It was pitch black. It came so quickly, and the sheer horror of the fall along with it. Who knew that once it came to that time, you would freeze. The thing that you had always prepared for, the moment that you were so sure that when you were thrown into it, you would make the right decision. I looked up into the ineffably blue sky; the sun gleaming hard and unsettlingly into my eyes. I laid quietly, absolutely still as the thoughts of what just transpired seeped into my mind. How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this? How is it that only seconds before, I felt as if I were flying, and now? My eyes rolled back into my head as I replayed the moment over and over, trying to soak up each second of it before my memory went. “No,” I said. “I will not go today. I do not care how disappointed she will be. I will not go today.” “Tell that to her then,” Kristen replied. “I just can’t miss going to the barn today; she will have to understand, right?” “I’m sure she will. Just tell her.” “Okay, okay. Fine. I will just go over there and just speak. I’ll let the words flow. I will tell her that I cannot go today.” “That’s the spirit.” I gather myself briefly and march painfully and hesitantly over to where she was standing, my coach, leaning up against the rough brick wall that separates the atrium from the hallway, chatting in an animated, yet inaudible way with a fellow teammate of mine.

I don’t want to interrupt, but I still feel myself inching closer, my legs unwillingly moving forward as I knew that I had to get it over with. I promised myself at the beginning of the year that I would practice. I cleared my throat and looked her in the eye with such failing confidence that I am pretty sure she knew immediately that I was nervous. “Hey, Larissa... I um.. just wanted to uh…. let you know that I can’t make it to practice today,” I sputtered. “Thanks for letting me know,” she returned. She gave a quick smile and resumed her previous conversation. I nodded awkwardly and walked away, wondering if that twisting knot in the pit of my stomach is a peculiar form of relief or just more anxiety creeping up on me. Is it weird that I don’t feel any better? I bypass Kristen completely and blow out the door, practically running to get to my car. Ah, comfortable and lovable Brad. I have always used my car to escape from troublesome situations, mostly because I can lock the doors and just sit for a while. I begin to drive home to decompress for a couple of minutes while I wait for my mom to get off of her meeting so we can head out to the barn. I grab a snack and munch on it quietly while I wait. I think about my horse, Bailey. She is absolutely gorgeous, with her slender, sculpted face; her eyes, one brown and one blue. She is sturdy and strong, yet lean at the same time. Her shiny, fuzzy, orangey-brown and white coat with her soft, gleaming mane and tail. I adore her. She is confident and sassy and I admire her simple attitude towards life. Maybe that’s because she’s a horse, but who knows? My mom interrupts me deep in thought, “You ready to go?” “Oh, yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay, let’s get going then!” She laughs and claps her hands excitedly. She enjoys this as much as I do, if not more. We jump in the car and head on our way. I look out the window eagerly as I just can’t wait to arrive. I started to unconsciously bite my nails. Damn. I need to stop that. After a dragging half an hour, we finally pulled into the dirt, currently muddy, driveway that belongs to Kimberly. The familiar sound of her four dogs yapping loudly at our car gives me pleasure and I jump out to meet them. After a couple of minutes of face licking, I get right to work. I go and grab my horse to start tacking her up. I brush her completely in minutes. I finish up and start walking out to the ring up at the top of the hill. Kimberly meets me halfway. “Hello! How are we today?” She said cheerfully. She patted Bailey’s face gently.

I smiled, “I’m great! Bailey seems full of energy today.”

“She should be, she stayed inside all morning.” Kimberly inspected her legs for nicks for a succinct moment and motioned for me to keep going. I tugged on her reins and clicked my tongue to usher her forward, and she followed. I lunged her for a solid ten minutes before deciding that she was calm enough to get on. I guess she isn’t so excited after all. I got on and immediately knew I forgot something. My spurs. My encouraging pokey sticks. I mentally slapped myself in the face because I knew that once she caught on to the fact that I was without them, I was a goner. I would have no power. I banished the thought from my head with a shake and carried on. She noticed immediately. I sighed slightly as her entire demeanor changed from tired and slow to snappy and wicked.

She jerked around and played with speed, with me struggling to keep her under control. I quickly became frustrated at this ten-year-old. She should know better at this point. I had always let her do this. I let her win too easily and now she is taking advantage. That was one of my resolutions. I have to be pushier with her. I suppose I failed in that aspect.

But no, I am determined now. I must get the better of her. I got the better of nothing this year. From the very beginning, I had promised myself a number of things. I promised I would speak up, for one, be confident. That didn’t take me very far. I had also said that I would work out more. Nope. Not even a little bit. The last thing I promised myself is that I would be a better horse owner. I never had enough confidence to make the effort to curb her behavior and in almost every way, she dominated me. I cannot let her win now. I snapped back, put some sass back into her and, guess what, it worked. She stopped. She dropped her head, arched her neck and lifted her back. It was beautiful. I was ecstatic. I had finally done it! I was so proud of myself that I didn’t see it coming. I stood up in the saddle and pumped my fist up in the air. The last thing I heard before it happened was my mom and Kimberly shouting at me to sit up. It was pitch black. It came so quickly, and the sheer horror of the fall along with it. Who knew that once it came to that time, you would freeze. The thing that you had always prepared for, the moment that you were so sure that when you were thrown into it, you would make the right decision. I woke up soon after on my back, everything aching. I couldn’t move. I struggled to keep my eyes open, if they were open at all. All of a sudden, it stopped. The aching, that is. I kind of just started feeling all fuzzy. I looked down at a figure lying in a mangled heap in a muddy ditch. There's no point in it all. Resolutions. They are promises that no one really intends to keep. I guess I still have time to complete at least one. Confidence. I turn around and walk, not looking back. Not ever.


