Charlie sat on the annoyingly uncomfortable fancy sofa, failing to loosen his tie. “Carter, do you know why my mother drags me around to all of these gatherings?” He leaned his head back onto the couch and turned to look at Carter, his hired bodyguard, who was standing against the wall of the right side of the couch, keeping Charlie and the nearest door in his line of view the way he always did. “Still following the rules, huh? Y’know, I’m sure you’re a lovely, hilarious, person underneath all that brooding.” He paused, but Carter just blinked at him. “Why is that a rule, anyway? I mean, my mother is paying you to keep us safe, in my opinion she just needed someone else to babysit her untrustable son, but anyway, I basically just annoy you all day, so why don’t you get to annoy me? You should at least be allowed to tell me to shut up sometimes.”

Carter did start to laugh at that, and Charlie got excited because he looked like he was finally going to break that rule and say something to him. “My goodness that took forever. So sorry to keep you waiting, boys.” His mother, the Lacy Charis, announced as she burst into the room.

The tall woman paused in front of a mirror behind the couch to straighten her hair, and as Charlie stood up he muttered one more thing to his friendly body guard, “I am going to get you to talk one of these days. When do you think it’ll happen?”

 Carter just smiled back at him, “Shall we?” his mother called.

Charlie hid his disappointment well, but not before letting out another defeated sigh. He stood up and walked around the couch to his mother’s side, failing to swat her hands away as she tried to fix his tie. Then, finally, she took his arm and they glided out the door together. Lacy never seemed to walk, she simply glided across the floor, letting her dress or skirt flit around her ankles like leaves in a gentle summer breeze. Carter walked behind them with his boss, Mr. Hartmann, silently watching the pair complain about the obligatory fancy luncheon they were hosting.

Mr. Hartmann

jabbed at him with an elbow. Focus! His eyes seemed to scream.

The event wasn’t meant to be a big spectacle, simply a meeting of friends and investors, but there were too many significant people present for it to not be a public spectacle. There were cameras and reporters clogging the driveways, attempting to force their way through the crowds and police keeping them at bay. Carter kept his distance as he followed Charlie around the room, but as soon as he noticed the silhouette in the window he was sprinting to his side. Carter got to Charlie not a second too soon, as the boy began to turn to see what the problem was, the window where the silhouette was moments before was shattered, and debris flew inside like it had been shot from a gun.

Carter pulled Charlie out of immediate danger, dragging him away from the fray before the initial screams had stopped. It didn’t take long for Charlie to follow without question, he knew it would be better for everyone if he did. As they rushed down the hallway, another explosion rang out, knocking them both to the ground. Carter recovered first, being used to similar situations, and carefully pulled Charlie with him in a swift change of direction. Instead of heading towards the “panic room,” or as Charlie liked to refer to it, the “oh shit room,” they darted for the garage.

They avoided another explosion father down the hallway in a section they would have run through, and once they got to the garage Carter flung open the door to the least flashy and conspicuous vehicle in sight. He didn’t check for keys, and instead hot wired the car then and there. Charlie silently watched from the passenger seat, processing each of the events from moments ago, and the one currently happening. It wasn’t until Carter started driving that either one of them spoke.

“What… the… FUCK!” Charlie exclaimed, turning his head on Carter, who drove away from the mansion like it was his job, “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

The car is what he’s freaking out about? Dammit Charlie, someone just tried to blow you up! Repeatedly! Carter thought, “I can hot wire more than a car.” Was all he replied with for the time being. Charlie blinked in shock again, Carter’s voice was definitely not what he was expecting. He wasn’t what Charlie was expecting. It’s… kinda hot. He thought, looking straight out the windshield. “Not gonna ask about what just happened?” Carter cautiously asked, glancing at his passenger a few times.

Charlie shook his head, “If you knew you would have let me get blown up.”

Carter’s brow furrowed, “Well… not necessarily...” Charlie stared at him with a deadpan expression and Carter turned back to the road, pursing his lips.

If I do tell him... Once they were a few miles away from the mansion and it was confirmed that they weren’t being followed, Carter let himself not drive like a crackhead. Charlie had leaned his seat back slightly and appeared to be trying to get some sleep. Smart. Carter thought. He drove them into the next town over, parking in the driveway of a small diner.

“In the mood for lunch?” He asked.

Charlie shrugged, “I could use some food.” He was getting his usual playful air back, but there was definitely more intensity his reactions to everything, as if he were analyzing everything that everyone did.

Before they got out of the car looking too disheveled and recognizable as out-of-place, they took of their ties and sport coats, leaving them in the backseat and unbuttoning the top few buttons of their shirts at an attempt to look more natural. With an exchanged nod they got out of the car and walked inside, seating themselves in a small, two-person, booth.

“So. What’s the plan?” Charlie asked calmly, picking up his menu a few inches off the table.

Carter watched him for a second before responding, “Well we don’t really know what that whole ordeal was about, so I figured we could head to my buddy Nick's house. It’ll be safer to try and contact your mother from there, and no one will know where we’re going, so we can lay low for a little while if we have to.”

Charlie nodded, “Sounds good.”

“Hello, what can I get for you today?” the waitress politely asked when she walked up.

“Small stack of pancakes and a glass of water, please.” Charlie smiled, handing her his menu.

Carter did the same, and when the waitress walked away he began speaking again, “Charlie, there is something else you should know if you’re going to blindly trust me again.”

“I’m not blindly trusting you,” Charlie replied, “but go on.”

He swallowed, “I can manipulate certain forms of natural matter.” A moment of awkward silence passed, “There are others who can, too, and I’m pretty sure one or more of them just tried to kill one or both of us.”

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay… why do you say that? And can you give an example, or something?”

Carter wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not, “Uh, yeah sure.” He focused on his water glass, forcing warmth into the liquid it and causing it to steam. Then he drew the heat back out and let the glass condense.

“Oh,” Charlie sat back, any and all of his doubts diminished, replaced with a large variety of other questions.

Carter offered a weak smile, “I think it might be part of the reason you - we - were attacked. It’s kind of like an underground society that’s at war with itself. Those of us that know each other either get along or don’t, and sometimes conflicts arise.”

“But?”

“But I’ve never heard of anything quite like this before. It’s too risky, if someone discovers one of us then we’re all damned, and attacking with that many cameras around, on top of all the people who were there? I don’t know, something just seems off.” Carter responded.

It made sense. There was no fire or gas or anything like that during the explosions, it was more like the debris was being expelled from its initial place by sheer force, which, Charlie realized, it was. “How long has this been a secret?” He asked.

Carter looked nervous to respond to the question, “I don’t really know. I’m 26, and the oldest person I know with the ability is 40-something I think, so I guess at least 40 years.”

“Uh-huh, and, um, what exactly is it that you and these other people can do?”

“Oh, it’s actually pretty simple. We can control different natural elements on a molecular level. The most useful and therefore dangerous is earth, plants and shit, because you can use basic iron ore molecules to pick just about any important lock.” he explained, “The fire element is a little more complicated. Rather than being able to manipulate molecules, we can alter the heat levels, temperatures, of most things, excluding most inanimate solids. It’s what I can do.”

Charlie nodded, then the waitress came back with their food and asked if they needed anything else with a very polite smile. Carter declined, watching Charlie’s body language as he thought about everything he had just been told. After all, it’s not every day your body guard comes out as a superhuman and reveals that you’re a potential target for other superhumans. Why did I tell him all of that? WHY DID I TELL HIM ALL OF THAT?! Carter thought, What happens if he decides I’m insane? How can I keep him safe then? Then it hit him, Oh no. I told him just about everything… they’ll want me to kill him!

“Well, now that that’s been cleared up. Tell me something about you.” Charlie said, trying to change the subject.

Carter narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “...Why?”

“Well, you already know just about everything about me from following me around for two years. And you’re allowed to talk to me now.” Charlie replied. Carter blinked, “Maybe start with your first name, Mr. Logan .” Charlie tried, leaning forward playfully.

He smiled, “Carter.”

Charlie smiled back, God I love his smile. “Carter Logan? Huh, well Carter, tell me about yourself. Likes, dislikes, family. Anything.”

His smile fell, “Ah, well, I was stuck in the system until I was 15, so there’s not much to say for family.” Charlie cringed, “Um… what else do you want to know?”

“High school?”

“_ public school for almost two years.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, when I was almost 16 I may or may not have gone to juvy.”

Charlie nodded once, raising both of his eyebrows, “ Oh. ”

“I didn’t do anything bad, just pissed someone off enough to throw a punch, then pleaded guilty in court so I wouldn’t have to go back to another foster home.”

Charlie nodded again, “That’s justified.” The next few minutes passed in intense awkward silence, until the bell at the door dinged as someone walked in. It was a relatively tall man wearing jeans and a flannel t-shirt. He had a small symbolic tattoo on the side his neck, just under the jaw line.

“Shit.” Carter mumbled, “Keep your head down and don’t say anything.” He instructed. Charlie did as he was told, listening to the TV that the waitress turned up as the man walked by.

“And now we will hear from Mr. Hartmann, the head of security at the Charis Luncheon.” The news reporter said, looking to the side while the cameras switched.

