Times were tough. It was no secret I was miserable. A cloud of gloom followed me everywhere, including my job. A relationship breakup like mine would put anyone to the test and frankly, I was failing it. Still, I had bills to pay and it wasn’t going to help if I gave up and stopped getting out of bed. Each day I’d drag myself to the office and go through the motions like a zombie. I know my performance and attitude suffered but I didn’t care at the time. Much of the occupational grief and aggravation of the nine-to-five grind involved being employed so a person could afford nice things and have a fulfilling relationship with a significant other. Once the relative rewards of that dynamic went out the window, so did my motivation to work. I guess it’s a testament to my ability to do my job well, that I wasn’t fired outright after I went off on a difficult client. Behavior like that was a threat to the corporate ‘bottom line’. Obviously they didn’t want that. Apparently they didn’t want to let me go either. Instead, management tried a very unorthodox tactic which I only found out about much later. They actually hired a temp to ‘romance’ me, and boost my ego. It’s called ‘the girlfriend experience’ because it is supposed to feel ‘real’. It’s far more than paying a person to be intimate with me. That stipulation wasn’t even in the contract. Legally it couldn’t be. They just paid her to pretend to be infatuated and smitten. How she managed to achieve that artificial flattery was her business. I must say, it totally caught me off guard. In all fairness, I might’ve recognized the ‘snow job’ a mile away if I wasn’t deeply sad and emotionally vulnerable. Instead I ate up the attention with a spoon. They were smart enough to not hire a supermodel. They found a lady that was probably in the top register of who I might’ve had a chance with in real life, if I tried really hard to woo her. Not that I had to, mind you. She was the definition of a ringer. I gotta say, it takes a certain skill set to seduce a person with that level of believable sincerity. I totally fell for it. They brought her in to the office and assigned her to assist me on a big account. At first, it pissed me off. I didn’t care that she was attractive and working extremely closely with me. I resented the idea of having to hold anyone’s proverbial hand in training her to be actually helpful. To my relief, she was a quick study and eager to learn. Knowing what I know now, I still marvel at the theatrics and lengths the company went through to insert this woman into my life. It is kind of flattering to know they orchestrated the whole thing. I know it was only about the money I normally brought in, but it makes me feel damn important. ‘Missy’ was coy at first. Respectful and aloof even. She maintaining a polite distance while giving off a slight smitten vibe or schoolgirl crush. Like a big knucklehead, I swallowed the performance hook, line, and sinker. The truth is, I wanted to believe. Honestly, who in their right mind would’ve suspected such an elaborate hoax for my behalf? it wasn’t long before we were sneaking off after hours to see each other socially. The whole time, I was scared to death they would send her back to the temp agency. Inter office romance is strictly forbidden by HR so we kept the relationship a secret as long as we could. Once we had moved past a certain point, I didn’t care if anyone found out. I was finally happy again. By all appearances, she was too. I eventually asked her to marry me, and she accepted. Of course I didn’t know it was originally an arranged fling, so I definitely wouldn’t have guessed it was about to lead to an arranged marriage. The thing is, at what point does the facade cease to be worth playing along with for the corporate payout? Even for a person pretending to be interested in me, at some point, you’d think she would call the whole thing off, right? Either that or invent an excuse to break things off and still maintain the original deception. Here was an actress who entered into a contract to perform as ‘my girlfriend’ and then (for whatever reason) kept up the pretense long enough to marry me. At that point I still didn’t know the truth. I would have expected my employers to come clean then but it had went too far. It’s one thing to pay for a brief little office ‘flirtation’, it’s quite another to keep silent while their gullible employee committed to a legally binding contract. I was blissfully happy and absolutely ignorant to the disturbing truth. She was everything (I thought) I ever wanted. Believe it or not, she confessed the whole organized charade on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary! I was gobsmacked. I thought it was part of some prank or practical joke but she was dead serious. My whole world crumbled. Our three children were grown up and already out of the house. I’d made partner with the firm and yet, I found out the last 25 years of my life were based on some bizarre farcical performance script. Missy explained that while she had entered into the contract just trying to be a professional actress, she soon developed sincere feelings for me. On one hand, after admitting it started as an elaborate seduction hoax, it was hard to believe anything she said. On the other however, I’d had a quarter century of marital happiness and fantastic kids. Was she finally telling the truth, or was she still acting as a consummate professional actress dedicated to the role? I thought long and hard about it as she slept peacefully beside me. I loved her and I honestly believe she loves me. Much of life is pretending until it becomes true.


I open my eyes. Where am I? Blinded by the intense bright light radiating from the sky Itchy grass rubbing against my arms as the breeze gently blows through the blades Perfectly warm rays of sun shine down onto my face creating a radiant glow around my head The cold solid earth beneath me soaking small bits of moisture through my shirt creating a feeling of sweat down my back Everything is so visceral, so vibrant But I can’t move The physical feelings in my body are slowly fading With each moment my body becomes more and more numb I reach down to touch my stomach As I pull my fingers back up into my line of sight I see dark maroon blood dripping from my finger tips I loose feeling all the way down to the tips of my toes A shadow slowly starts casting over my body and blocks the sun out of my face I can clearly see its my neighbor Ed Walker He stares at me for a moment and says…. “I told you to stay away from her” \*\*BAM\*\* My ears rang and my body flinched as though I have just been kicked by a startled horse I can’t feel any actual pain though Ed walks up a little bit closer “I told you to stay away from her damnit,” he screams \*\*BAM\*\* Everything goes dark I can hear the sound of the wind fading from my ears I can no longer see, hear, feel, taste or smell I think I’m dead In a moment I feel as though I’m transported through time and space at speeds far beyond anything I have ever experienced My body stops abruptly I'm no longer laying in the fields of my farm in Georgia I don’t know where I am There is nothing here No one around I scream HELLO! Nothing HELLO!! This time the skies start to open up like eye lids being exposed to first day light Its so bright I feel an overwhelming sense of joy and euphoria Its so warm I feel an embrace around my body but I see no-one there holding me Next thing I know i'm floating through the air looking back at my body as it crumbles to sand and blows away Am I in Heaven? I become fully immersed in the light as I float closer and closer to it. I float for a few moments bodyless. Just my soul.


The tv in the common room was playing a seemingly unending marathon of HGTV and Myrtle Atkins was beginning to feel depressed. Myrtle had been at the Cleese home for the elderly for going on ten years and in her opinion it was ten years too long. The home had about eighty residents and they ranged from those that needed round the clock care to those like Myrtle who simply had been living alone and whose family deemed her a risk to herself after a minor fall. Most of the residents at the moment had some stage of dementia and that made it hard for Myrtle to make friends. Can you imagine the stress of always having to make a great first impression? Myrtle sat in the arm chair wearing her usual peach bathrobe and soft fluffy matching pink slippers and she was thinking about reading a magazine. The room itself was populated by several of the residents that had the later stages of dementia, the nurses would usually herd them into the room after dinner in an attempt to get them to socialize but the tv proved to be a better attention grabber than trying to remember how to hold a conversation and so every single night they would sit there grunting, moaning, or crying as Myrtle sat and thought about all the things she wished would happen. Myrtle did have a friend in the home though, Agnes Wooster, a spry if not chipper woman two years younger than Myrtle. Agnes was one of the lucky ones, her family came to visit her often and would always show up with some home cooked food for the holidays, Myrtle was always invited and glad to attend these dinners. A lot of her family had moved out of state or were simply not the close knit family types. Agnes did not hold it against them, though she wished they would come at least a few times a year and break up the monotony that had taken hold of her life in the not so golden years. A familiar sound broke Myrtle out of her trance and she recognized the sound of the squeaky wheeled pill trolley. Myrtle had long held the belief that they tried to keep most of the inmates…sorry, residents in the common room because it made it easier to hand out the evening cups of various pills, blood thinners, vasodilators, anti depressants, and of course the high fiber medication that kept everyone regular. The nurse pushed the cart into the room and smiled at Myrtle handing her two small paper cups, one with the pills and one with water. The nurse quickly took the one with the pills back and gave her a different one. Myrtle noticed that each pill cup was numbered. "What's with the numbers?" Myrtle really didn't care but it was nice to talk to someone who wasn't engrossed in house flipping. "Different cups have different drugs, helps us not mix them up, the side effects could be really weird if you took the wrong ones." As punctuation to that explanation the nurse pushed the cart past Myrtle and started handing them out to the rest of the people in the room. Myrtle thought about that for the next hour and a half. Myrtle didn't really have any vices and always had kept a clean body figuring she'd live a nice long life and die in her sleep in her own damn home. That plan did not work out. Myrtle watched as the cart was wheeled away and then left at the check in counter. The nurse walked out the front door with a cigarette in his mouth. Myrtle stood and walked at a fast shuffle towards the cart, after checking that no one was around she reached into the containers of pills at the bottom of the cart and shoved a few random handfuls into her bathrobe pockets and then shuffled off down the hallway with a smile on her face. Myrtle knocked on the door to room 314 several times before Agnes woke up and answered the door. "What do you want Myrtle, do you have any idea what time it is?" "Just after seven thirty." "That late?" There was no hint of irony in Agnes' response. "May I come in?" Agnes sighed and obliged, opening the door wide and stepping aside and beckoning her friend to enter, even though Agnes would have much rather have gone back to sleep. Agnes had one of the bigger rooms with her own furniture and it was on an antique had carved redwood table that Myrtle emptied the stolen contents of her pockets. "What the hell have you done Myrtle Atkins?!" Myrtle smiled. "Doesn't it seem like a bit of naughty fun? I never did drugs when I was younger, did you?" Agnes huffed at the very idea and sat down in her olive green velvet evening chair and drew her robe tighter around herself as if to make a point about being closed off to the idea. "What are they going to do? Arrest us? What's the worst that could happen?" With that Myrtle used the side of her palm to divide the pile of pills in half and went off to get two glasses of water and noticed a tea kettle on the stove. "How long has this been here?" "Since about six. It's Irish breakfast blend." Myrtle poured two cups of tea and put two sugar cubes and a splash of milk in each and walked