THE ICE-CREAM VENDOR  “Mum, where’s that music coming from?”  Stephanie Pearson paused. Desperate for a shower, her fingers plucked at the clammy t-shirt embracing her body. Unpacking nearly done; a cool drink would be heavenly. Faint strains of tinny music sailed the air: haunting, then strangely familiar. Suddenly, she was ten years old again. “Ha! Beat ya!” shouted Peter. Stephanie poked her brother in the ribs. “Next time. Just you wait.” Childhood Sundays. Sunday School was first, where Peter always belted out his favourite song, The Angels are Watchin’ Over Me . His zest for life and his enthusiasm were infectious. On the way home it was a race to their front gate. Of course, Peter always won. In Summer after a quick change of clothes, Mum gathered supplies. Then it was a bus trip and ferry ride to the beach. Whenever they heard the Mr Dairy Dream music , the siblings raced each other across the burning sand to line up with all the other kids for a choc-topped Squishy Cone. Tears stung her eyes. Her stomach twisted. Ah, Peter, where did you go?  “Mum…the music?” Alana repeated.  “Well, love, it sounds like an old ice cream van.”  “What’s that?”  “They were a thing when I was your age. On summer days, the van drove around selling ice-creams and cold drinks, playing music to attract kids. I haven’t seen one for years.”  This aroused Alana’s interest. “You mean someone drove around selling ice-creams? Cool!” She grinned, her rounded tanned cheeks almost reaching to her earlobes.  “Well, that’s the whole point of ice cream,” her mother joked. “It is cool!”  “Oh, funny! If it comes up here, can we have one? Please?”  “Okay, just let me get rid of this box. Where’s your brother?”  “He’s poking around the backyard. HEY! Curtis! Where are you?” yelled Alana at the top of her lungs.  A freckled, red-cheeked face, topped by a head with spiky brown hair poked around the corner of the side passage, followed by Curtis’ skinny frame. He held an old bird cage in one hand. “Yeah?”  “Want an ice-cream or what?” Alana asked, poking out her tongue.  “From where?” He inspected the cage and changed the subject. “Can I get a bird, Mum?”  His mother stared at the rusty cage. “I’ll think about it. There’s an ice-cream van coming. Do you want one?”  “What’s an ice-cream van?”  “Explain it to your brother, Alana, while I get my purse.” The removalists unloaded the last item of furniture. Glad to finish, they headed off to have a cold beer after a long, hot Friday. Curtis and Alana leaned over the front fence, waiting. Before long an old blue and white van, topped by a large fake ice-cream cone bearing the sign Mr Dairy Dream, beetled along the road.  “Wow! Look at that!” exclaimed Alana. “Hey Mum, he’s getting closer!” she shouted.  “Okay! I’m coming,” Stephanie called.   She waved to the van driver. He pulled over to the kerb, and the music stopped. The old vans had noisy motors whilst they were idling, yet this one was strangely silent.  A white-haired man with twinkling grey eyes appeared at the serving window dressed in a retro uniform; a beige coloured jacket fastened down one side and a peaked cap. The name Bert was embroidered in dark blue thread on the left lapel.  “Hi Bert,” said Stephanie. “I haven’t seen one of these vans for years. It’s great to know they’re still around.”  “I might be the last of my kind in town,” the man replied in a gentle voice. “What’ll it be?”  “Three double Squishy Cones, please. My kids haven’t had one of these before.”  “In that case, let me serve you all with an extra-large dollop for no added cost. Enjoy yourselves.”  The children’s eyes almost fell out of their heads when they saw the size of the ice-creams. “Don’t start on them yet,” said their mother, “I want to show you something.” She turned back to Bert. “They’re great! Instant memories of my childhood. How much do I owe you?”  The old man smiled, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. “That will be one dollar-fifty, thank you.”  “Oh, that can’t be right. That’s how much I used to pay with my brother twenty-five years ago.”  “Yes. Ma-am, it is right. I like to provide old-fashioned service at old-fashioned prices. There should be lots of happiness in this sad old world.” He smiled again and waved before resuming his place in the driver’s seat and slowly driving away.  “Hey Mum,” quipped Alana, “I didn’t see anyone else getting ice-cream.”  “Me either. That’s odd on a day like this. Let’s get started before they melt. This is how Uncle Pete and I used to do it. Ready, go!” There was a race to see who could lick the chocolate off the top first.  Stephanie upturned her chin and deftly bit the point from the cone base, sucking down the soft, gooey ice cream. The children did likewise. “Hey this is fun!” giggled Alana.  They headed back inside and unpacked some kitchen boxes before there was a tap, tap, tap on the screen door.  “Hello? Anyone in?”  “Coming!” Stephanie called. She opened the door to an older, smiling man. She guessed he was in his eighties.  “Hello!” he greeted cheerily. “I’m Ken, from number 47 across the road. Welcome to the neighbourhood.” He thrust out a well-worn, lightly tanned hand and grinned broadly.  Stephanie shook hands. “Hi, Ken. I’m Stephanie Pearson and ….” She turned to call down the hallway. “Hey kids, come and meet one of our neighbours.” The children stepped in front of their mother. “This is Alana and Curtis. Say hello to Mr.?”  “Farnley. Hi kids. Pleased to meet you. I was just wondering. You’ll be busy unpacking. Have you arranged anything for your evening meal?”  “I packed bread and supplies for making some sandwiches later, nothing too fussy.”  “How about joining my wife Joyce and I for a light meal? That’ll save you some bother. We’d like to make you feel welcome. Would six o’clock be okay?’   “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”  Ken grinned broadly again. “No trouble at all. We’re a very friendly community. See you at six.” He waved and wandered back across the road. “ Thank you,” Stephanie called.                                                            *  Showered and freshened up, the Pearsons crossed the road at six and rang a cowbell fastened on a hook beside the front door. It was a neat fibro cottage, with a tidy garden. Two cheeky garden gnomes kept watch on the verandah overlooking the garden path. A small tabby cat poked his face around the corner to investigate the visitors, running up behind Curtis and rubbing the back of his leg.  “Hello, puss,” he said bending down to stroke the cat. “What’s your name?”  Ken appeared at the screen door. “Oh, that’s Tiger,” he smiled. “We call him that because he’s so small. Get it?”  The children giggled at the joke. “He’s very cute,” said Alana. “And friendly.”  “Yes, he is. Come on in and meet the missus.”  He showed them into a cosy eating area just off the kitchen, where a small round table was set out for dinner, with a beautifully embroidered tablecloth and cheerfully coloured napkins. A short, plump woman entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a sunflower-patterned apron. She had snowy white hair and a kindly face like her husband. “Hello, I’m Joyce.”  “Hello, Mrs. Farnley.” Stephanie answered. “Say hello, kids.”  “Oh, please call me Joyce. Everyone else does.”  “Thank you. I do insist on a little formality with the children, however, so I’d like them to call you Mr. and Mrs. Farnley.”  Joyce smiled. “That’s fine. Now, being so hot, we thought that we would just have a salad. Is that alright with you?”  “Oh, yes, Joyce. Please don’t go to too much trouble for us.” Stephanie looked at the children. “Why don’t you give Mrs. Farnley a hand in the kitchen?”  Joyce and the two assistants wandered off to prepare food. Stephanie noticed only three places set at the table. Ken gestured for her to sit down and said the children could take their meal outside at the little wooden table reserved for when the grandchildren came to visit. They chatted over dinner.  “Is it just you and the children?” Ken asked.  “No, my husband Brad had to work today, which was the only date the removalists were available, so we came on ahead. He’ll have Monday off and join us on Tuesday.”  “Oh, what does he do?” Ken asked.  “He’s a branch manager for the Country-Wide Credit Union. He applied for a transfer two months ago, and the position here became available. We’re hoping it will be a fresh start for all of us.”  “I think you’ll like our small town. Have you always been country people?” Ken ventured.  “No. We’re from Sydney but moved to the country five years ago. My twin brother Peter came to live with us three years ago after his wife left him. He suffered depression and a mild heart attack. His health started to recover, and he was even able to take on light duties at the local aged-care hostel, such as gardening and running errands for the residents, which he really enjoyed.” Stephanie paused to check on the children and returned to her seat.  “The children adored Peter, and he adored them. Suddenly, he had a major heart attack and died. It’s been a distressing time for us, so we decided as a family to move away and start somewhere else.”  Ken nodded. “Sounds as though you were very close to your brother.”  Tears welled in Stephanie’s eyes. “We were peas in a pod. I wish I could hear his voice one more time.”  “We’re always here if you need us,” offered Joyce.  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