“Thank you. Unfortunately, we were not able to defend against this attack because it was caused by several large external explosives. The only currently disclosable information we can offer is a casualty count. There has been 2 deaths and several injuries. The deaths include one of my employees, Carter Logan,” a photo of Carter was then displayed on screen next to Mr. Hartmann.

“Welp, time to go.” Carter said, leaving a twenty on the table and beginning to stand up. Charlie followed suit, still carefully listening to the TV.

“-died on duty and for that we are ever in his debt. Despite this loss Charles has disappeared from the scene, and our best assumption is that he was kidnapped by the unidentified attackers. The second death-” The door bell chimed as they rushed out.

“So you’re dead now and I’m-”

“Shit, shit, shit! Get in the car!” Carter interrupted him.

Charlie jogged to the driver side with a mischievous smirk, yelling back when Carter paused, stunned. “Well get in the car!”

There was barely time for Carter to close the door as they drove out of the parking lot. “Holy shit!” A black sedan followed them onto the street, picking up speed in an attempt to catch up with Charlie’s driving.

“I know I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me, but I thought you’d have a bigger vocabulary.”He smiled, breaking just about every rule about driving as he sped down the road. He drifted onto a sudden side street and vanished on another turn, “Did I lose him?”

“Uh,” Carter clutched the door handle as he looked over his shoulder and out the back window. “Yea, I don’t see anyone. You can slow down now.” He said anxiously, “I said you can slOW DOWN NOW THERE’S AN INTERSECTION RIGHT THERE!” Charlie smiled wider, dodging a turning car in an intersection and laughing at the chorus of horns that followed. “I said you can slow down! We lost him!”

“What are you talking about? She’s right there!” Charlie took a hand off the steering wheel to gesture at a woman with long black hair pulling into a pony tail in the front of an SUV that had just drifted out of a side street and stopped facing them.

“SHIT!”

Time seemed to slow so that Carter could watch Charlie’s hands move, shifting gears repeatedly to cause a controlled spin-off that he used to drive backwards down the other lane. Still driving backwards, Charlie turned them onto a different side street and into a bank parking lot, turning of the SUV right next to an identical vehicle.

“Holy Shit!” Carter yelled again, still clutching the door with one hand and the center console with the other.

“You’ve said that already.”

“Y-you just… we’re like a mile away from the diner already!”

“Mhm.” Charlie nodded once, wondering if he should apologize for all the spinning.

Carter swallowed, prying his fingers off the center console. “Now I know why you’re not allowed to drive.” He let go of the door and looked back at Charlie, “Where did you learn to do that?”

His smile fell, “Had to get creative to get away from my dad when I was still in high school. Before he went to prison.” Carter winced, he hadn’t meant to bring that up. “Anyway, I’m sure that changes the plan, so where to now?”

“You’re right about having to change the plan, after that, especially, Nick won’t be home. We’ll have to go directly to the Nova.”

He replied.

“What’s the Nova?”Charlie questioned.

“Oh, it’s like a base, the location changes randomly every few days. Nick and I are a part of a coalition of sorts, the ‘leader’ is Lita Rogue. It’s a little sketchy, but the current location is the old middle school at the edge of the town.”

“Oh, okay. So my old school is now a secret base for illegal superhuman affairs.” Charlie chuckled.

“You’re freaking out less than I expected.” Carter commented, dragging out the ‘ou’ in ‘you.’

Charlie shrugged,“Meh, not exactly time to panic about it. Might as well just go with it.”

About half an hour later they pulled into the middle school back lot, parking next to a cherry red mustang. “Just saying, I could’ve gotten us here in less than 15 minutes.” Charlie teased, closing the car door.

Carter laughed a little as they walked to the door, “I was speeding the whole way here, and it terrifies me to imagine you driving all the way here.”

Charlie smiled at him again, holding the door open. The pair made their way to the old conference room, where a table and spinny office chairs were still set up. There was a thin boy with messy black hair sitting in one of the chairs facing away from the door. He was talking to a tall, thin woman with long silver hair in a braided bun on. She was standing on the other side of the room looking out the window. When she turned around she did a double take, “Carter!”

The boy spun around, “Dude, I thought you were dead!”

“Sure you did, and I thought you were the mayor.” Carter walked over to another chair and made himself comfortable. Charlie followed, unsure of whether or not to introduce himself. “Charlie, this is Lita Rogue and my friend Nick.”

“Yo,” Nick waved across the table with one hand.

“Hi.” Charlie smiled, “Wait, you call me Charlie?”

Carter shrugged, “In my head sometimes.”

Lita was amused, “You know, when you were stationed at the _ house I didn’t expect you to actually follow the ‘no talking to the client’ rule.”

“HAH!” Charlie pointed excessively at Carter who spun around in his chair.

Lita chuckled and Nick laughed, “All joking aside, we need to think. When and where do they think we’ll be?”

“Dunno, hard to get in their heads, but it won’t be easy for them to get into ours, either, especially after Charlie’s driving.” Carter answered his real boss.

Nick was about to add something before the door flew open, as if being pulled by the copper door knob. “They’re here.” He whispered dramatically, spinning a little and looking out the door.

Lita straightened up, walking over to the door with deadly silence. “Nick, go kill the power. Carter, Charlie is your responsibility. Keep him safe, try to see what their infantry looks like.”

“Got it.” Nick replied, standing up and darting out the door, relatively quiet for someone wearing denim jeans.

Carter stood up, nodding once as Lita walked out the door. Charlie got up too, following Carter out the door as quietly as he could. “Carter, wait.” He put a hand on the other’s arm.

“What is it Charlie? This isn’t exactly the best time.”

“Where are you planning to go?”

Carter’s eyes darted down the hallway once before looking back to Charlie, “I don’t know, main office?”

Charlie cringed, “Follow me, library.” He urged his new friend in the opposite direction. It was just down the hallway and to the left, and was one of the largest rooms in the building. Since the schools closing, it had been full of towering empty bookcases and had 2 common exits, not including the shortcut to the gymnasium.

Carter carefully closed the door behind them, but a perfectly timed bang sounded with it. Then the PA system pinged on with it, and a resounding voice came through the intercom. “Oh boys~” A woman’s voice said, tauntingly. “I know you’re here, I saw the car. Meet me in the auditorium in 5 minutes or I’ll come find you. And darlings, you do not want me to find you.”

Carter gulped, “Shit, alright, what’s the layout? What are out best routes out?”

“This way.” Charlie said confidently, walking down two aisles of bookcases before picking the right one. “Hold the bookcase up.” Carter did as he was told, confused the whole time. Charlie scrambled up the 10 foot bookcase and moved one of the ceiling tiles.

Both of the doors to the library flung open, and they could hear the woman in the halls. “Come out, come out, wherever you are~ time’s up!” Her voice was increasingly menacing, and got louder as she got closer.

“I got it!” Charlie whisper yelled, pushing open an awkward hatch and climbing through it. He poked his head back out through the opening and held the bookcase up for Carter. Once he was through, the woman stepped under the hatch. She held out a hand, and Charlie couldn’t close the trapdoor.

Carter flashed a hand and her hand darted to her head. Charlie slammed the door closed and latched it, “What did you do?” He said, standing up and rushing across the roof.

“Relax, it was just a hot flash. She’ll be fine.” Carter followed, “Where’s the parking lot, we have to get out of here.”

“Why, so they can follow us across town again?”

“No, out of the state. The country. Your mother has a house in London, right? We’ll get a message to her and she’ll take a holiday.” Carter proposed.

Charlie offered a weak smile from the edge of the roof. “If you think it’s the best plan.” He accepted, jumping.

Carter shrugged, jumping with him. “In all honesty, it could be worse there. Probably is, but all that’s left of the Nova Coalition in the US is me, Lita, Nick and Lita’s husband. I’m not the one with something to lose.”

Charlie picked a car, “Y’know, when I said I’d get you to talk one of these days I didn’t expect it to be today. Or because someone tried to kill you - us - or because you’re a superhuman.”

Carter rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ignore the guilt tearing apart his subconscious. “I, uh, I’m sorry. You were never meant to get pulled into this mess.” He chose the passenger seat.

Charlie sat down in the driver seat of the bright red mustang, “Shit happens.”

“The End.” I love you.