back to the coffee table and handed Agnes her tea. Agnes begrudgingly took her tea and watched with stern derision as Myrtle sat down across from her on an orange floral print love seat. Myrtle blew on her tea and let her friend stew for a few minutes. The tea cooled off and Myrtle could take more than tiny sips of it. To her this seemed as good a time as any to take a few pills and see what happens. Agnes watched as Myrtle took her handful and took them in three portions with a hearty gulp of Irish breakfast tea to wash it down. Agnes wanted to be livid, she did not want to condone this sort of thing from her best friend, but in spite of all of that she was curious, besides if Agnes was going to be here all night in another dimension, why not join her. It did seem like a good bit of naughty fun. Agnes took about half of her pile and took each pill separately initially trying to read each one but giving up when the print proved to be too small. The pair sat and finished their tea and waited for the next ten minutes and nothing happened. Agnes sighed and stood with great effort and walked over to her record player. "I think we just have to wait a bit, drugs take some time to kick in, don't they?" Myrtle said this more to the room itself than to Agnes specifically. "Well I'm not going to sit in silence and stare at your face waiting. I'm going to put a record on." Myrtle sat and poured herself another cup of tea and began to wonder if anything was going to happen at all. Soon enough the sounds of Sonny Rollin's saxophone was filling the room with righteous vigor and Agnes took her seat again, pulling a cross stitch project from the pocket on the side of her recliner. After the record had been flipped Agnes was the first one to notice that things had gone a bit weird. She couldn't properly say it because she couldn't find the words but one look at Myrtle confirmed that Myrtle's drugs had kicked in too. The empty space that filled the room between physical entities, the air in layman's terms had turned a slightly pinkish purple and time was rapidly slowing down. Myrtle felt as if it had taken her about twelve minutes to turn her head but wondered if that could possibly be correct. "The damn saxophone is knocking the walls down. Crap! Did I say that out loud?" Agnes covered her mouth after the outburst and looked down at the cross stitching project, the threads started wobbling on their own accord and she decided it was best to just put it away and work on it tomorrow. The roof melted away before Myrtle's eyes and she got a good look at the stars above and the vast cosmic openness of it all. Myrtle sighed contentedly and leaned back in the recliner and shot through space on a vintage 70's olive green La-Z-Boy. Agnes restarted the record, cranked the volume and polished off the last of the tea, dropping two sugar cubes into it and stirring for the entirety of side one of Saxophone Colossus. Myrtle shot past planets, constellations and comets at rapid speed and saw for once in her life the meaninglessness of it all. Myrtle Atkins, age seventy six finally felt free. Agnes was having a whale of a time as well, though her thoughts were much more down to earth and tied to the simpler pleasures of life. "Tea is really fucking good" was all she thought. As the saxophone reached it's height of frantic tempo the door was opened and three very annoyed nurses stood in the doorway of Agnes' room and they were not pleased with what they found. Apparently some of the residents in neighboring rooms had lodged some complaints of incoherent babbling, loud music and general delinquency. The Nurses confiscated the drugs and took Agnes and Myrtle to the office and reached an agreement, that they wouldn't do what they'd done again, and that the care home would not have to admit how terrible they were at storing narcotics. All in all this was not a terrible Tuesday for Myrtle Atkins. A couple of days later the woman across the hallway, Yukio Omada passed away just after lunch while having her afternoon nap and Myrtle watched from her room as her family came later that night to empty out all of Yukio's possessions. Myrtle had had a handful of conversations with Yukio, she was an interesting woman who came to the States as a young girl and lived through some hard times but made the most of it. Most of her possessions were thrown away, a few books were added to the communal book pile but would go unread like all the others due to the print being too small. Among the items tossed in the trash can down the hallway was a small figurine of a boy fishing in a pond and Myrtle had always liked it. After the family of Yukio Omada had left Myrtle walked as fast as she could down to the trash can and fished out the figurine, returning to her room and placing it neatly on her bed side table. For a while she sat there looking at it and studying it as if it held some secret to life that she desperately wanted to pry out of it. It gave up no secrets but the boy's serene smile at the enjoyment of such a simple activity gave Myrtle an idea. Myrtle put on her old peach bathrobe and made her way down to Agnes' room and knocked four times before Agnes answered. Agnes was a bit upset at Myrtle still, though she would never say it. Agnes was the kind of woman who had lived her life without ever having the authorities give her much notice, so being chewed out by the nursing staff for having a drug party stuck in her craw a bit. Still, ever the gracious host Agnes invited Myrtle into her room with a slight wave of her hand, Myrtle walked in and Agnes shut the door behind her.


When I was 8, I saw something that I’d never forget. It was just me and my dad, with the house all to ourselves. Mom was away, though I don’t recall why. But I didn’t care, because that meant that I got my Dad all to myself. Pizza, hiking, and many other adventures ensued. It’s one of my fondest memories of him. Which makes what capped it all off that much worse. I remember need to get a drink of water. Tiptoeing into the hall, I heard something. Something wrong. It was a dull thump, and it sounded like it was coming up the stairs. Nervous, thinking my Dad would be upset I was out of bed late, I hid in the bathroom. The sound continued up the stairs, and into the hall of the second floor. I wanted to peak out, to see what it was, but something held me back. Soon the thump went quiet, and I heard a creak of my parent’s bedroom door. *Creeeeeeaaaak* I didn’t hear the thumping again. I guess it was just Dad going to bed. … I was back, snug in my bed, when I heard the worst of the sounds that night. It was like someone was trying to chew through a large piece of steak. A wet crunch, followed by more chewing. Rising, I needed to investigate. I slowly crept down the hall, stinking to the least creaky floorboards. The sound was coming from Dad’s room. Silent as my little feet would allow, I slunk to the door and slowly turned the knob. When I had it open a crack, I peered inside. The sight the greeted me was sickening. At first all I could see was a silhouette, a person-like shape sitting bolt upright in the bed, facing the headboard. It then leaned forward, and hunching it’s shoulders, I heard the chewing again. As I was standing there, entranced by the sight, a car passed outside. Its headlights just barely illuminated the grisly scene. The thing was sat, straddling my father’s stomach, eating a hunk of meat that must have come from the massive hole in his chest. I couldn’t hold back my gasp, and the creature sat bolt upright again. Its face, if you could call it that turned in my direction. It had no defining features, no eyes, nose, nothing. But as I gaped in horror, its face split in a grin, filled with too many teeth. It slowly raised its hand to its mouth, the finger crossing its lips. It was telling me to keep quiet. I fled from the house, screaming the entire way to the neighbor’s house. In between bawling and wiping the tears from my eyes, I recounted my story. They didn’t believe me; neither did the policemen that came later. I eavesdropped on them, and they said that it was a break in gone wrong. I was shocked. How could they say that? What burglar would do that? Before long, my mother arrived to collect me and we stayed in a hotel for a few weeks while the house was cleaned. Eventually, we returned to stay there, but I never felt safe. Before long, we’d moved away from that ghastly place. … I thought that would be the end of it. But I was wrong. I saw it again last night. I awoke to my bedroom door creaking. Open just enough to see beyond, I saw the thing again. It’s finger to its lips, crossing that horrible smile.


Hot coffee glugged from the emerald thermos into the two styrofoam cups, the weight of the fluid anchoring the drinks as the boat rocked and dipped. The fisherman handed him a cup and the steam fogged his glasses. “Do you fish out here often?” “From time to time. I fish all over the world.” The coffee was excellent. Hot and not too bitter and not too acidic and bold and earthy. “It’s my first time out here.” “Oh, I know.” “It’s that obvious?” No answer. “Are you a guide?” “I’ve been called that.” The fisherman refilled his coffee. It was quiet except for the splashes on the side of the boat. The fisherman’s line went taut. He reeled in a bass. “What did you use as bait?” “No live bait.” “A lure then?” “Are you hungry for breakfast?” the fisherman asked, releasing the bass back into the lake. He thought for a minute. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Probably last evening. He had cooked steak and a sweet potato foil pack the afternoon before. Before he went out on his boat with a six pack and a second six pack. “Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks.” The fisherman produced two large blue enamelware bowls and plastic spoons. From the thermos, the fisherman served large servings of venison chili. A rare treat for him. “This is really good.” “Do you remember how you got here, Steven?” “I got in Friday night, came in from the north on FF.” “I mean today. Do you remember getting up this morning?” He was confused. The fisherman, took out his thermos and topped off his coffee. “Do you remember last night?” “Not too much too it. Had some beers. Fished a bit. Beefsteak dinner.” “And after that?” He laughed. “I must’ve had a beer too many. Honestly sort of blanking.” His smile slowly vanished. His face a bit white. He coughed a bit. Some chili down the wrong tube. The fisherman gently took back the styrofoam cup, dumping the coffee off the side of the boat. He again furnished the emerald green thermos. It was worn and dented. It looked like it came from the museum of worn, good old stuff. It looked like an artifact from the inaugural fishing trip, from the Bass Pro Shop of Babylon. From its threaded steel mouth, the fisherman decanted cool ice water. “Did I fall from the boat?” “Steven, do you remember when you were eleven at Boy Scout Camp? You and your buddy Nate went fishing with a line and a hook and some hot dogs.” “Yeah, we fished all day at the side of the lake. Near the hydroelectric plant.” “Do you remember what happened?” “We caught one fish. Pan fried it over a camping stove.” “What else?” “We cut off its head, and tried using it as bait because we didn’t have any more hot dogs because we had eaten them with the fish but we were still hungry.” “And then what happened?” “The line, it got snagged on a log. And Nate waded out to try to pull it out, but it was really stuck in that mess.” “And then what happened?” “I pulled hard on the line.” “And then what happened?” “It whiplashed. “And then what happened?” “It caught Nate’s cheek and he screamed and I ran in to help him and then I used my pliers to pull the hook out of his cheek.” “And then what happened?” “What do you mean? And then I got it out. And we went back and he put on a bandaid.” “And then what happened?” “Nothing else happened.” “That was 27 years ago. A lot has happened.” “You mean, what happened between then and now?” “I asked what then happened. Chronologically after then and, unstated, chronologically before now, as was implied by my tense.” The fisherman poured some hot sauce and melted cheese from his thermos onto his chili. “I can’t.” He stood, unstable and uneasy. A large pond. A small lake. The body of water produced a wave of unnatural provenance, tossing the startled man head over shoulders over ass over knees over feet over the aluminum lip of the bow of the bass boat. The fisherman leapt to his feet, and plunged his open palms into the lakewater, guide and scout and harvester.