                                                           *  It was Curtis who heard the music first the next day, while busily cleaning the old bird cage. “MUM!” he called from the back yard. “The ice-cream man’s coming again. Can we have one?”  “Yes, of course. Bring my purse from the kitchen.”  Stephanie stood upright, a clump of dirt-encrusted weeds limp in her hand. Sure enough, there was the familiar tinny music again. She threw the clump into the bucket and rinsed her hands. It was another sweltering day, and the cold soft serve would be very welcome.  “Hello there!” Bert cheerfully called as he pulled into the kerb. “What’ll it be today?”  “The same as yesterday, I’m sure.” Stephanie looked at her children. “Is that right, kids?”  The children nodded eagerly. The double squishy cone seemed even bigger than the previous day. “Take them into the backyard,” Stephanie advised. “There’s a shady spot under the tree. How much do I owe you, Bert?”  “One dollar-fifty,” the ice-cream vendor grinned. “No inflation here.”  “You’re a lifesaver, Bert and it takes me back to my childhood. Happy memories of when my brother Peter and I would race each other to the Mr Dairy Dream van at the beach.”  “Only too pleased to help. There should be plenty of happiness in this old world, I always say.”  “Have you been doing this a long time?” Stephanie enquired.  “Since I retired. Gave me a new lease on life, a new purpose. Do you still race your brother?”  “Not any more,” replied Stephanie sadly. “He’s probably racing in Heaven.”  “Well, my dear, I hope this brings you a little joy.”  “Yes, it does. Joy tinged with sadness but thank you. Will we see you tomorrow?”  “Tomorrow is my church day. Enjoy.” With that, Bert resumed his place in the driver’s seat and slowly continued along the street.  Stephanie sighed. Oh Peter, where are you now? I wish we’d had more time together . It was all so quick.                                                            *  Sunday evening rolled around. Stephanie, Curtis, and Alana sat down to a simple meal of sandwiches and cold drinks. Glancing at the wall clock, Stephanie noted it was 7.30.  “Gosh, I didn’t realise the time. You two need to be in bed in an hour ready for school tomorrow. I hope it’ll be a good first day for you. Don’t forget to pack your bags.”  Alana nodded. “Okay. I hope it’s good too. It’s always hard making new friends and having new teachers.” Curtis agreed. The children cleaned up their plates and glasses, then headed into the garden for a few minutes. Tiger had wandered across the road into their yard to say hello. Stephanie watched them through the window, fussing over the little tabby. I hope this is the right move. Maybe I should get them a pet when things have settled. The next morning Stephanie walked with the children to the local public school, a short distance from home.  After checking them in at the office, they meandered across the playground. She hoped they would make at least one new friend each. Stephanie made her way back on the opposite side of the road. After passing a few houses, she stopped in front of a tumble-down fibro house with a rusty leaning carport. Under the carport roof was an old Mr Dairy Dream van, paint faded and flaking, the large ice-cream cone on top tilted sideways. She decided to call on the Farnleys and ask them about it.  As she rang the doorbell, her mind wandered to the previous day and how good the ice-cream had been. Ken answered the door, beaming. “Come in, come in, it’s good to see you,” he gushed. “Joyce, a cool drink. We’ve got a visitor.” Cradling the tumbler in her hands, Stephanie asked them how long they had lived there.  “Oh, we’ve been here fifty years now,” Ken beamed. “This little town is home.”  “Wow. That’s a long time. It’s hard for me to imagine living in one place for so long.”  “Never had any reason to move.” Joyce remarked. She produced a battered photo album and placed it on the table in front of Stephanie. “Have a look for yourself. Lots of memories in there.” Engrossed in the album, the question of the ice-cream van was forgotten. Stephanie remembered just as she was leaving.  “Oh, that’s old Bert Kettle’s van.” Ken replied. “He retired and bought that van to make the neighbourhood kids happy. He was a deacon at our church and wanted to feel like he still had a purpose after retirement. The old house is empty now that his wife has gone into care. Heart of gold, that man.”  “But… I bought ice-cream from him yesterday. The name Bert was embroidered on his jacket. Didn’t you hear the music?”  The Farnleys shook their heads. “Not possible,” said Ken. “He passed away some years back. Must be someone else with another van. Maybe one of his friends has his uniform.” “Oh, I suppose it must have been. Thanks for the tea and the chat.” Stephanie was puzzled. I’m not imagining things. His jacket said Bert, and he was an older man. He didn’t correct me when I called him by name. How strange. Alana and Curtis arrived home just after three, with reports of a positive day all round. Stephanie looked forward to Brad’s arrival.                                                           * The next day, sweat poured down Stephanie’s forehead as she removed more weeds from the front garden. Pausing to wash her hands, she heard the familiar strains of the Mr Dairy Dream van coming along the road and raced inside for money. She glanced at the wall clock. He was early today. Brad was due to arrive just after lunch. A cold treat would be extremely welcome right now, and then she could freshen up. Wandering back down to the front gate, she wondered about what Ken and Joyce had said. It didn’t make any sense. Somebody else called Bert? Is that possible?  The van pulled into the kerb. It almost seemed to glide to a halt, and once again, Stephanie marvelled at the quietness of the engine.  “What will it be?” Bert beamed. “The usual?”  “Yes please. Gosh, it’s so hot that I thought you’d be run off your feet, but it looks like I’m your only customer today. Come to think of it, I didn’t see anyone else come out to you on Friday or Saturday.”  “Seems that way. How’s your day going?”  “I’m keeping myself busy in the yard,” Stephanie replied, licking the melting ice-cream off the side of the cone. “That way I’m not dwelling on the past too much.”  “Been thinking about your brother again?” Bert asked.  “Yes. It’s hard not to. I have a huge empty spot inside.” Bert leaned forward. His kindly grey eyes focussed on Stephanie’s blue ones. “Well,” he said in a soothing voice, “You don’t need to worry. He’s fine. Misses you too, but he’s quite okay. No more pain and suffering.” Stephanie wondered how he knew that. Bert resumed his driver’s seat before she could get the words out to ask.  “By the way,” he called as the van left the kerb, “he thinks you run like a girl, and he could beat you any time.”  Stephanie stopped, dumbfounded. What did he just say? The music started up again, but this time it was different. Still hauntingly familiar. A tune from the past. What was it? Slowly she realised she was hearing the strains of The Angels are Watchin’ Over Me. Suddenly, Bert and his van vanished. She nodded, absorbing Bert’s message. Finally, she turned and headed back inside. Yes, Peter, angel s are real. They’re watching over you and me, and that’s the way it’ll always be.