'May l please have today's special'. said undercover solo food critic, Treasure McBright after handing back the menu. Treasure McBright. She is the world renowned food critic whose reviews make or break a restaurant’s global image and she's a solo traveller whose image is not known by most people. It was her first time in that restaurant, she was open to exploring the country's cuisine and had seen that restaurant through a TripAdvisor blog. The menu of the day suggested that she would be tasting the best spaghetti Bolognese in town. She was taken back to the spaghetti Bolognese she tasted in Italy, it was the best ever! She started salivating when thinking of the delicious aroma of the mixture of ingredients in that Bolognese she tasted years back. Her throat muscles were condensing and expanding even before the food came, one would say it was the body’s preparedness mechanism when one is anticipating a great sensation of some kind of taste. Thirty minutes passed not even water was brought to the table, she started looking around and waving her hand to try draw the waiters or waitresses towards her table but none came, she could not understand her predicament as her imagination of tasting the Italian dish was being distorted by the conduct of the restaurant staff. At first she didn’t really put much to it as it seemed to be a busy lunch hour rush. A man minding his own business across the table to Treasure's asked the waiter serving him to assist the lady waiving, but he ignored her and went back to the kitchen. Treasure started to feel infuriated by the treatment she was getting as a black person in a commonly white restaurant, she noted that almost everyone wo entered after her was being served while she was waiting for her turn. She grabbed the next available waiter passing by and demanded to see the manager. It took the manager almost thirty more minutes to attend to the matter claiming he was busy, worse he didn't see why Treasure was making it a big deal but the man opposite Treasure’s table interjected by first introducing himself as Bob. He told them to give her all she wants or she will be sending his recording of this mistreatment. He mentioned that for a while he has been seeing how the lady was being ignored by the staff, or was it they got an instruction from higher to act in that manner towards her as it was strange how they were all following same pattern of pretending they didn’t see her waving and calling out. The manager seemed to be apologetic in front of the Bob, who was well dressed in a black bore tie suit. The manager then ordered staff to attend to Treasure.  Treasure told the waiter that she needed lemon iced water to calm her down…Imagine of thinking of the iced water’s calming effect then you get tap warm water, she asked the waiter serving her, what was that he brought. “Ma’am it’s the water you requested’ said the waiter. Bob told the waiter that if they continued he would post the recording of their misconduct. In as much as Treasure wanted to grab her bag and leave, now she had something to write about in her reviews but at the same time she had some glimpse of hope that the spaghetti Bolognese would erase all the mishap of that day. It was almost two full hours of misconduct, finally the dish she had been waiting for arrived. What struck her the most was the presentation, seemed a little uncanny to the eye but she gave them the benefit of the doubt that they just might wow her taste buds regardless of the appearance, of course it was nothing to write home about but the glimpse of hope made her to dive in. Treasure choked and asked what acidic substance was added in that dish, she is normally a healthy person without any known allergies. Bob across her table was disturbed by this and asked Treasure’s consent to post the recording but Treasure thanked Bob and told him, she will deal with it her own way but would need his number in case a witness is needed to support. Bob shared his number with her. Treasure called for the manager again who for some reason came promptly unlike the first time when he was discriminating her in full view of other customers. Treasure told the manager this was the worst she has been treated and the worst meal she has ever tasted, it was even more toxic and deadly, thank God she didn’t swallow any of it though her mouth was a bit inflamed from the strong acid in the dish. The manager told her that was their special dish of the day and didn’t know why it made her choke. Treasure asked him to taste it himself but the manager refused, so there were a lot of assumptions racing through Treasure’s  brain cells at that juncture, “could it be they deliberately tried to poison her and get her type not to enter that restaurant again, was it that the chef was under pressure and accidentally added too much acid to the Bolognese, was it that they didn’t like her casual dress code in the almost formal restaurant, what is it really that made them mistreat her the second she sat and ordered, if they didn’t want her type so bad, they could have blocked her from coming in the restaurant than to humiliate her in public, were this people who showed no remorse to their misconduct worth forgiving?, if so how will others learn as every human has the right to choose where to eat and needs to be treated equally despite one’s skin colour or race as long as you have money to pay. What was also racing through her mind was Bob’s attitude towards her ordeal, it gave her hope that no matter where you are in the world, someone or maybe you can say there is always a guardian angel in human form who will stand up for you and look out for you when others shy away without confronting a misconduct. So in short Treasure deduced that if one supports a misconduct being done on another it means that person supports the wrong doing by turning a blind eye to wrong doing. Treasure’s predicament was more of a lesson as she had spent time travelling and being treated with decency than this time around where her emotions were challenged in all aspects; Physical, mental and spiritual. Treasure’s review was simple. “If you are black, make sure you don’t go past Pete’s Italian cuisine restaurant commonly shown in the TripAdvisor’s blog, from manager down to waiters and waitresses, they will bend you and break you emotionally such that you might even leave through a stretcher from the allergic reactions you will get from the food they will serve you, and yet you joyfully entered the restaurant walking to explore the country’s cuisine. Go at your own risk black brothers and sisters, I got the worst meal l ever tasted.” Unapologetically signing off. Treasure McBright your undercover solo food critic.


For the last two decades, we have always owned our own home.  Our last home was an expansive one on a lake-six bedrooms, a full basement, three bathrooms and a full walk-up attic that hid everything from various holiday decorations to unused furniture. It was a lot of room but more importantly there were no sounds except for the occasional fox rustling through the leaves, singing bullfrog or a fish jumping to capture their evening dinner. At some point, we wanted to retire and downsize. My husband was already retired and I was counting the days until I could claim the same status. We had this long-term plan of selling the house and moving into an apartment in the city. Living our best lives having wine with our neighbors and dining out, shopping for clothes and fine smelling soaps rather than new roofs and furnaces.  On a whim, we decided to list the house. It had been on the market over a year when we purchased so we figured we would put some feelers out with plenty of time to change our minds.  However, it sold in less than two hours of the listing going live. And the buyers wanted in. Fast. So here we go. Dreams realized. We spent the next few weeks giving away most of our things as if we were going to live on Mars and fantasizing about our future. As if any tiny cocktail fork or butter dish would be an imposition on our new lifestyle. We scaled down from 3500 sq feet to 1100 sq feet and we were elated to do so. Our kids received all their childhood memorabilia and photographs-any reminder that we raised five children. We were essentially cutting ties from parenthood and moving gracefully into retirement symbolized by the small two-bedroom two bath apartment in a large complex with all the amenities one could imagine. We handed the lake house keys to the new owners, mutually excited about the future. We quickly settled into the apartment in the city locked into a 12-month lease. No lawn and snow removal responsibilities. No unexpected repairs or home improvement projects. Freedom!  Pictures went up on the wall, things perfectly and sometimes strategically placed to make this new lifestyle work for us. We had done it! We had thrown caution to the wind and found paradise.

We had prepared for everything or at least we tried.  Even the actual mental toll of communal living. We read one story after another of all the bad neighbor experiences in hopes of an easier transition. On the first night, we lie awake hearing every sound through walls that were thin enough to see through. We heard every passing motorist and every conversation around us. Would we ever hear silence again? We complained to each other but only half-heartedly since we were proud to be among the group that could complain about city living.

Before too long, we adapted to the noises of everyone else living their lives. Until one day, we heard the most terrifying sound imaginable.   Outside the apartment, some woman (which we now know as the downstairs neighbor) was running throughout the grounds screaming “Help me! Somebody help me!” with the urgency of someone who may get murdered any second. Did our bad luck instantly import us to the pre-cursor to the next Dateline mystery? We tried to see her and yelled for her to call out so we could answer her plea. Sounds came and went with no way to triangulate on her location. She was running but from what?  Screaming over and over, this dark, urgent request. In our panic, we were unable to locate this cry for help and for the first time in my life, I called the police. The 911 operator talked us through every important question. As the police arrived, guns drawn, shielding themselves behind our vehicles in the driveway, pointing at the apartment below us. Fearing a stray bullet in the certain gun fight, we tried to find hiding spots hardened by walls, unsure if they were bordering the mayhem.  Stepping out the shared floor guessing which sections may be vulnerable to violent, breakthrough bullets.

But then the screaming suddenly stopped. Certainly, she had met her fate. Certainly, we were too late. Why didn’t we call sooner? Why did we try to locate her first instead of calling for the experts to help neutralize whatever nightmare threat was chasing this woman? It just stopped. I watched out my window sick to my stomach waiting for crime scene tape and the coroner to drive up. And yet nothing. Within 15 minutes, guns were holstered, police cars exited with nothing more than a passing wave. What the hell just happened? I am not a nosey person. I like to keep to myself, and I like others to do the same. But this bizarre scene deserved some explanation which went unasked and unanswered. The next day we passed each other in the parking lot. She wouldn’t look at me, but I am quickly surveying her for what is certain to be obvious bruises and cuts and other life-threatening injuries. None. I tried to say hi, but was met with an ignored response. Maybe she was embarrassed? Maybe she couldn’t look at me because she was being held captive in some agonizing stockholm syndrome.  I repeat my greeting to let her know I am here for her for whatever she needs.  This time I recognize the response. Hostility toward the good samaritan who was trying to help her with her own desperate request. But in this moment, I quickly realize, she was mad, and I was the problem.

Several days passed with the normal noises of dogs barking and babies crying but no more murderous screams. Relief. Maybe it was one bad day or moment. We settle in and I start working from home which was my normal working status. I have an office in the loft of the apartment which meant everything I said flowed down to the living room and vice versa. But my retired husband was keeping busy, and the apartment was working out nicely. Until it happened again. Up until now, I remained incredibly suspicious of the husband since the incident. But this time (and most of the future events), no one was home but her.

Screaming louder and louder. Hair raising screams.  Under me and around me. In my living room. In my bathroom. In my kitchen. Screaming. Crying. Urgent pleas for help. Resisting the urge to call 911 again.  Worried I would draw even more ire from the people downstairs. Only to pass each other later or the next day like nothing was happening. This is all part of the experience, I thought. Just another story to share among all of the wine-drinking neighbors we haven’t met yet.

