin when she told me what happened. I grew up with a skeptical idea of my tradition. Even though it was an unpleasant thought that my mother practically said ghosts exist, I disregarded it. Also, since a prayer was done, she assured me I shouldn't worry about such a thing, not that I was. I told her "I love you too, Mom. Goodnight." Then I went on with the rest of my day. I live with my girlfriend and black lab at the moment. She recently flew out to visit her auntie on the east coast, leaving the place to myself and the dog. Since we live in a sketchy area of the complex, I always checked our closets and rooms for possible intruders. I'm not sure what I'd do as soon as I found anyone, as I've never been good in a fight, but finding nobody put my mind at ease. The first few days alone, I cleaned the whole apartment and tried recipes that I could stomach if I messed up. I watched whatever I wanted and hogged the bed. It was stretching room, even if I went insane missing my girlfriend. As the night crept, so did my consciousness. I decided to end my evening with some Cowboy Bebop and a cup of iced tea. With every squirm to maintain comfort in that pile of cotton and scrap wood called a couch, I watched my favorite space cowboys take on bounties to jazzy sounds. My cup was empty and I was four episodes in. As soon as the credits rolled, I sprinted to the restroom for relief. As I sleepily lathered the soap, I thought of cleanliness. Ridding of impurities. I counted the 20th 'mississippi,' rinsed, and headed into the living room, back to my shallow crater in the couch. Parched, I blankly reached for my cup and took a few glugs of tea. I washed my dry throat with some cold, dark, iced black tea. I was so thirsty, I didn't even remember pouring the cup. Once it was time to head to bed, I checked the closets and rooms, as usual. I found nothing. Only thing out of place was my front door smelled of lemon scented Lysol.