Captain Finnian, the famous intergalactic photographer, looked at the screen on the back of his camera and frowned. “That’s weird.” He muttered to himself. He held his camera up to the front window of his spaceship and snapped a few more pictures of the countless stars in front of him. Each time he took a picture he adjusted the camera settings before taking the next one. After several pictures he looked at the screen again, this time a look of confusion coming over his face. “Hey Quixly!” He called to his loyal co-captain, who also happened to be his best friend. “Come take a look at these pictures. I can’t figure out what’s going on.” Quixly, who had been studying star charts while eating some Chulaplugg stew, got up from his desk and hurried over to Captain Finnian. “What is it, Captain?” Captain Finnian handed the camera over to Quixly. “I got a new camera setting that can change the color and brightness of the stars without changing anything else in the picture. It measures the specific star wavelengths to know which part of the picture to change. It’s not a setting I’d use much anyway, but it’s not working on one of the stars in the picture. What do you think is going on?” Quixly clicked through the pictures on the camera, and he saw what Captain Finnian was talking about. In each picture the stars were different colors, but one star near the middle stayed white every time. Captain Finnian had adjusted the stars’ brightness in some of the pictures too, with that same star not changing. In the final picture he had dimmed the stars completely, making it a completely black photo other than that one, unchanging star. “I see what you’re saying Captain, that’s hard to explain” Quixly said, deep in thought as he looked at the pictures. All the sudden his eyes got wide, and he ran over to his star charts and started sorting through them frantically. “What is it, Quixly?” Captain Finnian asked as he watched his friend make a mess by throwing charts all over the place. Quixly was a species with four arms and three eyes though, which enabled him to search through his star charts with comical speed, and he soon found the one he was looking for. Once he found it, he compared the star chart to the picture, then ran back to the front of the ship and compared the chart to the stars in front of them. “Gee wizzy dizzy!” He finally said. “Captain, I know why that star isn’t changing in your photos! Because it isn’t a star! It isn’t on my chart! Wowza, how strange. I wonder what it is?” Captain Finnian grabbed the star chart and held it up to his view out the front window. He saw hundreds of thousands of stars on both, he had no idea how Quixly could spot a discrepancy like that. But Quixly was the brightest navigator he’d ever met, albeit a bit quirky, and he completely trusted his judgment.