We have an “office” to raise concerns but after the reaction when we called the police, I didn’t want to aggravate things any further. So, we just learned to deal with it. We knew exactly what time she awoke and went to bed, and we found solace in the quiet hours of her sleep schedule. We went about our days and nights adjusting to this bizarre situation. Apartment living, am I right?

Months went by and something transformed our brains.  If someone was truly calling for help, it would have literally fallen on deaf ears. Visiting guests appeared to notice what we have now become accustomed to. They don’t comment, they just look around as if they are hearing things. They have always known us to be reasonable, normal people.  So, they looked confused because we don’t even notice.  And we simply go about our business as if someone isn’t screaming for their life. We laugh about the latest meme on Facebook and talk about mundane things occasionally raising our voice over the sounds of terror.

One day a co-worker on a conference call tried to challenge our new existence and asked about the screaming woman in the background of all my calls. Is everything okay? Does someone need a doctor? I politely explain that we live in an apartment thinking this would explain it all. When she didn’t back down, I just assumed she owned a home with no shared walls and floors and tried to continue with our work-related conversation. She wouldn’t understand. She was not one of us.

“I have lived in an apartment for years and this isn't normal” she proclaimed. There isn’t anything I can do though. 12 month lease. Besides we are getting used to it. We eventually end the conversation about the terrifying background sounds and move to more productive work at a little louder decibel and with a more awkward pace than it was when we started.

Then one day, logic finally broke through. About 8 months into our lease, I received a call from “the office”. I had never talked to them and was curious when I saw the number appear on my phone. Apparently, there was a complaint from the apartment below that our TV was too loud sometimes which bothered her. I suddenly snapped out of my docile, don’t-bother-anyone-and-they-won’t-bother-you mentality and unleashed on this poor woman who had the unlucky job of calling me that day. I explained everything. The screaming, the police, the guests, the work calls. Everything laid out neatly and efficiently amid my release. As if my mind was regurgitating 8 months of some sort of cognitive journal. When I paused to take a breath, I was met with silence on the other end for a very long time. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”, she finally inquires.  Thinking I now sounded a bit deranged; I explain that we were under the impression this was normal apartment living. She seemed slightly shocked at our naivety and asked for details. I gave them. Many of them. She was apologetic explaining others had complained. What? People complained? Weren’t we all in this together? Despite the original reason for calling me, she explained they were “in the process of addressing it”. She offered up a solution. Move… to another apartment in the complex.

We were given several options. Close to us. Further out. We scoped out our potential new neighbors like a private detective. At all hours of the day and night, we stalked the pending neighbors listening for similarities to our current living situation. Why go to all the trouble of moving again if it was going to be the same situation? We remained unconvinced that this is not normal. But to our surprise not one plea for help. Not one blood curdling scream. Not one heart racing event where I imagine a gruesome murder scene.  Quiet.

So, we chose our next home and packed up our belongings to the now familiar and weirdly comforting sound of the devil we know. Wondering about the new neighbors despite our thorough reconnaissance. Some part of me is disappointed that our experience is unique. That we can’t wear our apartment dweller war wounds with the rest of the crowd. We are no longer in a class that becomes aloof city dwellers. This wasn’t a typical experience that we will laugh about someday. Wherever things land, though, we will always be grateful for our first apartment experience. The experience left us entirely immune to the random noises and sounds from the walls and floors. We are fully and completely adjusted. This experience accelerated all learning curves and understanding of shared spaces. I wish nothing but the best for the former neighbor and hope she finds her way to peace. As strange as it sounds, some part of me feels like I am abandoning her. Our journey are now separated just as quickly as we came together. But there is still this constant, nagging worry that some news outlet will eventually answer our many questions about this woman and her demons, real or imagined.


Blake formed his plan almost immediately after hearing the sound. He didn’t expect such a simple noise to affect him so much, but that layered, striking sound—that clacking of dice falling against a wooden table sent his mind spiraling backward to a year ago, to the last day his friends were all together.                “Next week, same time?” Christian had asked. Blake closed his notebook                “Unless one of you fuckers wimps out,” Blake said with a smirk. Christian, Shell, Kevin, and Steve muttered various threats as they packed up their game supplies. They were all damp with sweat. Blake wanted to think they were sweating because of the session’s intensity and not the real reason, which was that Blake made the poor choice to try and fix his window AC unit while inebriated. In an enthusiastic (but confused) attempt to remove the grill, Blake leapt through the air and gave the poor old air conditioner a flying kick to the side. And now they would be stuck without AC all summer. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Blake told his friends. “Why don’t we just move D&D to my house?” Shell asked as she fanned the armpits of her pink, Fabio T-shirt. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Kevin shrugged and pushed his glasses up, “I mean, our characters are literally in hell right now, so maybe we just channel that for role playing.” “I play Dungeons and Dragons to escape reality—I’m not looking to ‘ literally ’ play in Satan’s butthole,” Steve said with an eyeroll. “I’ll play wherever,” Christian said with an easy smile. “Aaaaaand that’s why you’re my favorite, Christian,” Blake said. Blake began dropping the multi-sided, multi-colored dice back into his plastic case. “I love that sound,” Christian said. Blake looked at him questioningly. “You know ,” Christian laughed, “the sound of falling dice.”                The plan: call up the gang, tell them they’ll be meeting here for beers and the new Batman movie, and then BAM—spring a quick session of D&D on them. Blake paced his small living room. How could they say no?

               When Blake called his friends to invite them for a “casual hangout,” they all voiced some level of surprise. Shell said something like, ‘Wow we haven’t all hung out together in a long time.’ But once the shock wore off, they warmed to the idea of being together again. Kevin said he’d only come if pizza was included, and Steve just had one question:                “Is the AC fixed?”                The AC was not fixed; in fact, it was somehow more broken than the year before. But in the spirit of lying to his friends, Blake decided the truth was a matter of convenience and told Steve the AC was in perfect shape.                When his friends started playing D&D eight years ago, Blake transformed an empty corner of his kitchen into the game room, which was now complete with fantasy-themed tapestries, a bookshelf to hold campaign books, and a long wooden table big enough to fit plates of food and several battle maps at one time. It was in that small corner that Blake and his friends immersed themselves into fantastical worlds. They learned to escape by telling each other stories, they learned about themselves by pretending to be someone different.  Even after they stopped playing, Blake never changed the game room.                On the day of the hangout, Blake added ambience to the game room just like he used to. He dimmed the lights, lit a single pillar candle, and played peaceful tavern music. He dragged the dice case out from his closet and laid out some pre-filled characters sheets (desperate times). Just as he finished setting up, the doorbell rang. At the door was Kevin, who stood stiff as a rod, waiting to be invited in like a vampire. He shook his shaggy black hair out of his face as he sat down on the couch. Kevin, habitually early to every event, stared at Blake and asked,                “Where is everyone?”                Blake sighed and handed Kevin a bowl of chips.                Shell arrived next, bringing with her a tin foil container and the sound of flip flops. Shell explained to Blake that her newest hobby was baking. Regretfully, she wasn’t a very good at it. Blake lifted a dark brown cookie out of the container.                “Well, these look delicious ,” Blake told her.                “Fuck off—I’m new at this,” Shell said, snatching the cookie out of his hand and dropping the cookie back into the container. The cookie landed with a thunk.                “They’re burned,” Kevin said.                “Thanks Kevin,” Shell said. Blake had only hung out with his friends individually this past year. Somehow it was easier that way. Kevin became his Call of Duty friend, Shell became his bowling friend, and Steve…well Steve was the type of friend that was best experienced over text messages. “Did you lie about the AC?” Steve asked Blake when he walked in. His undereye circles were darker than normal. “ No .” “Oh, you’re just going to keep lying—got it.” Steve said and took a swig of his Rockstar. Blake always wondered what kind of person Steve would be if he didn’t use all his patience working in customer service. Chatter filled the living room as Blake and his friends made up for the year they spent away from each other. Kevin was prattling on about his analyst job when Blake suddenly realized he had no way of getting everyone to move to the kitchen. How could he start the game if no one moved to the game room? He chewed on the skin around his fingers until an idea seized him—another ruse so brilliant, Blake couldn’t help but scream it immediately. “ The pizza is in the kitchen!” Shell jumped in her seat and Steve narrowed his eyes, turning up his palms. Steve’s expression asked a simple question: are you fucking deranged? Kevin stood up slowly, smoothed his white dress shirt, and walked toward the kitchen. Blake leapt to his feet to follow Kevin, waving for Shell and Steve to follow.                As they neared the kitchen corner, the sound of tavern music grew louder. Blake could no longer contain his excitement and ran ahead of his friends to grab the dice case off the table. He sprinted back to his confused friends and lifted the case above his head, displaying as if it were a holy relic, and doing his best impression of an angelic choir.                “What’s going on there, bud?” Shell asked. She placed her hands on her hips.                “Surpriiiiiiise,” Blake said, his voice suddenly uncertain. “Did you bring us over here to...” Steve scratched his shaved head, “to trick us into playing D&D?” Blake still held the dice case over his head, though his smile was starting to fade. Kevin pushed past Blake and sat down at the game table. He started flipping through the character sheets. Shell’s eyebrows pulled together. “That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” she asked. “It’s a lot weird,” answered Steve. “I don’t like my character,” said Kevin. Blake spun around. “Don’t worry—you can remake it!” Blake spun back to Shell and Steve. “Would you guys have come if I told you the truth?” “I’m not playing D&D,” Steve said firmly. “Steve, listen just give me a chance to—” “Can I remake my character now ?” Kevin asked. “Go for it,” Blake said. “Steve, just give me – “I’m not playing.” “Just listen to my intro: your characters enter the tavern, weary from battle —” “ We don’t have enough people to play ,” Steve interrupted.                Blake scanned over the faces of his friends—the enraged Steve, the sympathetic Shell, the indifferent Kevin. And then Blake rested his eyes on the empty chair next to Kevin. It was where Christian used to sit. Blake’s neck went cold. He felt himself being pulled backward again, to the last day they played.                Christian and Blake sat on the front porch, discussing the game. Christian wanted to know if they should have fought the bugbear king instead of fleeing, but Blake refused to reveal any secrets.                “Hey, I'm glad we're still friends by the way,” Christian said abruptly. Blake shook his head. “Why wouldn't we be friends?” Christian just shrugged. “After college, a lot of people go their separate ways. Life happens. We stop being kids.” Blake slapped his friend on the back. “Come on, man—we’ll be friends forever….we’ll be kids forever.”                Blake felt like a fool. He slowly lowered the dice case.                “You guys are right—this is weird,” he said, and turned away. Blake walked back toward the game room but on the way, something caught his foot. It could have been his own feet, some unevenness in the tile, or perhaps it was the air itself; whatever it was caused Blake to stumble forward. The dice case lifted from his arms and soared through the air, landing on the floor with a cacophony of cracking plastic and scattering dice. In a mere moment, hundreds of dice in hundreds of colors—blues, pinks, and greens—poured from the case, bouncing, sliding, clacking in all directions. Blake, Steve, and Shell looked at each other, too stunned to speak.                It was Steve who bent down first to pick up the dice. Then Shell and then Blake. “Do you remember when Christian rolled that crit against Lady Demescu?” Steve asked with a chuckled. Blake noticed tears in Steve’s eyes. “Or when he made assless chaps for his goblin friend?” asked Shell. They looked up and grinned at each other, remembering the best sound in the world. “Where’s the pizza?” Kevin called from the table. “ Jesus, Kevin ,” said Blake, shooting upright, “ we're having a moment here !” Kevin, finally recognizing the scene before him, slid out of his chair and began picking up dice, using his fingers like tweezers, inspecting them one by one. Kevin took in a deep breath. “I think Christian would have wanted us to keep playing,” he said. “I think so, too,” Steve agreed. After they picked up every single dice, the friends settled back into their old seats around the gaming table. Blake opened his notebook, blinked back a few tears of his own, and cleared his throat. “Now…where were we?”