As the emperor entered the throne room for the last time a scene of carnage lay before him. His guards lay on the cold, stone floor, slain as they desperately tried to defend him from his own people. He slowly approached the throne, stained with the blood of his soldiers, and sat down. He knew that the rebels would kill him soon enough. It was that fact which led him back to this room in particular. It seemed to him only fitting that he should die in the place where he had once ruled. Myriad thoughts were running through his head. How had he allowed this to happen? Over the course of just a few weeks, his empire had crumbled beneath him. The men and women over whom he had once ruled had turned against him in the blink of an eye. In an instant, his thoughts were disturbed by a small movement in the shadows, in the far corner of the room. His hand went to his sword and he was about to unsheathe it, but he stopped, partway. “Come out of the shadows rebel,” he commanded in a booming voice. “Face your Emperor with honour.” A young boy, no older than seventeen, stepped out of the shadows. He had a face which would have been quite handsome, were it not for the look of pure hatred which adorned it. “I suppose that you are here to kill me,” remarked the emperor calmly. “You look very relaxed for someone who is about to die,” the boy responded. “I made peace with my fate long ago. Death comes to us all, eventually.” “Why have you not drawn your blade? Are you too weak to even defend yourself?” asked the rebel in a snarl. “Enough blood has already been spilled my boy. I find no delight in death.” the Emperor replied, with a grim smile on his face. “I will kill you!” yelled the rebel, as he rushed forward towards the throne. “And for that I do not blame you.” responded the emperor. “However, before you do, I have one question for you. Why?” “Why?” echoed the rebel with a puzzled look on his face. “Why do you want me dead?” “You have failed your people! Under your rule the people are dying! You feast in your palace while people like my father die because they cannot even afford bread.” The emperor gave the boy a saddened look. “I suppose that you are right. I have failed my people. So, I suppose that it is time for me to pay for what I have done. I am so, so sorry.” The rebel raised his sword and prepared to strike. The sound of a blade piercing through flesh echoed throughout the walls of the chamber. The rebel collapsed, the look on his face no longer one of hatred, but one of shock. The emperor gave a long sigh and then rose from the throne. He turned to look at the dying boy lying on the floor. “I truly am sorry,” he whispered as he wiped away a tear and slowly walked away.


Shawty and Baby Mama Try to Kill Us By Seth Fox In in the glory days of my wild and reckless youth I redistributed discount construction equipment for the benefit of low-income immigrant workers. Which is to say, I stole power tools and sold them to the Mexicans. Often times I worked with an older cat named Mufasa. Like The Lion King, but not quite as regal. Mufasa had a baby mama who was less than thrilled with how he lived and with whom he spent his time. Mufasa was also in love with a crack whore I'll call Shawty. I can't remember her real name, but who cares? She was a crack whore. I don't like to think of her as a crack whore simply because she didn't look like a crack whore. Shawty looked quite healthy, I mean. She was however, technically a prostitute and she did spend a significant portion of her income-and anyone else’s income, for that matter-on crack, for which she smoked profusely and at any and all available points in time so if that doesn’t make one a crack whore I suppose nothing would. Mufasa was determined to win Shawty's heart with gentlemanly charm-and ample donations of crack-but refused to purchase her professional services outright with cash. Shawty did not particularly like Mufasa in the romantic sense but she loved crack. Hence their camaraderie. One bright summer morning after coffee and donuts I'm shooting speedballs under a bridge where I spent the previous night, when my breakfast is interrupted by a call from Mufasa saying it was time to go to work. I gave him directions to my bridge and exactly 12 minutes later he arrives with Shawty in tow. Shawty asks me if I have any crack and I say no. This is a lie. I have plenty of crack, of course. But never tell a crackhead you have crack. Besides, she wasn't sleeping with me and I wasn't in love with her. Plus, it was first thing in the morning so we were literally on our way to buy crack. She could wait ten goddamn minutes. It was not that serious. After we all cop and smoke some morning crack, Mufasa informed us that he had already promised his baby's mama-whom he was no longer “with,” he clarified-as part of some custody agreement/cocaine negotiation that he would allow her to ride shotgun and make some money with us today. At first, I was apprehensive, but came around after he assured me it wouldn’t affect my cut and bribed me with some free crack. Fuck it. Sign her up, let's go to work. We arrived at her apartment and Baby Mama-who is not a small woman-gets in the car and immediately asked if I have any crack. I say no. Mufasa gives her crack, I smoke crack, she smoke crack, we all smoke crack, Mufasa and Baby Mama in the front, me and Shawty in the back, crackity crack crack crack, Backstreet's back, alright. We arrived at a popular home improvement store and park off to the side so we can “gather recon” and “strategize” and “smoke crack.” After much debate over who has the most experience and who should take the lead we arrive at a plan. Which was exactly the same plan we always had: Shawty drives, Mufasa and I go in and grab as many drills and nail guns as possible, run out the door, jump in the car, Shawty hits the gas and Baby Mama- Sigh, -does nothing whatsoever. At this point it becomes relevant to say that I'm the only white person in the car. When Mufasa and I go in separate doors, loss prevention is immediately suspicious of him and corner the register. I am seemingly ignored. We load up everything we can carry and head back towards the bay doors. “Can we help you with that, sir?” A man in a red vest asks Mufasa. Mufasa keeps walking. Taking advantage of my anonymity, I slide on ahead and set off the alarm by going to the door with a big stack of merchandise. The alarm confuses the Vests, who turn to watch me exit the store and debate within their own minds whether or not they just got double-teamed by two separate and unrelated heists, or if the skinny white boy and older black dude are, in fact, accomplices. This happened every time. Their confusion caused hesitation, allowing us to run wild. Before they can act as a unit, Mufasa makes use of an impromptu battering ram of DeWalt boxes and tramples the distracted vest-wearing customer service drones, forcing his way out the door as well. The pair of us charge blinking into the daylight en route to the extraction point and notice, much to our dismay, that Shawty, Baby Mama and the car are gone. Alarms are blaring, customers are staring. Here come the vests. One is riding a forklift for some reason, which is a terrible decision in virtually any tactical scenario. But the Vests aren't tactically minded. They're mostly senior citizens. We hear the girls before we see them, screaming around the parking lot. They went to the wrong door. We charge toward them and the Vests give chase. I arrive first and dive headlong into the backseat. Mufasa close behind, begins throwing me nail guns. I load the nail guns as the Vets grab Mufasa. I also grab Mufasa. It’s me vs the Vests in a wacky tug-of-war over my partner in crime. Baby Mama screams and Shawty, in a moment of tactical clairvoyance, puts the car in reverse, stomps the gas and shatters Mufasa’s foot. Mufasa is not thrilled, but the Vests relinquish their hold on my comrade for fear of retaliation with furious lawsuits. Corporate America has trained them well, but victory goes to the scum-sucking crackhead larceny gang. Mufasa hurls the last box at our enemies punctuating our conquest and we flee in Phyrric Victory. We have our bounty, time to see the Mexicans. We took their riches and sped away on squealing tires. I felt like an American icon. An outlaw with a band of thieves. “Where the fuck was you?” Mufasa ask Shawty. “You said the other door!” Shawty says, incorrectly. "The fuck I did!” Mufasa explains. By now, the women in the car have united together in allegiance, presumably, to overthrow the patriarchy. Which was us now, I guess. Baby Mama informs Mufasa of the potential consequences of speaking to Shawty in such a manner, Mufasa suggests an alternate physical location for which she can place her criticisms. This doesn't help, but rather adds fuel to the fire of the feminist coup. At this point, Baby Mama seeks to plant the seeds of mistrust within the hearts of us men by implying my manhood is of superior quality because I was not overcome by the Vests like Mufasa was. A regular Sun Tzu, that Baby Mama. Mufasa looks at me confused and in noticeable agony over his shattered foot. To this, I got nothin'. Mufasa changes the subject. “My fuckin foot!” Should we go to the hospital? Of course not! We have a car full of stolen tools and we are literally fleeing a crime scene. Mufasa assures us that getting paid would make his foot feel good as new. Everyone else seems to agree, so off we go to meet our ‘migos. Tensions are running high amongst our merry band of thieves. Mufasa continues to cry out in agony and Baby Mama continues to insult his manhood. Shawty asks me if I have any crack. I say no. This is a lie. “I got some heroin, though.” Shawty stops the car. “You got heroin?” Asks Baby Mama. “Bitch, you don't do heroin.” Said Mufasa. Mufasa proceeded to explain to the women that he does not trust heroin addicts-except for me, of course, we’re homies-and that she should take no thought in what I just confessed. Baby Mama winks at me seductively and I am overcome with mortal terror. Mufasa secretly ask me for some heroin. You know, for his ailing foot. The pain it’s, unbearable. Can’t concentrate. So, I help a brother out and we continue our journey. Baby Mama decides she wants to drive and Shawty begins to question her solidarity, disrupting the male versus female dynamic. Shawty asks what is wrong with her driving and Baby Mama exhibits her Machiavellian authority by slapping Shawty up-side her head. Shawty retaliates and thus begins the first brawl at 75 miles an hour. Mufasa attempts to reason with the women but is nearly rendered unconscious from the heroin. I guess now's my time to take charge. “Yo, let's just get this money, okay?” The women stop fighting each other, focusing their wrath against me. Which was fine, because all they did was talk shit while I got high with Mufasa in the back seat. And so it was, all the way to the Mexican trailer park. Mufasa and the women stay in the car while I negotiate with the Mexicans. I sell the merchandise and keep a little extra for “emotional stress” but they don’t need to know that. Junkie is as junkie does, I guess. By now, everyone wants crack, so we re-up and stop by the QT for supplies. Mufasa man's the pump while I shoot up in the bathroom. The men get beer and they women get blue slushies. Baby Mama once again decides that she wants to drive and by now Shawty