“That is weird.” Captain Finnian said thoughtfully. “What on plant ZX-30 would look like a star if it wasn’t a star?” He pondered about that for a moment and then smiled. “Well, there’s one way to find out! Quixly, set our course for the false star, we’re gonna go check it out!” “Yes sir!” Quixly replied, and quickly punched in some navigation directions on his control pad. “Hi-dee ho let’s go!” he said with excitement as he pushed the final button, sending them off towards the strange “star” at hyper speed. After a few hours of flying their spaceship came to a stop, the strange star-like object glowing brightly in front of them. Even from up close it looked just like a star, and they needed to use their protective sunglasses to see it. “This is as close we can safely get to it without burning up.” Quixly said. Captain Finnian looked down at his control panel for a minute, and then pushed forward on the acceleration to get closer. “What are ya doing!?” Quixly yelped frantically. “If we get any closer, we could burn up! Our ship isn’t designed to get this close to stars!” “I know that, Quixly.” Captain Finnian replied with a chuckle. “But you’re forgetting something, this isn’t a star. It’s as big and as bright as one, but it’s putting off almost no heat. Our ship will be fine, I want to get a closer look.” Quixly gulped audibly, obviously still scared of the idea of getting closer. “Are ya sure that’s a good idea, Captain? What if it’s a giant spacecraft made by evil people who want to kill us? What if they pull us in with a tractor beam and lock us away forever? What if I never get to see Xankandria again, or worse, what if I never get to eat Chulaplugg stew again!?” Captain Finnian looked at Quixly and raised an eyebrow. Xankandria was Quixly’s new girlfriend. They only met a few weeks ago, but they hit it off great and seemed like the perfect match. “Did you just say you like Chulaplugg stew more than you like Xankandria?”

Quixly’s eyes got wide when he realized what he had said. “Oh no! Did I say that!? I’m new to this whole dating thing, I didn’t mean to say that! Don’t tell Xankandria! …. Besides, I do really like Chulaplugg stew…” Captain Finnian laughed. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. None of that matters anyway though, we’re not gonna get sucked into a tractor beam by some crazy evil organization who wants to kill us, that’s ridiculous.”

Right at that moment all the lights flickered on and off several times, and the ship started to pick up speed towards the giant false star. Captain Finnian tried pulling the ship away, but his efforts were futile, the ship was completely out of his control. “Hmm, maybe it isn’t so ridiculous.” Captain Finnian said. “But hey, I’m sure they aren’t evil.” The speaker system came on and a mean, robotic voice came through. “You have two minutes to explain who you are and why you’re here, or we’ll blow your puny little spaceship into a billion pieces.” Captain Finnian gave Quixly a sheepish smile and a shrug, as if to say, “whoops, you were right!” Quixly would have glared at him if he wasn’t so busy shaking uncontrollably with fear. Luckily Captain Finnian didn’t get scared as easily as Quixly, so he responded to the voice with confidence. “My name is Captain Finnian, I’m an intergalactic photographer. We came here when we saw that your “star” wasn’t showing up in our photographs like real stars. We wanted to see what was going on.” There was a pause, and then the voice said, “What do you mean it wasn’t showing up like other stars?” “Well, to the naked eye it looks the same, but I have a camera app that measures the specific wavelengths of stars, so it knows what to edit in the photo. Your star has a different wavelength of light than natural stars. So, it must be fake. Did you build it yourself? I’m very curious.” There was silence for a full minute after Captain Finnian spoke. It seemed that the evil person who had been talking with him was just as surprised at Captain Finnian’s calm demeanor as Quixly was scared of the situation. Finally, the voice came back through the speakers. “We’re going to pull you into our space station to talk to you further. Prepare your ship to be boarded.” “Sounds good. Thank you!” Captain Finnian replied.

Quixly added, “Thank you

sir!

Thank you, kind sir! Thank you very much for not blowing us into a billion pieces!” He then looked at Captain Finnian and whispered, “what do you think is going to happen to us?” “I’m not sure,” Captain Finnian replied. “But just follow my lead. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” A few minutes later their spaceship reached the false sun and was pulled in through a small opening. Once inside the spaceship landed, the opening behind them closed, and the voice came through the speakers once again. “Open the door, we’re coming in!” Captain Finnian quickly opened the door, and in walked three people. The first was a very large man who seemed to be half robot, half person. Behind him were two more people, a man and a woman, who were regular sized and not robotic, although they were both strong and tough looking. None of them looked like they would hesitate to kill Captain Finnian or Quixly if needed. “Welcome to our humble spaceship.” Captain Finnian said to them as they walked in. “What can we do for you?” The big robotic man spoke with authority. “Bring me your camera. Let me see how our star wasn’t showing up like others.” While Captain Finnian didn’t frighten easily, he also wasn’t stupid. “Yes sir.” He said politely, and he quickly grabbed his camera to show the large man. He explained how it worked and showed him the different pictures, just as he had shown Quixly earlier. Once he was done, the big man grabbed the camera and angrily crushed it in his robotic hand. “Phroqit!” He cursed. “I was led to believe our space station was indistinguishable from natural stars, and yet an amateur photographer finds us with a simple camera app!?” “I don’t know if I’d use the word amateur…” Captain Finnian started to say. “SILENCE!” The large man roared at him. He then looked at the two people who followed him on board. “Bronxin, you stay here and keep these two idiots out of trouble. Atheepla, you come with me. There are some engineers who need to learn a lesson.” With that he walked out, followed by the woman. The man, presumably Bronxin, stayed on board, holding a laser gun to Captain Finnian and Quixly.