He got engaged the same day I moved out. Whatever. Fair enough. No skin off my nose. Forget the skin off my knees. I found out later that he’d married her on my birthday. You try to think of these things as coincidences. Who knows? I’ve been moving around fairly randomly since then. Not a problem. No big thing. It’s just seeing what fits. The big round global dressing room. I’ve tried a lot of jobs, but learning to work a tap and getting an ESL certificate made me instantly employable all over the world.

People always ask me what’s my favourite place I’ve been, and I never know what to tell them. I’ve tried to explain that I don’t rate things or attach them to a scale, but that tends to get me blank looks. It seems that everything should be judged in thumbs and stars.

I saw him again when I was visiting my parents, doing some shopping for them, to get some fresh air. An excuse to borrow their car, really. Getting out of the house has always been a priority. I had just come into the mall when he came out of Starbucks and almost walked into me, followed by a double take and a look of utter surprise. All of which seemed a little over the top and suspect.

We talked a while, catching up on this and that. He looked like himself as I’d known him, in fancy dress as his dad. I didn’t mention this. I noticed that he was deflecting questions about his wife and kids. His voice would sink in both tone and volume and his eyes would shift downwards, before coming back to me with a new topic. I didn’t mention this either.

He told me he was thinking of taking a trip, maybe to Vietnam. He always used to talk like this, I remembered. Big, grand plans that sounded exciting, especially in company, and then zero follow up. “Which part of Vietnam?” I asked.         He seemed excited to expound. “I’m thinking probably Ho Chi Minh. I’ve heard it’s the best place to visit. More authentic.”         “Really?” I asked. “Where did you hear that?”         He seemed puzzled by this and stumbled a little.

“I was in Vietnam for just over a year,” I told him. “Ho Chi Minh was nice, but I think I preferred Hanoi overall.”         “Is that right?” he said, kind of slow and vague. “Maybe I’ll think about that then. Maybe.”         “Have you been to Asia before?” I asked.

        He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “Soon though.”         This led on to talk about my travels. He seemed to be taking an interest in what I had to say, rather than in his own words. He asked me a lot of questions, and I did my best to answer them honestly. It’s difficult sometimes though. The things people want to know throw me sometimes. When they ask what I’ve been doing, I tend to draw a blank.

        I tried though, and I talked about Chiang Mai and Sukhothai, but he wanted to know about Phuket and Bangkok. I told him my favourite cities were Kuala Lumpur and Hanoi, but he wanted to stick to Thailand. He didn’t seem at all interested in South America, except to make predictable comments about illegal substances.

“I never realised you were so wild,” he told me.

        “What do you mean?” I asked.         He stood back and looked me up and down. “Look at you,” he said with a sweeping arm gesture.         “What do you mean?” I asked.         I mean, I know I look different from the last time we saw each other, but then so does he. It had been, what? A little over ten years. My hair’s grown a bit, I’ve bought new clothes. I could see him eyeing the tattoos.

“Can we meet up and have a proper catch up?” he asked.         He touched my arm as he said this, between the shoulder and the elbow. One of his fingers was under my sleeve. When I looked down, I could see his wedding band. “What do you mean?” I asked again.         I was finding I didn’t want to ask him anything else.

        “You know,” he said. “We haven’t seen each other for a long time.”         He was standing close to me.

        “You seem different,” he said.

        “I don’t think so,” I told him.         I didn’t either. Iwas and I am just me. Nothing’s changed.         “It’s true,” he told me. “You do.”         “Ok.”         I didn’t know what else to say to that. We stood there, neither of us saying anything. He touched my arm again and ran one of his fingers down it, over the elbow. I tried to keep eye contact, because I didn’t want to be the first to break it, but I kept glancing down.

        I took a step backwards. “I’ve got some things to do,” I told him.         “Ok,” he said. “Sure. I can come with you.”         I shook my head.

        “It’s not a problem,” he told me. “I have the time.”         “I’ve got to get these things and get back to my parents,” I told him.         “Oh,” he said. “Too bad.”         After that, he asked for my number and I strung together eleven numbers that were close to my real one, but not close enough. I walked away from him, into the mall, and took the nearest escalator down towards the supermarket. I walked quickly through the crowd on the lower ground floor and to the escalators at the back and went down into the car park.

When I was teaching English, in Asia mainly, different countries and different age groups, I felt the most myself and also the most lost. Often, I’d be the only native speaker at a school or a language centre. Not always though. I preferred being the only one. If there were others, they tended to expect me to spend lots of time with them. It was like we were in some kind of club.         I don’t like clubs.

        I enjoy walking on my own. I enjoy looking at things and thinking about them. I enjoy being me.         It’s true.

Every time I had a new class, whether I walked into the room with them already there and waiting for me, or I watched them filing in from my place by the board or the computer or or desk or whatever was there, I used to have minor panic attacks. Every time. I’d struggle to breathe, feel the tightness across my chest, the itching in my palms. I’d worry that I didn’t know what I was supposed to do next, even if I’d been there a long time.

        I have a complex relationship with the new.

But there’s not much you can do at that point. You have to power through it. I think it was good for me. Having to deal.

I don’t think any of the students would have even noticed, except maybe that I would rub my hands together and drink a lot of water. They were always focused on other things. I don’t think they believed me when they asked for my Facebook or Instagram or whatever and I told them I didn’t have one though. Maybe I’m old fashioned. So be it.         The main thing was, after that first day of trauma, everything would generally roll along smoothly until the end of term, when everything reset.

I enjoy teaching. I didn’t think I would, but I do. I fell into it, more or less, which is a long and boring story, and I tried to resist for some time.         The one place I struggled in was Delhi. I knew I’d made a mistake from the start. There was simply no escape. Everything was everywhere. Dense and overpowering. But it taught me what to avoid, as well as what to seek.         Speaking of which, I’ve been checking flights and maps and websites. It’s good to be home. It’s good not to be too. I got back to my parents’ house without any shopping. They asked about it and I told them I hadn’t been able to get it. Dad looked at mum and she shrugged and then turned to me and smiled, as if she knew what was going on. Some things never change.