has crack so she doesn’t mind. Mufasa’s foot is still broken and I’m avoiding confrontation by smoking crack and hanging out in the back with Shawty's boobs. Baby Mama takes the wheel and drives the car directly into a phone pole. Rather than take responsibility for her vehicular inadequacies, Baby Mama makes it known that Mufasa should have never let her behind the wheel. What was he thinking? Clearly this demonstrates how he is not shit and is subsequently a terrible father. Don’t we all agree? We didn’t agree. We weren’t even paying attention, actually. I was at this point trying to negotiate with Shawty about how much crack I’d have to put in her pipe before she would let me put my pipe in her…uh…crack. Mufasa, despite his foot, switches seats and tears off down the highway, refusing to comment. He watches our negotiations through the rearview mirror. Baby Mama watches him watch our negotiations through the rearview mirror and thinks to herself, “Is he fuckin that ho, too?” Baby Mama rips off the rearview mirror and hits Mufasa with it. “Is you fuckin that ho?!” Ah, shit. I separate myself from the bosom of said ho because said ho ain't no ho, apparently. Mufasa is at a loss for words and the ho that ain't no ho removes her jewelry. At 85 miles an hour I’m convinced that Shawty and Baby Mama are trying to kill us. Shawty dives into the front seat and the women grapple like rabid marmosets at 90 miles an hour. A blue slushy explodes across the windshield and Mufasa passes back the rearview mirror from The fray. The car veers into the opposite lane. I notice a large truck barreling toward us through the blue ice and a certain peace comes over me. Here I am, smoking crack in the back of my homeboy's car watching two women fight over a man neither of them really wanted. The truck honks. “Yo, motherfucker! Do something!” Mufasa ordered. Shit. Right. I notice my rig and my dope and I have a plan. Mufasa jerks the wheel and the women jerk it back. Honk! Any junkie worth his salt can cook up in a moving car, but this was for the gold. Honk, honk! I pull out a tiny plastic bag and sprinkle some white powder in my spoon, then add water from a bottle. “Are you fucking getting high right now?!” Mufasa screamed. Slap. Bite. Scratch. Somebody’s weave lands in the seat beside me while the car swerves. “Trust me, I got this!” I said. In goes the cotton. Stir. HONK! HONK! “Fuck you, bitch!” “Fuck you, you stankin' ass ho!” I pull back the plunger. HOOOONK!!! “DO SOMETHING!” Mufasa yells. I shove the needle into Baby Mama’s massive shoulder and press the plunger. Mufasa was right, she did not do heroin. If your tolerance is low enough, you don’t technically need to find a vein to get off. She slumped to the side and lets go of the steering wheel. Mufasa jerks the car back into our lane as the truck rattles past beside us. We yet live. Shawty seems pleased and convinced Baby Mama would never call her a ho again. Baby Mama slurs something that rhymes with “snow” or “flow” and vomits all over Shawty's bouncy brown boobs. No more negotiations today, it seems. Back at the apartment Mufasa and I bump fists. “See you tomorrow?” “Hell yeah, brother be safe out there.” “You too. Here's your mirror.” Shawty and Baby Mama never worked with us again.


Nobody expects to face death, yet here I was doing just that. Both figuratively and literally. While not facing Death itself, I was face to face with my potential end. The city around me burned, freshly evacuated; the silver lining in all of this. What we're facing is powerful, and we're dropping like flies; despite being "superheroes". Right now, there was nothing super about us; fighting for our lives as we were. Our enemy looked human, but it was more than that. Though the others may not feel it, I could thanks to my own genetics. I was the long and distant descendant of some small time god that nobody even remembers anymore. Despite millennia of bloodline dilution, I was still somewhat divine. Even if it was less than 1%. "Hey, bird boy!", came a booming voice which snapped me out of my thoughts. I stood and looked out of the second floor window of a building I was hiding in to see Shadow at ground level yelling at where I was. Shadow was one of the top heroes in society. His power gave him minor shadow manipulation, as well as being able to turn into a shadow himself, and being able to spy through shadows. I wasn't surprised he was still alive. "This is no time to be scared, feathers.", came his voice again, "We bought enough time for the civilians to be evacuated. We can go all out on this guy!" My hero name was neither bird boy nor feathers, it was Angel. A little on the nose, but my lack of imagination settled on something that would be considered a cliché pick. You see, remember how I mentioned I was less than 1% divine? Well, when whatever happened that either gave or awoke abilities in people happened, it reacted to that less than 1% in my DNA and I manifested wings. Painfully. It was quite awhile back. Close to 40 years now. When it happened, I woke up screaming and screamed more when I noticed the blood on my sheets. My wings didn't just *magically* appear. They had to grow, and to start the new bones and everything had to rip through my skin. It was a painful three months in the hospital. It also turns out I'm immortal. It didn't end there, however. The government wanted to step in, and that is never fun. I would notice more suits walking around the hospital as I recovered. A nurse was kind enough to inform me the government was planning on taking all of us somewhere once we were recovered. Not only was this my first time learning there were others this was happening to, but the reason the nurse helped is due to this thing happening to her as well. She warned all of us, but the warning came a tad too late as only a few of us were able to get out of the hospital before we were taken away. As time passed, I became more familiar with my abilities. My wings were indestructible, yet soft to the touch. Apparently the god I was descended from was some kind of storm god, so I inherited some of those abilities. I could generate and expel lightning from my own body, manipulate storm clouds and lightning, turn myself into a bolt of lightning to travel faster, and heal quickly from wounds. Despite all of that, I was still considered to be on the low end of the mid-tier spectrum when it came to heroes, which should tell you all you need to know how strong some of the heroes are. So you could understand why I was hiding when most of the mid and top tier heroes were dead. The only word I could describe what we were facing is a "god". I shook those thoughts out of my head and focused on where Shadow was standing, but he was no longer there. I suppose he did not want to wait for me to come out of my reverie. ***\~BOOM\~*** ***\~CRASH\~*** The building shook and more windows shattered from the force of some distant impacts. The brief period of peace was over and the fight resumed. I moved away from the window and took in a deep breath. I wanted to run and hide some more, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do that forever. I was afraid, but those people who had to evacuate were even more afraid than I was. They didn't have superpowers, or quirks, or semblances, or whatever you want to call them. I had power. I had to use it. I unfurled my wings, and they sparkled in the sunlight that came through the window. I took one last calming breath before jumping out of the window and flying towards the source of the battle. It sounded like they were in the business district of downtown. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ What I saw upon arriving to the fight made my stomach turn and was enough to not kill my appetite for a week. Bodies of heroes and unlucky civilians, or whatever was left of them, littered the ground. I want to say it looks like a warzone, but it was worse. As I flew by, I noticed blood and... parts stuck to the walls of buildings or hung from what few street lights were left standing. "Hey, birdie" came that voice again though it was cut off by several bouts of coughing, "you made it." I found Shadow. It wasn't good. I slowed down and landed infront of him, kneeling as I did. He was sitting up against what I suppose was the remains of a large mailbox. The entire bottom half of his body was just gone. I was spared the gore-y viscera as what appeared to be shadow stuff came pouring out of the wound. I was silent for a few moments before speaking. "I'm sorry.", was all I could say. I had let him down. Hell, I was letting everyone down by being a coward and turning tail at the first sign of our inevitable loss. Shadow smiled, coughing up blood shortly after. "Don't say that, bird brain.", he said between coughs. "I know exactly how you feel. I was scared too. But, as heroes it's our duty to not let that fear get to us." His face contorted in pain for a moment, and he went silent for a few moments. I was conflicted. I wanted to turn around and get away from here. I wanted to hide. Maybe I could survive the vacuum of space and leave this damned planet behind. Many heroes better than I were dead; defeated easily when facing that god thing. Shadow probably saw the look on my face, because he reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. "Listen, kid. I'm not going to tell you not to be scared. But what I am gonna say is to use that fear for something useful. Fear can either freeze you in place, or make you do things you never thought were possible out of sheer desperation for survival.", he coughed a few more times and his arm dropped. "Don't let this be a regret, kid. After all...", he paused for a moment and his eyes locked with mine, "you're all that's left." He died. What the hell kind of pep talk was that? Use my fear? I'm all that's left? Kid? I was older than he was! My mind raced and my heart pounded. I was out of my league. At that thought I stood and my gaze swept across the destruction. Then again, so were they. It wasn't just the strongest heroes we had that fought and died here, but the weakest as well. As my eyes looked across this torn up street, I even noticed a few police uniforms. My breathing slowed. I was afraid. Scared shitless. I looked back at Shadow's body. Though it's what I do with that fear, right? Then I felt it. I had barely any time to react, but I managed to get my wing in the way of whatever blow was being directed at me. Something connected and I was sent careening down the street, with the only thing stopping me being the wall of a tall building. I bit my tongue from the impact, and I could feel the back of my skull bleeding. My wing was broken, but it was already slowly healing itself, as were my other wounds. I spit out the blood pooling within my mouth and stood up. My eyes rose and stopped when they met the gaze of my attacker, who floated several feet above the street. It was that god thing. My eyes wanted to look away and my brain raked against the sight. It was clearly humanoid with what appeared to be black wings hanging off of it's back, but I couldn't see much else beyond whatever it was doing to conceal it's true form. I now know why the other heroes couldn't beat this guy. Who knew my minuscule amount of divinity would end up being so useful. I could handle looking at this thing directly. I prepared myself to take flight. Perhaps I had a chance after all.