After the other two were well out of earshot, Bronxin whispered “are you really

the

Captain Finnian? The famous intergalactic photographer?” Captain Finnian smiled in surprise. “Yes, I am! And this is my co-captain Quixly.” He gestured to his quivering green friend, who gave a small wave, his eyes glued to the laser gun still pointed at them. Bronxin saw what Quixly was looking at and put the gun away. “Sorry about that, don’t want to frighten you. Just under the boss’s orders, you know! Anyway, I can’t believe it’s really you guys! I’m such a huge fan of your photography! I have the picture you took of the Painted Candle hanging up in my office!” “No way! I remember when we took that picture. I can’t believe you actually have a copy hanging in your office!” Captain Finnian was beaming.

“Wowza!” Quixly said, more confident now that the gun wasn’t pointing at him. “I can’t believe ya referred to it as the Painted Candle! I’m the one who came up with that name!” The three of them laughed, talked and bonded over photography for a few minutes, and then Bronxin became more serious. “Finnian, Quixly, I’ve been wanting to give up this evil life and devote myself to photography for years, but I’ve never had the opportunity to leave. You two obviously need my help to get out of here. I think we can all help each other. If I break you out of here, will you teach me more about photography and help me get started with a new life?” “Absolutely!” Captain Finnian responded enthusiastically. “That’s a great deal! But how are we gonna get out of here?” Bronxin smiled. “Leave that part up to me. You just need to get in position to fly out of here quick on my signal.” Captain Finnian and Quixly ran to the control room to get ready. Bronxin closed the spaceship door, and then made a call on his communication device. From the control room it was hard to hear everything he said, but Captain Finnian managed to catch the phrases “execute the prisoners” and “under orders from Master Zvonix.” He hoped Bronxin was actually on their side, but at this point they didn’t have any other options. A few moments later the giant door to the space station opened up, and Bronxin yelled, “Now! Fly out of here before they stop us!” Captain Finnian manned the controls and zoomed out of the space station. Once they were out Quixly entered some coordinates into his screen and yelled “hi-dee ho let’s go!” as he pushed a button sending them into hyper speed. They were safe at last. Bronxin walked into the control room and started talking to them more about the giant space station. Master Zvonix, the massive half robot man, was an evil villain intent on ruling the universe. The space station was his disguised hideout where he was preparing countless weapons and people to help him take over the universe. Master Zvonix would kill anyone who tried to leave, and he disabled any long-distance communication devices in the space station, so no one could report to the intergalactic authorities what was happening. Bronxin had been stuck in the space station for years, and his only connection to the outside had been through photographs the new recruits brought in. He especially loved Captain Finnian’s photography, and he had promised himself that if he ever escaped, he’d become a photographer too. The three of them laughed and cried together as Bronxin spoke. Once he finished, they immediately contacted the intergalactic authorities and police force, who would be able to stop Master Zvonix and destroy his space station and thus his evil plans. They then got to work teaching Bronxin photography. He was a slow learner, but he was determined, and over the course of a few weeks he improved dramatically. As a final project, Captain Finnian and Quixly took him to the Painted Candle, where he took his own photo of it. Tears welled up in Bronxin’s eyes as he looked at the photo and realized how far he’d come from the confused man who joined Master Zvonix years ago. The next day, the three of them were eating Chulaplugg stew at a planet not far from the Painted Candle. “Well, Bronxin,” Captain Finnian said in between bites of his stew, “you’re sure you want to stay here? We’d be happy to take you on one more adventure if you’re willing!” Bronxin smiled. “Thanks guys, but my mind is made up. I’m ready to settle down and start a new life here.” “I don’t blame ya!” Quixly responded, his mouth full of stew. “I’m tempted to stay here too; this restaurant is amazing!” Bronxin chuckled. “Wow, I’m really gonna miss you guys. Quixly, keep me updated on your relationship with Xankandria. Finnian, keep sending me new pictures you take. And I’ll make sure I see you both at any nearby photography conferences.” He got up and gave them each a hug, and then walked away, ready to start his new life. “Wowza, I’m gonna miss having him around.” Quixly said. “Me too.” Captain Finnian replied. “You know, taking pictures really helps us see the beauty in life. But developing friendships is what makes life beautiful.” “Very true. That, and good food!” Quixly said with a smile. “Well, I can’t argue with that!” Captain Finnian said. He looked down at his now empty bowl and turned back to his friend. “So, let’s order some dessert!”


First Time Writer and I wrote this rather quickly, still proud of it though. On every drive to visit her father, Emily’s truck sputters down a woodland road and pitches on rock candy potholes, the tires diving and squawking up the edges. As Emily curses the potholes, her mother’s voice echoes in her ear, informing her that some people are no less worthy for being born with melancholic dispositions.

She silently curses the road and the voices that intruded on what, barring the potholes, should have been a serene descent. She curses herself for being so jaded as to not be able to enjoy the pleasures of the woods silently zipping by. Maybe she’d become so easily afflicted by minor indignities that her serenity of mind had been tarnished, and she’d never be able to enjoy such a scene innocently again. She then curses the truck, heaving gallons to move inches, and her husband who insisted on it. She curses that her father’s nursing home is so farther away on the power of that same insistence. She curses all these things in one silent hiss, a single shriek of a thought, for to her they were all of a piece.

But as she swerved inelegantly into the parking lot, she let her anger dissipate. She remembered why she came, but also remembered that, as her husband said, they were paying for it.

On each visit, she tries to dispel her frustration with a glassy, reflective smile. The nurse at the front desk says hello, and she smiles back with a canted grin. Though she no longer seethes inside, the smile makes it seem so, and so the nurses treat her delicately, avoiding the traps she seems to lay with her gestures and over-annunciations by speaking to her curtly and politely, as one would to a hysteric child. The nurses ask for her keys, a request that confuses her even as she mechanically proffers them out of habit. With a swoop, the nurse removes the key from her hand and explains that ‘the crafty ones’ often steal keys to escape, or trade them with their adventurous peers in exchange for more illicit pleasures. Emily is no less surprised at this than the mismatch between how she presents herself and how the nurses seem to treat her.