        I went upstairs and I got into the shower. The water was only lukewarm, but that was fine. That was the temperature of home. I stood there with my hands hanging limp by my side, my hair stuck to my face, my shoulders, my back, and I turned on the spot. Slowly. Three hundred and sixty degrees. And again. Tiles. A small frosted window. Green and white plastic curtains. And again. Tiles. A small frosted window. Green and white…         I kept on turning and I didn’t speed up. I could keep going like that forever. I would never get dizzy.


Our family secret starts with an oak tree Jamie and Oliver are two brothers who share a sacred secret. Their green, freshly mowed grass touches the earth. As Oliver says to his brother Jamie " hey bro, let's plant our secret here. " Oliver dug vigorously to the earth's core, digging the fresh-grown mud and placing the secret together.

They looked at each other, reasonably pleased with their accomplishments. Jamie smiles and says this oak tree is the best. Yes, because we planted it together pipes in Oliver. This will be our secret forever. The mystery was impacted against the glass from the end of the garden's greenhouse as it reflected against the shimmering light of the sun. The secret is still hidden in the heart of the soil as the sun shines twice as bright. Oliver and Jamie call it a day sweat drips from their heads. They melt like snow. Oliver wears a cut button shirt with brown base shoes.

And Jamie is wearing a velvet brushed up hand me down like farmer Joe. They both look different as different faces become one. And as they scatter across the warm subtle path. The secret remains a mystery but something magical is lurking in the background a fire fly called Edal is making her creations come to life. Edal with her super powers builds a lantern path full of light as she tackles the nights garden. Edal watches on as Oliver and Jamie brother's for life two different souls. Make there way through the tinted glasses of there creation secret which lies in the mud. 15 years later

A jaded curtain folds down the final goodbye of Jamie’s and Oliver's father. Both boys now men at the age of 21 they are grieving for the love they share for there late father allusive golden rays of fairies sparkle among the scattering ashes. Jamie looks to Oliver, who says nothing and then walks away from the funeral away from his brother. There mother floss is traumatized by the loss of her husband Eric and tries to conceal her children but she sees the moment that changes history she sees two brothers bonded for life fade into the background. She watches her eldest son Oliver walk away from the reality of the loss and grief he feels but the untouched antidote is not forgotten by floss as she sees with her own eyes the coldness of Oliver shudder in the four chambered walls she was not sure whether it was the weather drawing in or the fact that her husband had just been scattered across the tree house at the end of these family garden. But she couldn't help but notice the tears that fall high from her sons eyes as they cry like waterfalls falling high from the sky. As close makes her way towards her son Jamie who is crying hysterically the youngest of the two sons she reaches out to hug him tight . “ your father would be so proud of you and Olly "

As Jamie tries to shrug his emotions he cannot hide anymore if this was a game of hide and seek which he used to play with his brother and dad so close they all were the three brothers of eternity however the game had ended when he lost his dad and now his brother is gone too his here trying to be strong for his broken mother. The walls seem to break down as Jamie can't control it anymore . “ mum why did dad have to go I miss him so much and now how will we cope how will we get through this ". Cried Jamie. My dearest Jamie everything will be ok not sure believing her words was enough he just welcomed his mothers warm embrace.

Outside in the garden, Oliver is broken as he looks at a photo of his beloved dad. Dad he says what are we going to do without you . Just as the tears fall escaping the lids of his tiny eyes they land on the photo the wind flushes against the photo and it blows towards the oak tree that was built by his brother and him . It landed directly where they had built there secret that still hadn't been revealed just yet. In that moment Jamie came out with there mum and he witnessed this beautiful moment of his brother touching the place where they had built a secret so long ago. Dad would have been proud says Jamie

Holding his arm onto his brother and mum. Oliver cried and broken held him right close to him. Just then a flash of light appeared it guided towards the three of them. It was a fire fly . Edal is that you the brothers say together shocked but delighted . Edal was happy to see them too she smiled the thing is Edal couldn't speak only blubber . But this time she came with good news somehow voice had come back and she formed words like the stars in the night sky. Edal spoke in crystal tongues my dear family it's ok I have spoken to your dad in heaven he is ok he sends you love always . As Edal speaks the boys turn to her you spoke finally they said

And you have seen our dad how can we ever thank you . Well said Edal this will help she brings up the box like gravity . Engraved on the box it says our secret with the boys initials on. Amazing our secret is still here Olly. After all these years Jamie there mother smiled the first real smile in ages since her husband died. Mum do you know what's in here

Its our secret

The truth is we don't even know the secret ingredient to open the box it's been so long. And just then there was a thud, a sound of magnifying light. Out came the gracious key to open the box. It really is fate as behind the key was there dad . Dad

Dad

They both ran as fast as lightening to the arms of there dad. And his wife floss met his gaze in a loving way. You didn't think I would miss this did you he said I have waited too long to find out your secret boys. And here it is as the key floated simultaneously towards the box. It fell deep under the boxes spell as it opened in an instant they all looked around in awe. Oh my they said there is nothing here. The secret is here my boys right in front of you it's you two to love each other and to protect each other in times of need. But what dad does that mean

It means my dear boys that the secret is love. You hid love here you built love here and there will always be love here in this home. You created Edal with love Edal smiled tears flicker in her little light eyes. You my boys are the secret. The reason you forgot it

Is because I left to go to heaven in which I have to do again very soon . But dad you only just got here. There mother interrupted them and hugged her husband like it was the first time they had met they danced In the moonlight. My dear love you explain to them

We will both she says quietly lost in the moment they both turn to there boys. Our dear boys we created you with love we have you strength now you must learn to have each others strength . It's time for mum and dad to go to heaven . But mum is here . I am always here in your heart I knew today would be hard when you said goodbye to dad so I had to be In person . You mean

Yes we are both together again

It's all thanks to you two . Our love for you has won over every obstacle in our life. Your secret is finally revealed and it's time for us to fly high in heavens light. But mum

But dad they both said hurting tears in all there eyes. You will never know how much we love you both we love you forever in a day. Love you too it's time darling we must leave before the final light draws the curtain on our world. Mum I love you Olly says

Dad I love you Jamie says

Together in beautiful moments of peace everything fades to light. Mum and dad no more. As with one final word they say we will always be here for you and we will love you for eternity. Forever in a day until we meet again sons but for now let the love shine in your heart and always . They finally leave there mark and turn to the final light there they are taken to heaven. Two years later

The boys love did grow and they found wives themselves with who they both had one child each Jamie had a boy he named him Eric after there dad. And Jamie had a girl in which he named her floss after there mum. In that moment there was not happier site. And the two children grew up with love in there hearts always forever in a day Olly says to Jamie

Forever in a day. The night draws a close, and Edal watches on as she flies high in the night sky. As for the tree it's still planted in the end of the garden with a new secret in place but the same remains that love always saves the day. As the final curtain draws heaven remains very much alive. And Eric smiles at his wife floss. We did good floss. We did indeed Eric

They both kiss and they watch there loves grow up and gracefully from above. Forever In a day a moment that lasts a lifetime .


The classroom rarely has a sense of peace. It’s my free period, where I can enjoy my lukewarm coffee from Starbucks and sad-looking salad. I have just enough time to catch the F train, gather the papers that need to be graded, and grab the empty seat at the end of the subway cart. There are essays that still need to be distributed back, but I’m hoping my students don’t ask me about them. Usually they are filled with rumbustious energy from lunch, carrying loud conversations to their assigned seats.

I look over at the clock. 2 minutes left. I quickly clear my lunch from my desk and begin to write today’s question on the whiteboard. How To Convey Emotion in a Short Story. The day before we looked at “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” by Raymond Carver. We began reading in class and instructed the class to continue on themselves for homework. Even though I’ve incorporated this story into a lesson several times, my. Thoughts are constantly changing. Did Carver add a sense of irony of how these characters don’t actually know anything about love? Does it convey the character’s insecurities and deepest fears they have about love itself?

Before I can finish my train of thought, the rush of my students fills the classroom. I hear echoes of mid term exam stress, frozen fish stick served at the cafeteria, and the upcoming winter formal.

“Alright, alright. Settle down please!” I stand in front of my desk with my hands crossed on my lap. Slowly, the voices are almost minimal and their eyes are focused on me. I smile. “I hope you all finished the short story we started reading in class yesterday. It is a great example of the topic we are going to be talking about today, which I have written on the board.” They look over the question and I see one raised hand from the corner of my eye. Adam, a fairly average student, clicks his pen once as if to signal when he will begin. I call on his name. “I’m guessing from what we read… conversation?” I nod, that is exactly where I was getting at. “Yes!” I answer, “Conversation is actually a key way that the author conveys emotion in this piece. However, there is one other example that also plays a part to show emotion here.” I turn to write Adam’s answer on the board. Another hand is raised, and this time it is by Delilah. Straight A student in my class, a wonderful story teller in each weekly prompt that is assigned.

“Detail? Specifically about how the characters are acting.” Also correct, a little less obvious than conversation. “Excellent! Those are two elements of storytelling we will be looking at today.” I say as I write it as a second bullet under the question.