402 Another sleepless night of tossing and turning in my bed Another night of terrors pounding at my head Another cell phone ring, another horrific scene Another dead body for me to have to see “Hello,” I answered as the tone stayed dead Then a woman's voice shrieked, “He's at it again.” “Are you sure?” I asked as out of the bed I flew “I'm positive sir, but this time... he left you a clue” As I hung up the phone I sat for a minute to think A clue? Why now? What is the missing link? This doesn't make any sense, as I picked my clothes off the floor I can't wrap my head around this, he's never done this before I then grabbed my badge and my gun and ran out the door Another drop of rain Another dark night Another dead body Another scene of fright This victim wasn't different, he did them all the same Bound, gagged, and stabbed in his sick demented game This poor girl had been tortured, had to suffer so much pain “Has anyone notified the family? Do we even know her name?” “No, not yet sir,” I heard, “we're still trying to figure this one out” “But here's the clue he left for you... he stuffed it in her mouth” Another lifeless corpse Another woman dead Another brunette beauty Another street of red I stared at this piece of paper as I plotted my next move But I kept drawing a blank, for all it read was 402 He wasn't going to make this simple, this was no easy clue He was toying with my brain as I knew not what to do “Check every apartment in this city, I don't care how long it takes” “Until we figure this thing out, not a woman will be safe” Another shot of whiskey Another cigarette drag Another night gone hopeless Another night gone mad He just won't quit, won’t give up or leave He won't relinquish himself, discontinue or cease He won't vacate my life, retire or flee He won't stop til I'm dead, til there's just a shell of me Not til I'm hopeless and defeated, not until I give in Not til I am ruined, not until then will he win I laid it on the bar and stared at the piece of paper til it bled Til 402 was all I thought about, til it was branded in my head I know it wasn't over, I know what he will do He will have to kill again, He'd want to leave more clues Another cell phone ring Another whiskey down Another shrieking voice Another body found “Sir, you must get down here, I don't know what to say” “Well first,” I shouted, “tell me what happened. Is everything ok?” “Sir, I can't explain this, please say you're on your way” “I'll have to take a cab, put up the yellow tape” My cigarette was lit but a drag I did not take For inches just blew off as the ash just blew away I stood running, fast, for a step I did not take My hands remained still, as my heart began to ache Everyone stood in horror at how this girl was laid to rest For the clue that he had left me, he carved it in her chest I couldn't understand what he left for me to read I just could not make sense of the letters before me 'NOT HIL' is what he carved, 'NOT HIL' is what I saw As I remained motionless as the rain continued to pour Another nightmare branded In another person's soul Another 911 call Another clue untold The next victim was found different, I almost couldn't tell He laid her down so careful, he treated her so well No puncture wounds or stabbings, no torture could be seen No horrific nightmare, no signs that he was mean A dead body, of course, a murder yes indeed Fearful, dreadful, frightful, horrific to say the least Not his usual victim, it was not his usual play No signs he went too far showing his shades of Mr.


It was a really cold night, the sky was clear with no clouds in sight, but also no stars to be seen. I checked the time which led me to collapse in frustration on my bed. I couldn’t sleep and it was nearly 3:00 in the morning. I tried to think of boring things like math to help me sleep but I couldn’t help it, waiting kept me up until now and I thought to myself all of it would have been for nothing if I slept through the moment my phone received the message… it was from her after all. Checking the time again and realizing I might as well be productive waiting for the stupid reply rather than just wallowing on my bed so I stood up, turned on the desk lamp beside my bed then walked lazily towards the light switch of my room. Just as I was about to reach the switch, my phone rang and I suddenly felt a jolt of excitement within me, I was awake before but at that exact moment, the monotonous tune of my phone seemed to give me more energy than any cup of coffee could give me. Hastily I jump to my bed and immediately open my phone if it was the message I have been waiting since 4:00 in the afternoon for. My eyes scrolled through the countless other messages and notifications on my screen and then it hit me, feeling like my heart skipped a beat, I saw the message I have so anxiously been waiting for. My eyes were glued to the screen carefully reading the words on the message head, as I reached the end, it felt like my heart was going to burst… from anxiousness that is. The message shown was cut because it was longer than 15 words. At that point I didn’t know what to expect really, the only way of knowing whether or not I should be jumping from joy or moping in the corner in so early in the morning was through a simple tap of my thumb. The message head read “Hi! I’m so sorry for the late reply, I’ve been giving it some thought and…” and before I decided to open and read the entirety of the message, I thought about everything that happened the past events that happened today and whether or not they would remain as happy and warm memories or just moments of me merely being young and dumb. Early Morning the Previous Day It was 7:00 in the morning and my phone rang my alarm tune which was the most monotonous sound I have ever heard in my life. Nevertheless, I woke up because the tune seemed so routine and normal to me. This was because it was a company phone given out to all the interns for their first week waiting approval of whether or not they would get the job or not. We were required to answer all the calls made to the phone during working hours and so as not to disturb the other workers in the firm, the phone were programmed to only play one dull tune for every alarm or notification. It was the last day of my internship and we were required to be at the office by 9:00 for the announcement of those who made the cut. I quickly made my way to the kitchen, poured a bowl of cereal and milk, took a spoon from the counter drawer and sat down on the couch located in the living room just adjacent from the small dining area. I turned on the television then changed the channel to the news, there was nothing exciting enough to keep watching so I turned the TV off and quickly finished my breakfast, rushed to the bathroom to do the rest of my morning routine there. After everything was finished and I was neatly dressed in business casual attire, I went out of the room then walked down the hallway. The apartment building I was staying in had five floors, and my room was located on the fifth floor, ever since two weeks ago the elevator broke down and I had to walk down the stairs no matter how bad of an inconvenience it was. So I got down, to the lobby, opened the spinning doors and stepped outside to wait for a taxi. After 5 or so minutes of waiting, a yellow spotted car finally stopped by and gave me a ride. “Where to?” the driver said and replying with an uneasy voice I say “Just a few blocks pass the train station please”, it was after all the day I get to know if I landed the job, saying I was nervous would be an understatement. The next events would seem like a very cruel twist of fate, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way because they all led up to me meeting her. Anyway, after 12 minutes since my car ride started, the engine broke down abruptly and immediately cars behind us started sounding loud horns to get us moving. The driver tried turning on the ignition again and again, but the car just won’t start. This was when I got really jumpy and asked the driver if he has the situation under control “I’m doing my best kid” was what he replied with although clearly he wasn’t. In a bold and desperate action I took 5 dollars, dropped it onto the cushioned seat, opened the door and just walked my way through the ongoing traffic. As I finally reach the pavement I kid you not my phone starts ringing and as I checked to see, it was a call from the firm I was currently and intern in. I answered the call politely saying “Hello? This is Ryan, how may I help you?” the person who answered was the secretary and her reply was about the most frustrating thing I experienced that day, the taxi cab breaking down was nowhere near what I felt about what she said next. “Hi Ryan, we’re so sorry to inform you but unfortunately due to budget cuts in our firm, we can’t hire any new employees as of now, we hope you understand. If it’s any consolation, we are allowing you to keep the company phone as a reimbursement for all you spent in the internship training. Thank you and have a good day!” There were many reasons for me to feel frustrated and angry at the call because for one, I spent 6 days in that firm being an unpaid assistant doing errands for the workers who didn’t even bother to look at me in the eye when they were ordering me to do their dirty work. Another reason was that I had already spent about 200 dollars buying them coffees and snacks all of which remains unpaid because they told me they’d repay me when I finally join them when I land the job. The useless company phone was so old and obsolete that I wager it isn’t even worth more than 30 dollars. This was the moment that I wanted to scream and shout to the heavens to let out all of my steam, but that moment, I knew doing such a thing would be awkward and a little bit stupid considering I was in the middle of the walkway people walking by me not even having a care in the world for what I was doing standing still in the middle of the path. After this, I clenched my fists then resolved to just calm myself through a cup of coffee and maybe a jelly topped bagel at the pastry shop across the street. I waited by the street light post for the light to turn green so that I could walk safely towards the pastry shop. Feeling gloomy and irritated, I start to look around to pass the time and this was the moment I saw her. She had beautiful fiery hair that ran to her shoulders and freckles around her cute little nose, she was so pretty. And the most awkward thing about this incident was that she was standing next to me, in quilted jacket looking at her phone with the most magnificent smile I had ever seen right on her pale face. This immediately took my mind of off what had just happened to me and my internship. I admired her for some time and it was so long I think she noticed because I saw her flinch a little. Immediately I looked the other direction to poorly cover up the fact that I was looking at her for about a minute. After some time I looked ahead to see if the lights went green and they hadn’t, that time when the lights were still red were the longest minutes of my life because even though I admired and practically already had a crush on the girl standing next to me, I wanted to get away from the awkwardness, for me at least, and uneasiness because I don’t do well with girls, especially pretty ones, keeping what I just said in mind, the next thing to happen nearly gave me a heart attack. Still looking at the lights, she suddenly raised her head, also looked forward to check the lights and said the following words without looking at me “If you’re gonna stare at me all day at least do it after you buy me a cup of joe and maybe a bite over there at that pastry shop”. It took me sometime to realize what had just happened, I didn’t even think of the big coincidence that we both had our eyes set upon the small family owned pastry shop down the road. I panicked a little bit inside and slowly turned my eyes, without moving my head so it doesn’t seem obvious, to the left then to the right to check if anyone else was there to see if she was actually talking to me. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” I looked at her in with wide panicked stricken eyes, a sweaty nose and softly asked “A-a-are y-y-you t-talking t-to me?” I swear it was the most embarrassing moment of my life, so far that is, and after some silence she chuckled softly “Dummy, do you see anyone else here with us? Much less anyone who’s staring at me in what could be the most obvious way to look at someone?” I didn’t know what to say so I simply smiled in the worst way possible, it was a half-smile with the right side of my mouth curled up, and the left side only opening a small bit. She laughed in what I can only say is the sweetest laugh imaginable and finally looked at me in the eyes “The light’s green prince charming, now are you gonna buy me a drink or not?” silence followed, my palms became sweaty and in what seemed like a surge of courage inside me I managed to say “Sure” in a voice that wasn’t sheepish at all. She smiled once more the nodded her head left to signal me that we should probably walk now, because we might end up waiting at another red light. After that conundrum, I thought to myself, what is the worst that could happen? I swear, that time, crossing the road was like walking on the tiniest tight rope if it was attached between the tips of two large mountains. My heart was pumping so fast that it probably could have won a tap dancing competition. In short, I was really nervous because one wrong move in that pastry shop and I could end all of my chances with the beautiful girl next to me, if there was any chance to begin with. Speaking of which, I tried ever so slightly to look at her in a non-creepy way to see how she was reacting to everything. Strange enough she was clam and composed, like she had done this thousands of times before. Maybe she just has really good people skills, maybe she just scams people into buying her free stuff because she’s pretty, maybe she’s secretly an assassin that was sent to kill me and the pastry shop was the perfect crime scene. All these ideas were bursting in my head and at that points I didn’t actually know what to do. I was so distraught with everything and my mind felt like it was elsewhere. Suddenly, I bumped hard against the glass pane of the pastry shop and it didn’t occur to me that we finally crossed the road and got to the shop, well I got to the shop at least. She was laughing behind me in the same intoxicating laugh as before. As reality got back to me, my face blushed bright red with embarrassment as I finally grasped the situation. I looked back and she was still laughing, so much so that it seemed like she was about to cry. I quickly looked down and shrugged my shoulders up then slowly entered the shop. As I went in, my face blushed even more as I look around and everybody was just staring at me, they saw what had just happened. I walked to the counter and she finally stopped laughing and went in the shop. I ordered an ice mocha latte and a bagel with jam on top, she put her hands on my shoulders and told me she wanted a Macha infused Cappuccino and a large blueberry muffin. I ordered that too and we sat down on the nearest table. I haven’t actually hung out with a girl before, I was the type of person to just sit in my room curled up on my couch eating ice cream watching cartoons for God knows how long every day, this was a totally new experience for me. “So… what’s your name?” she suddenly asked “G-graves, Ryan Graves” I replied quickly and softly only later finding out that I messed up saying my name right “Oh, so we’re introducing ourselves James Bond style eh? Well I’m…” then suddenly the waitress placed our orders on the table and she gave a quick smirk before meeting me with a big smile. “Well I guess that’s a topic for another time, anyway thank you so much!” She said “Normally, people don’t respond to me asking them to buy me a drink on the account that I caught them staring at me. So far you’ve been the only one to humor me with my request”. Thinking of a reply I took a bite of off my bagel then mumbled a few sounds making as if I was replying she asked “I’m sorry what?” while chuckling. I took this as a chance to chew my food slowly and thought of a reply. Finally swallowing the bite of bagel I answered “Well, I guess I’m just a nice person”. She smiled once more before proceeding to take a big bite of her muffin. After that moment, awkwardness seemed to kick in and at that moment I knew it was so strong that even she felt awkward. In a desperate attempt at ending the awkward silence I ironically said “I’m sorry. But I’m not really good with conversation… and social convention… and pretty much everything that has to do with other people” before proceeding to take a sip of my latte “I know, the moment I noticed you staring at me, I knew you’d be an awkward one” she said. This line almost lead me to spit out my coffee on my freshly laundered clothes. “Woah, cool down dude, it wasn’t in anyway an insult”. Thinking of a reply again I once more took a bite of my bagel, but this time she spoke up, “So why are you dressed like that? I mean it’s not like local pastry shops have a dress code or something…” with a sigh I told her “I was working as an unpaid intern at James and Barnes’ law firm five blocks down town just past the train station” “And what happened?” she said with a concerned look on her face somehow noticing I was distressed when I answered her question. “Well, actually, before we sort of “met” by the street light post, the taxi I was riding broke down and then I received a message from the firm secretary telling me they weren’t accepting new employees anymore”. With a sort of sadness on her face which I couldn’t distinguish neither true nor fake she replied “Oh my God! I’m so sorry”. I gave a small nod then looked down to my food before finally finishing my bagel. “Well, it’s probably about time I get going, thanks for the snack hot shot!” as she proceeded to do a small salute goodbye over her right eyebrow. I don’t know how I managed to do the following things I was about to do but I did and I’m proud of myself for doing them. Before she reached the door handle of the shop, I grabbed her wrist, she looked at me confused not knowing what was happening and then I asked her “Can I have your number?” It took some time for her to process what had just happened and she once again smiled, this time was the prettiest one though. She red hair glimmered in from the light shone through the glass panel of the store front. The light also shone on her face, exposing her cute little freckles on her nose and cheeks which looked like scattered stars in the night sky. It was also just this moment when I noticed she had heterochromia. In the magnificent lighting, her left eye was deep blue and her right eye was a brilliant emerald green. I couldn’t believe at what I was looking at, she was more than just pretty, she was gorgeous. She then took my hand, which was holding her wrist, took out the ball pen neatly hooked on my breast pocket then wrote something down on my arm all while saying “Never thought you’d ask”. After all of this she did the same small salute then finally walked out the door. Unsurprisingly I was looking at her up until the moment she walked out of sight outside. I then looked over to my arm and felt so much joy inside me I felt like I could shout inside the pastry shop with all the people inside. And I did, for a while, everybody looked at me wondering what on earth could possibly be the reason for me screaming, well she did write her number and I was so happy that it made me appreciate the fact that the company left the cell phone to me as a sorry gift for wasting my time. It didn’t matter though, what mattered was that I had her number and I had a phone to contact her. I coughed after shouting and quickly finished my food, tipped the waiter a full 5 dollars then walked happily to my apartment, even though it was 12 blocks away. . It was about noon when I got home to my apartment, given the time I spent walking from the pastry shop. Once I finally got to my room, strangely not tired I decided to lie on the couch and watch some TV, exactly what I would do on a regular day after work. I stood up, changed to my home clothes and ordered Pizza, which thankfully arrived 3 minutes late making the whole box free. I thought to myself, “This day couldn’t possibly get any better”. After eating Pizza in front of the TV for about three hours. I decided that I would take a nap. Then suddenly remembered everything that happened with her earlier. I smiled then remembered she gave me her number. Quickly, I look to my right arm to see if it was still there, because stupidly I forgot to save it. Unfortunately it was smudged, but I did my best to recognize the digits whilst creating a contact on my phone, of which there were only two contacts, the frim desk landline and her. I thought of something to text her but nothing would just come to my head. And there I spent hours pondering on what to message her when I finally resolved that I should tell her this “Hello, I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name earlier. This is Ryan Graves from the pastry shop. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up tomorrow at the same pastry shop maybe around the same time? I really like hanging out with you and maybe we could be friends?” I sent the message at about 4:00 pm then decided that I had nothing better to do at that time so I went to my bedroom then waited for the reply. A few hours have passed and still no reply, different ideas once again surged through my mind, what if I noted down the wrong number? What if she thinks I’m a creep? What if she was an assassin and is just patiently waiting to take me out with a sniper rifle? These ideas sort of lowered my hopes of me ever getting a chance with her, or at least being friends with her, but I hadn’t given up yet. I was determined to wait until the message arrives. Finally, after hours upon hours of waiting, I finally got the message and the number wasn’t wrong, it really was from her. It was about 3:00 in the morning and the stupid phone wouldn’t show the full length of messages, only until 15 words so all I got to see were these words on the message head; “Hi! I’m so sorry for the late reply, I’ve been giving it some thought and…” I stopped for a bit and hesitated to even open the message because I was afraid that she rejected me and thought that I was weird. I thought that she might have just given me her number to get away from me as soon as possible and that all of it was just a con to get free food. I finally got the courage to open the message and I was shocked at was I read. “Hi! I’m so sorry for the late reply, I’ve been giving it some thought and sure why not? You seemed like a great and fun person to hang out with. My only condition though is that you buy me food again. Hahaha Jk, but if you want to then be my guest. Besides you’re cute.Well… see you there ;) P.S The name is Smith, Jacquelyn Smith, but you can call me Jackie for short” I looked up from my screen, smiled then finally went and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. After all I have a big day tomorrow.