This is the mismatch she confronts each time she visits her father.

When his daughter comes, the nurse will tell Emily’s father to behave, but he won’t know what that means, because for him he has done nothing wrong. He’ll protest, ask to leave, explain he doesn’t have a daughter, before the image of her provides itself to him. She’ll slip through the room mid-argument, and the nurse will blush and sigh, share a knowing look with the daughter, and usher her in before backing out of the room. Some visits, the door will open and the nurse will walk out with a distressed look on her face. “You’re father’s not feeling himself,” she’ll say, apologizing for the inconvenience. That always rankles Emily, the word inconvenience. Like her father was some machine that had to be serviced and not a man with the volition to behave himself. But she had seen the decline of mind, and the dearth of things he could do without the proper care. It was the same argument she’d unsuccessfully made to her husband before putting her father in a nursing home anyway. So on these trips she holds the lines, and apologizes to the nurse, before grabbing her keys and taking the long ride home.

Luckily, for the majority of visits, she did get to see her father, even if only momentarily before a breakdown revealed itself. Much of him was already revealed to begin with. His limbs are weak and knotted, his skin peeled like the bark of a palm tree. He was so denuded of muscle and flesh that he came to resemble a fetus, as if age was returning him to a kinder state.

The nurse tells Emily’s father that this is his daughter. All the father will see is a foreigner, an auburn bounce of hair and fingers shyly laced together. Emily’s eyes will roam around the room listlessly, looking for changes in the room, and the father will take this as a sign of disinterest. Eventually she’ll say hello, and the father will reach his hand out warily. They’ll shake hands and the father will ask himself how long the daughter has been here. He’ll remark to himself that she looks no older than twenty-five, which is nearly his age. He’ll maintain this illusion till he traces the bridge of overgrown cartilage on his nose, it’s strangeness startling him, and reaches up the bridge of his scalp to find his hair has turned to twine.

Some days Emily will find the moment too much. She’ll cast a guilty look in her father’s direction, talk through the crack of the door, and follow the whispered response back down the hallway. But most visits, Emily will stay, and the door will close, and the whisper will recede.

For Emily, to talk with her father was like witnessing a man reverse in time. By now, her father had regressed to an adolescent. He was unpragmatic, and not prone to listening, both deeply curious and deeply invested in the minor, unimportant truths his worldview seemed to offer him. Like an adolescent, any contradictory information upsets her father---his condition, his age, his maleficence towards his caretakers---, but the lack of it terrifies him. His imagination, unkempt with fragmented memories and feverish catastrophizing, will torment him if left unorganized. Explaining his condition approves his mood, but even a deliberate stream of words and tone can leave him fine one day and apoplectic the next. So Emily sticks to her father’s interests, and speaks deliberately, like a student reciting strange words for the first time.

Her father wants to talk about television. He points to the TV cantilevered over his recliner above his head and asks if she watches. “No not really,” she’d say. “Nothing interesting on?” he’d ask. “No just too hard to keep up with,” “You ever watch Miami Vice?” “I used to watch it with you all the time,” “Do you remember which car they drive,” he’d ask, whether the show was Miami Vice or Knight Rider or Columbo.

“No I don’t remember,” Emily will respond.

Conversation becomes much easier when the two realize they were never father and daughter to each other in a meaningful way. They can eschew the gentilities when it’s clear that decades of baggage have not accumulated over every minor subject.

On most visits, it’s enough for Emily to act as a silent observer to her father’s boyhood memories, the sunlit truck rides giving way to groggy basement parties, which was around where the most pertinent memories ended. When his mood was the least sour, Emily would try to coax the lost memories out of him, to ply him with the lost knowledge of the man he used to be. On good days, he could only scarcely remember the image of a wife, shining black hair and long legs. He’d try his hardest to remember, but say it was as if there was an empty basket where the memory had been, and all that was left was the divots inside and the faint markings of feelings on the embroidery. He’d fuss and grumble and rub his head to dislodge the memory, and on good days this was when the visit would end, for he’d refuse to talk until the memory was found.

More times than Emily would like to admit, her father would fail to understand her words, the weight of unremembered lost years bearing on him, and he would refuse to see her, would scream, and shout, and yell at daughter and unsuspecting nurses alike that he couldn’t remember them, so why should they matter to him at all. And the striking restraint of his daughter, her inability or unwillingness to humor him or her expectation that this would happen, would send her father into the deepest sadness of all.

Emily didn’t like to admit this to her husband, because her visits incurred costs he wasn’t willing to bear. The one time she brought her husband to visit her father, her husband noted that he seemed less like a man and more like a shell with the old person seeping out in short spurts. Emily hated him for saying that, but she couldn’t help but agree. His speech grew more hoarse and distant every day, his spirit dimming like a rotting bulb. She still felt, like any child, that it was somehow all her fault.

“But you visiting him won’t bring him back,” was the husband’s argument. “And you can’t expect that visiting him will do nothing but humor him or make him confused,” And that was true too, though he only said it because he thought it made sense for the family to leave him alone. But she secretly wished that her only reason to see him was not to call upon her love to fix him, but merely because she loved him, and that was it.

There were times she couldn’t stand both of them, the husband not caring, the father not remembering. She recalled her mother explaining the natural sadness of specific individuals, and wondered whether she was referring to her daughter. Whatever those voices said, she didn’t believe them. Emily didn’t believe sad was a thing you could always be. She’d seen the sadness so much herself, in the improperly high deficits of love and respect, and yet she’d soldered on, chucking the kids over her shoulders, or retreating into paper mounds. The work let the sadness simmer behind a barricade, let it throb like an abscess in the throat. You couldn’t let it crest the barrier till the moments in-between, when all you had was yourself and when the sadness could live alongside you without touching anything else. But she had no in-between.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On one visit, the father grunted unnaturally..