Adam raises his hand again. “Before I dive into these answers, what did you all think about the story itself? Did you like it? Found it confusing?” I manage to steal another sip of coffee before I call on Adam once again. “It’s clear that none of these adults know anything about love.” The rest of the class erupts in a fit of laughter, others are agreeing with an expression of “Yeah right?!”

“I can see why you feel this way. There are two adult couples, all drunk off of gin and telling random stories to each other. Terri, thinks that even though her previous husband abused her, he loves her.” The laughter and smiles from Adam’s response begins to fade. “We don’t get much dialogue from Nick and his wife Laura, but their lack of input is based on their marital bliss. They just got married, they’re still in the ‘honeymoon’ phase.” I say and watch as their focus is brought upon me inventively.

“So marriages go south eventually?” Mark openly remarks.

Some students chuckle and others have no reaction. “Well, no not all of them”, I chuckle. “But all couples will go through their up’s and down’s. They will share arguments, personal problems or issues they have carried from previous relationships. The term ‘honey moon phase’ specifically is about couples who don’t reach there yet; they haven’t shared their battles, or they avoid arguments, and keep their insecurities a secret.” I see boys and girls alike take in what I say earnestly. A few of them take it with a grain of a salt.

“Is that why you’re not married?” Mark asked.  Now before I respond, this is the type of relationship I have with my students. We joke, we try to keep the environment light. I need to keep up with the humor of Gen Z. So most the jokes told slide. This was just a little too personal for my liking. But I managed to laugh.

“It could be one of the reasons!” I respond. “We should set you up, Ms.M!”

“Yeah! What about the junior English teacher? Mr.Domentino!” “Oh he would be great!” Delilah and Samantha are going back and forth, two best friends of course. But as soon as his name is mentioned, my heart begins to flutter. Mr.Domentino, or Milo, was a favorite of the upperclassmen. He taught Shakespearian Literature for juniors and seniors, and every student who has taken his class left positive reviews for him online. He played tapes of “A Midsomer’s Night’s Dream” and “Macbeth”, reenacting the voices and mannerisms as if the classroom was his stage. One free period, when I walked over to use the restroom, I peaked through the door window. He wore an exorbitant crown, a velvet cape and paraded around the room with the stage presence of an actor from the 16th century. He managed to make teenagers break into laughing fits, and even smiles from the shyer pupils.

“Okay that’s enough!” I tried not to blush at the sound of his name being mentioned. “Mr.Domentino is too busy reading the classics, whereas I…” I pause for dramatic effect and stand in front of the class room with my hand on my chest. “Teach you how to write! The real thing that matters. Shakespeare can stay in the past where it belongs and no longer bore anyone else to tears.” Students share an ogle of “ooo’s” while I laugh at their childlike humor that I’ve somehow matched.

“Anyways, let’s go back to the lesson! The usage of conversation is a great way to convey emotion…” * * * * * The final period ends with the sweet sound of the dismissal bell. Eliza finally finishes grading the pile of essays and makes her way to erase what is left on the whiteboard. There is plenty of time to spare to catch the train. She returns to that state of tranquility like she had earlier on in the day; no student or faculty in sight.

As she’s ready to put her jean jacket on, there’s a knock on the door. To her surprise, Milo is standing in her direction. “May I come in?” He asks with a soft smile that makes Eliza realize how much she would love to see it more often. She awkwardly stands by her desk and makes a gesture to walk in. “Of course, how are you?” That did sound a little too formal, but she tried to be casual around him. They mostly shared small talk or what lesson plans they had whenever they would bump into each in the teacher’s lounge.

He walks towards the white board, a few inches away from where Eliza is standing. “Good, good. Just dismissed my class.. held them a little longer to go over an assignment.” Eliza nods and then cracks a smile. “Another assignment on interpreting Shakespearian language?” She holds her gaze and watches as Milo lets out a chuckle.

“No I actually assigned some parts for them to reenact in class. But I know for some it might bore them to tears.” Eliza’s playful smirk turns quickly into bewilderment. How the hell did he know about that comment she made earlier? Now Milo is smirking and before Eliza can ask how he knew, he says “Mark might have mentioned what you said.”

Remind me to punish Mark accordingly, she thinks.

Her cheeks turn a shade of red, and quickly tries to brush it off. It’s no use, because Milo’s smooth expression sends Eliza in ways that is anything but nonchalant.

“Well, I stand by what I said. Classics and old literature make for good exposure but developing your writing skills is more… fruitful.” There, she knows what she’s talking about. She walks over to get her purse and Milo is still leaning on the whiteboard. “Fruitful? The same old story of two drunken couples who know jack shit about love? Now if you want to teach your students about one thing about love, Shakespeare is a great example-“

Eliza cuts him off in a fit of laughs. As she should. “Oh sure. A thirteen-year-old and sixteen-year-old fall in love and kill themselves in the end. The epitome of romance.” Milo does think thats a valid point, but wont ever admit that to her. He loves to continue this banter and have any excuse to ruff up a few of her feathers.

“It’s more than that! It’s a euphemism for young love and the risks we are willing to take early on. Don’t you agree with that?” She listens to him say, as she turns over to and faces right where he is standing. Their height difference is even synced, where her head reaches just under his shoulder. His head leans down and stares into her iridescent hazel eyes. Oh how they both love the idea of one another. Beyond the physical and mental stimulation.

When Eliza started teaching three years ago, the first person she met was Milo. And out of all three years, they both managed to be single. She imaged what deeper conversations could potentially look like; bad dates they both went on or what TV show they were currently binging. But would they ever admit that they were attracted to each other? Or that they loved when students brought up their names and managed to secretly play matchmaker?

She manages to break the tension. “I might” she replies and grabs the jean jacket wrapped around her chair. As she starts to put it on herself, Milo holds onto other sleeve to help her into it. They’ve gotten comfortable now.

Before she excuses herself out and on her way home, Milo walks out of the room with her and down the hallway. “Are you chaperoning the winter formal?”, he asks. The principal had asked her last week and Eliza was hoping to come up with an excuse on the spot. What fun would it be to watch teenagers for over five hours, either frenching or grinding on the dance floor while she the drank stale fruit punch. But now it may be worth it. “Unfortunately, yes. Are you?” Milo flashed a smile, he was hoping she would be there.

“I am, and luckily I won’t have to do this alone now that you’ll be there.” Eliza giggles, and continues to face the end of the hallway, to avoid any sign of excitement he might read from her current expression.

“If I’m going to be stuck with you all night.. there will be no talk of anything English related.” He laughs. “Nothing of the sort.”


It wasn’t what I was expecting. No, I wasn’t expecting this at all. I’ll find us a place, you said. A place just for the two of us. A place that we can call home, where they won’t bother us, you said. I met you at the start of spring. I saw you as I came out from school. You were tall, skinny, long black hair, clothes that said you didn’t give a damn. You smiled, I blushed, lowered my head, walked away. The next day you were there again. You smiled again. I smiled back before blushing, lowering my head, walking away. And each day you and your smiles got closer. You waved, you said ‘Hi’, and soon you were walking with me, talking with me.

Making me feel special. Carrie mocked me. Carrie said you were no good, from the wrong end of town. What did she know? She was just jealous, jealous because you had chosen me instead of her. Okay, so your clothes weren’t so good, you’d not had the advantages she’s had. And if that’s the way you choose to dress, who’s she to judge? Carrie’s never been my friend anyway. Stuck up cow. Bella and Jade are the same about you, don’t think you’re right for me, but that’s because they care, because they don’t want to lose me as a friend. They don’t understand either. They’ve not had boyfriends before, they don’t understand. They say I’m too young, but I don’t feel too young.

Age is just a number, right? It’s not as if you’re old. You’re just three years older than me, seventeen to my fourteen. You smoke, which I don’t like, but those rollups make you appear older than you are. They’re just jealous I decide. They don’t know what it’s like to be kissed. Or perhaps they do, you say, perhaps they’re a couple of lesbians. Leave them to have each other, you say. And we laugh at that. I don’t tell my parents about you. They wouldn’t understand, and they have busy lives. Callum, my brother, can’t wait for me to leave home. Can’t wait for me to take my GCSEs, take my A levels, go to uni. Then, he says, then he can have my room.