Under the moonlight of a waxing crescent, a little girl stood at a long abandoned train station, with a blue balloon in her hands. By all appearances, she was waiting for something or someone. I came across her just standing there and approached her carefully. "Hey," I said, "Where's your mom or dad?" She turned to look at me briefly. Her hazel eyes were slightly too big for her small face. "They'll be here any minute." I noticed that she had been looking at the tracks, as if she was expecting a train to come through any second. I sincerely hoped that that wasn't the case. The train hadn't run through this station in decades. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at me. It took me a second for me to realize she was pointing at the camera around my neck. I'd gotten so used to it being there that half the time I don't even realize I have it. "Oh. This is my camera." "You like to take pictures?" she asked me. "I do," I said. "In fact, is it all right if I take your picture right now?" I figured that it would be best to have picture of her just in case she ran off or something. Then I could give it to the police in case she was a missing or runaway child. She nodded her head. I lifted up the camera and snapped a picture. She barely blinked at the intense flashing of the camera. She didn't smile or even attempt to make a funny face. She kept her same stoic facial expression. "Can I see it?" she asked. "Sorry," I said. "This isn't a digital camera. It uses film. I won't know what the photos look like until I get the film developed." I couldn't tell if her next facial expression was one of disappointment or confusion, but it was one of those two. Regardless she pressed the matter no further. I tried to find a way to make small talk so as for there to not be an awkward silence. And while I didn't feel right leaving this little girl all by herself, I also knew better than to ask her if I could stay with her until her parents arrived. So, I said, "You know, that's a really cute balloon." The little girl looked up at it. "Yes, it is," was all she said. "Where'd you get it?" "The grocery store." "You like balloons?" She shrugged. "Not really. They're alright." I tried not to let the bafflement show on my face. "Then why are you holding the balloon?" "Because my parents told me that was how they would find me. They told me that as long as I was holding a blue balloon, that they would be able to find me so that I could go home with them." I frowned. This was very strange. What kind of a parent would tell their kid to wait in an abandoned train station this late at night, and told them that they'd find her simply because she was holding a blue balloon? Something wasn't sitting right with me about this at all. I surreptitiously reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I knew that this was probably the time to get the police involved, but I also didn't want to scare the girl. So, I turned my back ever so slightly to her, so that she couldn't see, and I was about to phone the police when I noticed that there was no signal. Which wasn't a surprise considering we were quite far outside the city limits. I turned back towards her, planning on telling her that I would be right back and needed to make an important private call, but when I did, the little girl, and the balloon had vanished completely. My first thought was panic, but then the realization fully hit me. I had only turned my back on her for two or three seconds. How on Earth had she managed to disappear so quickly without making a lick of noise? I rubbed my eyes vigorously, wondering if what I had just seen was some kind of vivid hallucination. I fruitlessly searched the nearby area for about 10 minutes without finding a single, solitary trace that the girl had ever been there. I immediately headed back and had the film developed that night. To my surprise, the one I had taken of the little girl had come out beautifully. I couldn't tell you if I was relieved at this, or if I was even more shaken up. I took the photos down to the station and explained my story. They were skeptical, not surprisingly, but I did give them the photos they asked for. They told me thanks and that they'd contact me if there were any developments. The only call I got from the police was them calling and asking a few days later if I wanted my photos back. I said that I did. When I asked them where they were in finding out what had happened, they simply said they were still looking. I haven't heard back from them since. This incident happened several months ago. I periodically checked the Internet to see if there were any developments in the story, but none ever did. In fact, the story didn't seem to gain any significant traction at all. Nobody, at least not anyone credible, ever came forward with the little girl's identity, or claiming to be the girl's family, or even another sighting. Eventually, I gave up looking. I had lost hope that I would ever find out who she was, what had happened to her parents, and what had happened to her. It was only when I was flipping through those photos on a whim a few days ago that I noticed something different. On one photo that I had taken a few minutes before my encounter with the little girl, I realized that in the photo, you could see a section of the train track far in the distance. Only I just now noticed that there appeared to be a shadow of what looked like a train sitting atop the track. I turned to the very next photo taken about 15 seconds later of the same angle. The shadowy outline of a train was not as easily distinguishable this time, due to the photo quality not being as great, but I could still make it out. Only this time, the train was not in the same spot as it had been in the previous photo. The train had moved forward.


She was beautiful, like Aphrodite upon the earth; where she walked she inspired awe. The Myths say she changed for everyone, to look like their one true love. I always hoped I saw her for who she was, though I never asked. I never asked if her hair truly glittered like that, in rings of bronze like they were crafted by a smith, if only to grace her head and fall upon her back like a waterfall in the sunrise. I never asked if her eyes shone like serpentine, precious stones grown from the Earth. Her skin was as smooth as the water of the lake where I grew up and where I had been baptized. That me was dead and long forgotten. Perhaps she was my messiah. Her gaze was that of a prophet, she searched for your meaning when her eyes met yours as if she was reading a book left unattended. As she searched you couldn’t help but feel breathless, a goddess that was giving you her full attention demanded yours. I couldn’t help but feel, if only for an instant, that she really could see me, like none ever had. Her gaze was sharp and deciphering, but her smile was home. Her smile was ease, the warmth of a hearth on a chilly summer night, the light of the sun after a long winter. From her lips came her voice, smooth and sweet like milk and honey, and I had found my promised land. I had been lead to salvation by her glow, her burning light, and I was a new woman, bathed in the flames of her love and reborn from the ashes of the woman I once was. Our love was a fire, while it lasted. The burning of soft touches and kisses goodbye, like a wonderful sunburn; warm and perpetual. Her voice floated over me like a summer breeze, and I couldn’t help but bask in her gentle timber. She told me things, wonderful things. Visions of a world beyond and times past. The stories were never ending, and she told them wonderfully. I couldn’t help but listen to every word. She loved me, she said. She never wanted to leave. She never wanted to leave. No one is perfect, as I soon came to learn. Through her deific façade, one could see the cracks formed under the pressure. She was Atlas, the sky upon her shoulders, but she couldn’t admit her struggle and allow for defeat. Whilst she carried her burden, she smiled and laughed as if nothing was wrong, she was not holding the sky from crushing the Earth. I only learned too late of her battle against the stars, and I wished I had known the extent sooner. The cracks had spread out across everything. I was appalled that I hadn’t noticed the signs sooner, her back breaking under the pressure and the sweat falling along her brow. She had once been my savior, guiding me out of the darkness. For that moment I was hers. The roof was cold and windy, lights from surrounding buildings sparkling like a cold reflection of the stars. The light rain that had fallen throughout the day caused the air to have a biting, wet kind of cold that seeps into your very bones and chills like no other. Ambient sounds, the cars below us and the pattering of water all around, were quieted in the deafening silence. She stood there like a ghost, pale and hollow and nothing like the woman I once knew. Once I knew her as my goddess, my savior, my reckoning. I stood before her with a benediction on my lips. All in an instant, I stood there, once again godless and alone.


She was following me. She appeared when I was 12. Sitting on walls, hiding behind my friends, up high in trees or under my bed as I tried to sleep. She was never in my direct line of sight, always barely visible, mostly a shadow in the corner of my eye. She spoke a lot. Whispering her secrets into the air like she knew best. When I was younger I couldn’t hear what she was saying, it was just unintelligible mumbling. Her posture was hunched, her hair dark and long, covering her eyes and she always wore the same ratty dark clothes. She started speaking up more as I got older, or maybe I started listening more closely. She gave me harsh advice, telling me nobody will like me if I don’t listen to her. That everyone thought I was ugly and stupid and only she could fix that. That I’m worthless without her help. She got more aggressive as time passed. Punishing me harshly when I didn’t do things exactly to her liking. I had to be outgoing, kind, helpful, handsome and funny. Perfect. When things weren’t to her standards she would mock me, claw at my back and take my appetite until the pain from hunger made me cry. She made me cower in fear when she was angry at me, I did everything to avoid that. Her words weakened my heart, her wounds my body. I got used to this though. I relied on her, she knew best after all. When she was proud of me I felt like I was on top of the world. So when her demands became more egregious I complied. It started small at first, telling me that my friends weren’t trustworthy. She’d take every minor misdemeanour on their part and twist it into proof that they weren’t on my side until I eventually stopped talking to them altogether. It didn’t matter though, I had her to keep me safe from the treacherous world. Next she told me, that she was tired of punishing me. That I had learned so much from her and I should know what actions deserved punishment and do it myself. Instead she just mocked me, calling me fat while I starved and ugly as I dyed my hair black. Eventually the praise stopped completely. She started getting pushy, restless. She kept telling me I had to leave soon, yet refused to tell me where I was going to go. I prepared by packing my things in suitcases but she just called me stupid. Where I was going I apparently wouldn’t need my things. I was scared. I didn’t want to leave my home behind, until I realised that she was my home. I had already abandoned everything else. I told her I was ready to leave and that was when I first saw her whole face. She had bags under her eyes, her hair was greasy and rope like, her eyes were foggy and dull. Yet still she had the biggest smile I had ever seen on her face. Before I could ask her where we were going, she pulled me into a tight hug and the only thing that followed was black. After what felt like an eternity I felt her let go and she was gone. I was stood alone on a playground, completely disoriented and confused. I felt something pull my vision to the left until I saw him. He was about 12, blonde and had a lively grin on his face. I decided to follow him, although I didn’t know why at the time. I kept my distance, sitting on walls, hiding behind his friends or sitting on trees. I always stayed out of his line of sight, just visible in the corner of his eye. A/N: Hey, this is the first short story I've written, I hope you like it. I'd love to hear critique or thoughts on this.


“Oh shit,” Chris said as he looked in the mirror, stroking his upper lip. “What’s the matter?” said Ralph, the optician. “I just missed a spot shaving this morning. Right above my upper lip. I didn’t notice this morning, but it’s grown out now. I look like Hitler! I gotta stop shaving in the shower without a mirror. Look at this!” Chris stepped out of the bathroom and pointed to his upper lip. Ralph chuckled. “Yeah, you do look like Hitler,” Ralph said. “Do you have a razor I could borrow?” “No, but even if I did, I wouldn’t let you borrow it, that’s disgusting.” “What’s disgusting about sharing a razor? I’d clean it off!” Chris said as he held his hands up in disbelief. “I dunno,” said Ralph, turning back to his computer. “You might get blood on it.” “So? I’ll rinse it off. I obviously wouldn’t give you back a bloody razor. Who the hell does that?” “I dunno, it’s just gross,” said Ralph looking back at Chris. “Besides, I don’t have a razor, and you only have one more patient left for the day anyway. You’ll survive.” Chris rubbed his finger over his upper lip and felt the long stubble. Debra, the tech came around the corner. “Dr. Gottlieb, your last patient is ready. She’s such a sweet old lady, you’re gonna love her!” When Chris turned around, Debra recoiled and contorted her face in disgust. “Oh God!” she said. “What did you do? Why did you grow a Hitler stache?” “I didn’t mean to!” Chris said. “I just missed a spot shaving, and I didn’t notice until now that my hair is growing in this late in the day, it looks like a push broom mustache.” “You mean, a Hitler stache?” said Debra. “Or a Charlie Chaplin!” said Chris, raising his hands in the air. “This was a popular style before Hitler went and ruined it.” “It’s a Hitler stache, Doc,” Debra said, pursing her lips. She pivoted and went back to the front desk. Chris turned to Ralph. “What am I gonna do?” he said, his voice rising and tightening with anxiety. “Get going and see that patient,” said Ralph flatly. “She’s probably like 90 years old and I want to go home. She probably won’t notice anyway.” Chris grumbled and looked back in the mirror. “I mean, I guess it’s not that prominent, you have to have an imagination to see how it.” “Yeah, sure,” said Ralph, his nose in his computer scrolling Facebook. Chris flattened his white coat and took a deep breath and walked to the door of the exam room. He knocked gently before he entered. “Come in!” said a cheerful German accented voice from beyond the door. He walked into the room, trying to keep his finger covering his upper lip as if he was rubbing his nose. He looked down at her chart and saw her name. “Hello Mrs. Eichelman, I’m Dr. Gottlieb, it’s very nice to meet you.” Extending his right hand, he kept his left hand over his upper lip. She didn’t shake his hand, he thought maybe she was offended, maybe she caught a glimpse of the mustache. “Oh, Dr. Gottlieb, that’s a nice German name!” she said in a pleasant voice. “I wish I could see you, but I can’t see anything without my glasses.” Chris breathed a sigh of relief, she wouldn’t be able to see his face, nor his “mustache.” He could get through this without offending her. He put his hand down and looked at her file. “Yes, my grandfather was from Germany,” said Chris. He wanted to get off the German topic as quickly as he could. He knew his Grandfather’s past in Germany was suspect to say the least. “Oh, that’s wunderbar! Sprechen sie Deutsch?” “Ein bisschen.” Mrs. Eichelman laughed. “I mostly spoke Yiddish growing up, even my German isn’t all the great even though that’s where I was born. But your accent is spectacular!” Doing the math in his head and knowing her country of origin, Chris knew wanted to get off the subject. He liked this woman and she seemed very sweet, and likely, since she was older, didn’t get out much or have anyone to talk to. Chris had a soft spot for these types of people, the elderly who had very little family or friends, going to the optometrist was the highlight of their week and he wanted to make sure she felt welcome and could speak as much as she wanted. But not about this, not about his German heritage. “Danke schoen,” Chris said quickly. He looked through her chart. “Let’s see...you look to be in good health...a little hypertension…” “Oy, yanno, I try to keep it under control, but I’m worried about what’s happening in this country these days. It seems like the Nazis are coming back, I thought we were done with them! I was very scared to see those young boys marching with the torches.” Chris swallowed hard. “If I saw another Nazi,” she said and her voice got low and serious, “I would slit their throat because that’s what they deserve.” He laughed nervously. “Oh, I agree, it’s terrible…” said Chris. “Let’s check your vision.” Before Mrs. Eichelman had a chance to say another word, Chris put the phoropter in front of her eyes and adjusted it so that it sat comfortably on her nose. “Is that comfortable for you?” Chris asked. “I can’t see anything still,” she replied. “That’s because I haven’t put your prescription in there yet,” said Chris. “I see the big E!” she said, laughing. “I just want to make sure it’s not pinching you or pressing on you uncomfortably,” said Chris. “E. I can see that, but it’s fuzzy.” Chris rolled his eyes and entered in the prescription from the autorefraction into the phoropter. “Oh, that’s good. E,” said Mrs. Eichelman. Chris said nothing. He kept turning the knobs until it reflected her autorefraction prescription she had on her page. “E,” she said again. “That’s very clear.” Chris changed the chart on the screen to a much smaller line. “That’s too small, make it bigger please,” said Mrs. Eichelman. “I liked the big E, I could see that.” Chris grumbled under his breath and turned up the next largest line. “That’s fuzzy,” she said. “Bring back the big E, I could see that one!” “Well, I have to give you somewhat of a challenge to make sure you can see well. Can you read the letters there?” Chris asked. “H...V...O...T...Z…” she said, carefully and tentatively. “Great! Perfect!” said Chris. Then he clicked to the next lens. “Is that better or worse?” “H...V...O--” she began. Chris cut her off. “No, you don’t have to read the letters again. Just tell me if it’s clearer. Here.” He flipped back to the old lens. “This is one…” and then he flipped back to the other lens again, “this is two...which do you prefer? Which on is clearer?” “H...V...O…” she began. He blocked off that eye and switched to the other, huffing as he did. He changed the letters on the screen. “What happened? I can’t see out of my right eye,” said Mrs. Eichelman. “I switched to the left. Can you read those letters?” “I think two is better,” she said. Chris hung his head. “No, Mrs. Eichelman, I changed the letters on the screen, can you read them?” “Can you show me one again?” she asked. He took the phoropter away, he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Is that it?” she asked, squinting at him. He grabbed the clunky trial frames, rooted around his case of loose lenses. “I’m just going to see if you can see better with the new prescription,” he said, fiddling with the lens case and trial lenses. “Will I have my new glasses by the time I have to go to Temple tonight? I have a hard time seeing the Rabbi from my seat,” she asked. Her voice was so sweet and innocent, he couldn’t be annoyed with her for very long. “No,” he said, “Unfortunately, it takes a week for the glasses to be made, but you’ll have them by the next Sabbath.” “Oh, you know about Shabbat, are you Jewish too?” “No ma’am,” he said. “Oh that’s too bad, because you seem like a very nice young man. You’d be perfect for my granddaughter.” “Oh, that’s nice of you to say, Mrs. Eichelman, but I’m happily married,” Chris said as he held up his ring hand. She squinted and strained to see it. “Oh, well you’ll see it better, once I get these glasses on,” Chris said and placed the trial frames over her eyes. “Oh, these are heavy,” she said and lifted the frames off her nose. “But I can see again!” She smiled looking around the room at everything she could now see. Then she focused on Chris’s face and her smile dropped to a scowl. The skin on her cheeks turned red with fury. “Nazi!” she yelled and hit him with her purse. “What?” Chris said in confusion. Then he touched his upper lip. Mrs. Eichelman stormed out of the room as fast as her body would allow her muttering angrily in Yiddish. He chased after her. “No! I just missed a spot shaving! Mrs. Eichelman!” he yelled and ran toward the front to explain himself, but she was yelling to her daughter, who drove her to the appointment. Her daughter spotted him and pointed a finger in his face. “My mother didn’t escape to America just to deal with Nazis here. You monster!” said the daughter. She turned her mother around and guided her out the door, keeping her piercing glare on Chris’s face. “Let’s go, Mom.” Mrs. Eichelman turned and spat on the ground. “Burn in hell!” she yelled on her way out the door. Chris stood up front in disbelief as the patients picking out their glasses scowling at him. “I’m not a Nazi! I swear!” Chris pleaded. All the patients in the waiting room left, striking their angry eyes at Chris, muttering how terrible of a person he is and how they’ll never return. “You’ll be getting a bad review from me, Hitler!” cried one man. After the last patient had left the office. Debra looked at Ralph, who ran up from the lens lab to see the commotion, they both laughed.


(This was the result of an English test we had, where we had to write a short story that would make you "feel good". We had 2 hours, and this was the result) Damien was no ordinary boy, in fact, he was born on 29th of February, which means that even though he has lived a total of twelve summers, his birthday has only been celebrated three times. This has, quite frankly, made the life of Damien a living hell, whereas he is still forced to attend kindergarten. One day, when Damien was playing catch with his three-year-old “peers”, completely obliterating the other kids’ self-confidence by being such a beast of a three-year-old, he fell and badly hurt his forearm. Damien felt an intense pain he never had experienced before, equal to the level of agony Lenin had bestowed upon the people of the Soviet Union when he implemented Communism, leading to the starvation and suffering of millions. Damien rolled around on the ground, clutching his right forearm with his left hand, moaning and wimping like the “three-year-old” he was. Now, the narrator of this story, which is me, was starting to feel very sorry about Damien for putting him in such a horrendous situation, so he decided to intervene and offer a lending hand, but also to further the plot of the story in an interesting way, breaking the fourth wall and keeping the reader on edge. *wink wink* As Damien was trying to rise from the ground, with all the power his gargantuan three-year-old body could muster up, barely resisting the immense temptation of crying, he saw a sudden opening in the clouds. A ray of light shined directly on him through the hole, suspiciously resembling a biblical scene. “Don’t cry Damien, my little child. I have solution for removing your pain.” Damien looked around, confused, trying to see if anyone else had heard the deep, manly, and incredibly sexy voice that had just spoken to him. “Hush my child, don’t be afraid now, you’re the only one that can hear me. Listen closely and I will make sure your pain will be relieved.” Damien looked up toward the opening in the cloud with an intense decisiveness to follow the hypnotic narrators command. “Now, that’s more like it! Alright little thing, you see that building over there, behind the fence of the kindergarten? I wish for you to jump the fence, run across the street, and enter the building. Inside will be a series of tests. If you can complete the tasks with perfection, you will be rewarded the legendary gel of pain-removal, the most precious healing artifact known to mankind, nay, alien-kind. It has a medical power tenfold more potent than the vibrating healing crystals of your present age hipster- culture. But be careful, for you must apply it on your forearm the moment you attain it, for all the worlds-, nay, universes medical conglomerates will start an offence against you, motivated by their immense greed for money.” Damien was determined to fulfil the task, but was understandably, slightly afraid of the consequences of doing so. He started to walk towards the fence of the kindergarten and jumped over it with incredible ease, for his body was already five feet tall, but the fence was made for children who had trouble defecating on their own. He walked across the street, each of his steps filled with incredible determination, completely disregarding the traffic of the busy city. Once he had reached the office building, he looked up in awe at the sheer height of it. You see, this was no ordinary building, it was a skyscraper, and a really fucking tall one for that matter. Damien entered the building, and following was a set of tasks, so mind-boggling, so intellectually demanding, so incredibly difficult, it would be completely impossible to retell as a story. In fact, the mere knowledge of it has ascended me, the narrator, to a level infinitely beyond human, and has practically made me a god. Well, it could also be because the writer of this story is closing in on his time limit, and can’t really finish it the way he originally desired… Anyway, after completing the tasks, Damien received his legendary gel of pain-removal, and quickly spread it on his forearm, instantly removing the pain that had been tormenting him during the profound and life-changing hardships he recently had experienced. Damien was filled with an immense amount of joy, for all his problems were now solved, and a feeling of relief washed over him. This made the reader of the story, you, vindictively feel good. The end.