I’ve always been the model student, always expected to do well in exams, but you tell me it’s a waste of time. You’ve finished school, and still you can’t get a job. Though when I ask about your schooling, you just shrug. We soon stop talking education. Kissing you is all the education I need for now. My grades start to slip. At parents evening, mum and dad are asked if there’s problems at home.  My attention, they’re told, is elsewhere. To my parents this is news, but they’re always so busy they don’t see what’s in my life. At home, they question me about it. I say Bella and Jade don’t want to be my friends anymore. Simple as. It upset me at the time, but I’m over it now. Callum, my lovely, hateful brother, tells them I have a boyfriend. We go to the same school, so of course he’s seen you. They ask about you, but I go to my room and won’t tell.  After all, we’ve only kissed. And touched a little bit, though I can tell you want more. Every day my parents ask about you. They say I’m too young, only fourteen. Yeah, but I’ll be fifteen in the summer, and once I’m fifteen, I’ll be almost sixteen, old enough. It’s bad at home, and you say it’s bad for you too. Your mother drinks, her boyfriend’s violent, so she drinks more.  I ask about your dad, and you say “What dad? There’s never been a dad, only boyfriends.” And all the while my parents are getting worse. They take me to school each morning to make sure I get there, but I leave before the end of the day to spend time with you. As the year moves into summer, we find quiet places to be together, to kiss, to touch, but nothing more. You ask, “If I find a place for us, if I find a place, will you come with me?” I realise what you’re asking. I realise you’re asking me to give myself to you. I’m not sure, but Carrie mocks me, Bella and Jade aren’t talking to me, Callum torments me, and my parents won’t get off my case. So I say yes. If you find a place, if you find a love nest for us, then yes, I’ll come. And I say it expecting it to not come true, because how would we manage? How could we if you didn’t have a job and I hadn’t finished my education. But I say yes, because it’s my dream to be with you. I say yes, because I’m in love with the idea of us being together, of building a life for ourselves. And one day you come. You say you’ve found a place. It’s not much, you say, but it’s a start. And you’ve got work. I’m shocked, surprised. What work, I ask. Helping a friend out, you say. But what’s this place? You’ll see, you tell me. Nothing much, but it’s a start. I ask about furniture and you say not to worry about that. So, it’s furnished, or so I think. And I imagine a small place, a tiny place even, a bedsit, or a room over a shop. Somewhere where there’s a small stove, just enough to heat up a tin of soup, a twenty-year-old sofa where we can sit in the evening. A too-small bed in the corner where we’ll finally make love. I’m scared, but I’m excited too. My parents have really been getting on my nerves, really having a go at me, trying to ground me. We agree to meet. I go to school, but I’ve stuffed some clothes in my school bag. I post the key back through the letterbox. I’m done with family. And when I leave school, you’re there to meet me. As I look at you, smoking your roll-ups, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Then you see me, and I realise it’s too late. And you brought me to this place, not some squalid bedsit with 20-year-old furniture, but this place. A large house, a large garden, lower than squalid. A squat. We share the house with your new friends, with Baker, the friend who you’re doing the favours for, with Dulcie, his girl. Baker leers, grins knowingly when I come in, and you don’t even notice the way he looks at me, how uncomfortable I feel. Dulcie, in her short, short skirt and laddered tights, just smiles vacantly, as if she’s listening to the best sounds in the world. I wonder if there’s something wrong with her. There’s a sofa downstairs, covered in mould where it sat in the rain for a week before it was rescued for this place. It’s in the back room. The front room we can’t use because the floorboards are rotten. You mutter something in Baker’s ear who looks at me, raises his eyebrows and smiles knowingly. Then you take me upstairs to our ‘room’, to the cosy little ‘love-nest’. To the room that’s bare except for an ancient, stained mattress and a sleeping bag. I ask if this is a joke. I thought this was supposed to be better than what we had. You say it is, for you it is better, better than having to watch your mother drink herself into an early grave, watch her being beaten by her boyfriend, knowing that if you got in the way it would be you that was beaten. She won’t even realise I’ve gone, you say of your mother. I wonder then about my parents, what they must be thinking. Have they missed me yet? I look at my phone. Too early for my parents to be home, but my brother will be back from school, will have found the key. Will he realise what it means? And then you take hold of me.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” you ask.

And not taking any notice of my answer, no, not here, you lay me down on that disgusting mattress and take me. You call it making love. It hurts, but then it should the first time, shouldn’t it? Afterwards you kiss me, say it’ll be better next time and leave me, telling me you’ll be back later – you have to go to work. I lie on that mattress and cry for a while, wondering what I’ve done, listening as you go out the house. Then I see him, Baker. He’s at the door, grinning. “Just wondered if you were okay,” he says. I don’t answer but pull my knees up to my chest, turn over so he can’t see my tears. He laughs, walks away. I hear others coming into the house, but I don’t go down. Eventually you return and you bring me downstairs. There’s another two girls there, Dee and Zoe. They say hi, sit down.  You sit on the mouldy sofa and pull me possessively onto your knee. Someone’s bought a couple of Pizzas to eat, and they’re shared about. I realise how hungry I am and take my share. Dulcie wanders in and is offered a slice, but she says she’s not hungry. She so skinny, she looks like she hasn’t eaten in a week. You’re smoking again, one of your rollups, and you offer it to me. I say no, I don’t smoke, and everyone laughs. The cigarette is passed round, and Baker leans in towards me, blows smoke in my face. “You should try some love, good stuff this.” I feel dizzy, lightheaded as I realise what it is. Soon you drag me up. I’m partly relieved, it means I can get out of that room, but upstairs you make is clear that you want me for one thing only. And after, when you’ve gone to sleep, I move apart from you and cry myself to sleep. The following morning, or is it afternoon by now, I find that my phone and my watch are gone. When I ask about them, I’m told we all have to contribute. Baker gives you something, some packets, and you leave to sell your wares. Baker gets a call, says he has to go out. “Keep an eye on that one,” he tells Dee and Zoe. Dulcie’s still sleeping. Zoe goes to the bathroom, and Dee takes me to one side. “Got family?” I don’t answer straight away. “Yeah, I can see you have. What did you think you were getting yourself into? Some sort of little love nest?” I nod. “Look girl, I can’t let you go now, more than my life’s worth, but as soon as you can, get the fuck out of here. Otherwise you’ll end up like her.” She nods towards Dulcie. When I look blank, she pulls up the unconscious Dulcie’s sleeve and I see the needle marks.

“It’s the only way she can cope with what they make her do to earn her keep. She was like you, a nice girl. Zoe and I grew up streetwise. We don’t like it, but we cope. Do a bit of weed, but that’s all. Baker keeps Dulcie like this so she won’t complain too much. So, first chance you get, go.” I tell her how we only came here to be together, how you needed to get away from your alcoholic mother and her violent boyfriend.

“That’s as maybe, love, but you mark my words, Baker’ll soon have you working, and soon the rosy glow of escaping your mum and dad’ll wear off.” That night, after we’d had sex – I was already seeing it as having sex, not making love – I lay there thinking about how much he smelt, and not just from what it was he was smoking. I thought I must smell too. I hadn’t had a wash of any sort in over two days. There was no water in this place, no power, no lights. It wasn’t long before I was put to work. Did you know? Or did you just ignore it, pretend that I didn’t exist once you were outside working? That first time Baker brought home a friend he thought I might like to meet. Not that this friend wanted to chat. When I tried to protest, I was told I had to pull your weight. The money from my phone, my watch, that had long gone. Afterwards Dee came to see me. “First one’s always the worst. Here.” She handed me a tablet. When I asked what it was, she said, “Only a sleeping tablet. Help you sleep tonight.” I accepted the tablet, not really caring if it was anything more, but I didn’t hear you come back that night. There were others, of course there were, and still you didn’t seem to notice. And sometimes you didn’t even seem to notice me at all. And it came so that I didn’t notice who I shared that mattress with either. One evening, you were still working, Baker was on the phone. Dulcie had not looked well all week, hadn’t eaten anything for days that I had seen. I went in to see if she was okay, only to see that she’d finally checked out of this place. Her body was beginning to turn blue, the needle still in her arm. Her skeletal frame would not have to turn any more tricks. When I told Baker, he threw a fit, as if it was my fault, not his, that she’d died. “We’ll have to get out of here,” he said. He told me to get my coat, we were leaving. I didn’t have a coat, I’d arrived in summer and now we were edging towards winter, so I took Dulcie’s.  I didn’t think she’d miss it. Baker dragged me out, took hold of me by the wrist, pulling me along. It was the first time I’d been out the place since I got there. We went through the town, along deadbeat roads. We were going to another place, he said. I wondered what would become of you, you who I thought I’d loved so much, but maybe he was just throwing you to the dogs as well. Maybe he thought you’d take the rap for Dulcie. It’s as he was dragging me through town that I saw her. We‘d got to some traffic lights, Baker was trying to drag me across the road when I looked at the stopped car. There was Carrie, Carrie with her dad and her brother. I remembered what Dee had said, to get out when I could. Carrie and I had never been friends, but I had to try. I stopped, pulled my hand from his and ran to that car. Baker tried to grab my arm, tried to drag me away, but I screamed. I could see Carrie’s face as she recognized me, recognized who I was. Carrie, who told her dad and her brother to help me. Carrie who shouted attracting the attention of others so Baker had no other option but to run away alone. I was taken back then.  Back home, back to where I used to belong. There were hugs, there were tears. Even my brother was glad to see me, and he hadn’t taken my room. It’s early days, and we’re still trying to work it out, still trying to see if we can fit the pieces back together. I’m sorry you’ve not got a roof over your head. If you did have a roof, it’d probably be a prison cell. At least my statement saved you from that. But now you’re on the streets, and I don’t know what I can do about that. I wish you’d go and get help. You’re not like Baker. I wish you’d get clean, turn your life around. Then you could get a room, a small place, a tiny place even, a bedsit, or a room over a shop. And maybe then you could take a girl there, heat up some soup on the small stove, sit together on the twenty-year-old sofa, sleep in that too-small bed. Start a new life.