“What is it?” Emily asked. The father, usually laid supine on his recliner, sat up and pressed his hands against his back to straighten to his full height. “Is it enough for me to just say, I’ll always love you?” Emily stopped, the grief in her throat swelling. “What?”

“Well I just figured that you’ve been coming here a lot looking for something I can’t give you. And you know I can’t, because you’ve stopped looking, even though you clearly want it. But if you’re my daughter, I can say I’ve always loved you, and maybe that could be enough?” Emily felt caught, like her feet had turned to tar. Smiling over tears, she says, “Of course that could be enough,” and holds her father’s hand.


My great uncle peed on a cat whose tail was on fire.

In this town, that’s what having the last name Holland reminds people of. I see it in the new bank teller’s face when I swipe my card to make a deposit.

“Ava Holland? You wouldn’t perchance be related to-” I cut off the chipper box dyed blonde with the Maybelline Scarlet Flame lipstick smudged on her front teeth.

“Henry Holland. HH. Yep, he was a great uncle.” I wait for the onslaught of weird secondhand hero worship to engulf me, and I’m not disappointed. Or, I mean, I am kind of disappointed. Just once, I’d love to not have to hear about this story while I’m just trying to run errands. Thinking about my great uncle HH peeing in general, when I’m trying to check out at the Pig is just a little unsettling, you know?

You see, HH didn’t just pee on any cat’s tail. This cat was Ollie, basically the town of Magnolia Ridge, Alabama’s mascot. Ollie was beloved by all, even dog lovers. The hero worship that the people of this town have for my great uncle is nothing compared to the undying love they have for Ollie. And, of course, he’s long gone now; but people still remember him fondly. Almost every home in Magnolia Ridge has a photo somewhere of their great great grandmother or great second cousin twice removed, posing with Ollie back in the day.

Ollie was cute, I’ll give him that. He was huge, but still lithe on his feet, or so I’m told. He was black all over with a little white patch over his left eye and ear, and he had huge, bright green eyes.

Ollie didn’t have a home, unless you counted all of Magnolia Ridge. He stalked the nights from front porch to front porch, chowing down on the canned tuna and milk left out for him.

Why was a fat cat named Ollie so famous in our town, you ask? Well, depends on who you ask. If you ask me, I think people in this town are just a little bit bored. But, I’d get boos and hisses if I ever said that to a resident here.

If you ask just about anyone else, they’d immediately start out, “this one time…” “This one time, I was sleepin’ in my crib, and ol’ Ollie came stalking up to my screened in window,” Gertie Johnson would say conspiratorially. “Somethin’ wasn’t right, and that cat knew it. He went around to the side of the house to my parents’ window screen and started yowling something fierce. And scratchin the screen. At first, they thought Ollie was the one who was hurt. My daddy went outside to go check on ‘im and Ollie went back to my window, quick as lightning, yowling all the way. That’s when my daddy saw it - my blanket was suffocatin’ me! I owe that cat my life,” and then Gertie would get misty-eyed.

Jason Plick had a similar story that he’d always tell his fishing buddies. He was little Jacey when he was a kid. And little Jacey happened to wander off into the woods behind his house one day when he was four years old. He sent the entire town into a panic. His mother, wringing her hands over and over saying, “I just looked away for one second while he was playing in the backyard! I looked away for one doggone second to answer the phone,” with a wail.

Of course, a volunteer search party was immediately drawn up. Everyone and their brother joined in, determined to bring Jacey home.

Jason had fallen asleep in a big, hollowed out rock in the woods not too far from his house. His little outfit blended in with the browns of the October leaves, but Ollie the cat sniffed him out just fine. He started pacing back and forth in front of the rock and little Jacey, yowling his peculiar loud meow, over and over until some from the search party found them.

“If it wasn't for that cat, who knows,” Jason Plick would say ominously during the 100th retelling of the tale. And when one of his buddies would point out that they had almost the entire town looking for him, and that he was only about a little ways from his backyard, he’d whack them across the back of the head.

Carol Musgrove had a less daunting tale to tell, but if you asked her, the fate that Ollie saved her from was the most vicious of all.

When Carol was in high school, freshman year at Magnolia Ridge public high school (go Magpies!) she wanted more than anything to date Wyatt Michaels. Every girl in school wanted Wyatt, even the seniors - when he was a junior. His mama was the best baker in town, his daddy worked in the steel mills, and Wyatt was quarterback for the football team.

Carol became a cheerleader just to be closer to him during football games. Most of the cheerleaders did. During one of those games, Carol decided to be sweet and take Wyatt a paper cup of water at halftime. And she decided she was going to kiss Wyatt Michaels, right there for everyone to see.

She got up real close to him, tapped him on his beefy shoulder and when he turned around and accepted the water with a goofy grin, Carol made her move.

Or, she tried.

Once she was an inch from his face, Ollie sprang up out of nowhere and jumped right in between the two would-be lovers. He knocked the water out of Wyatt’s hand as he bounded off, not a backward glance toward his bottlebrush tail.

Well by then, halftime was over. Everyone had seen Carol Musgrove attempt to plant one on Wyatt Michaels, and fail because of a cat.

A week later, Wyatt and Hattie Somers started publicly going steady.

How is this a story of how Ollie saved yet another Magnolia Ridge resident? Because Wyatt and Hattie got married right out of highschool and started having kids right away. Wyatt lost his looks, his hair, his job (which he never tried to get back) and most of his hearing at a really young age, and Hattie was always in a constant state of harried frenzy, trying to care for their five kids and clean houses to provide for their family somehow.

“It coulda been me,” Carol would say somberly.

Nobody knows how ol’ Ollie’s tail caught fire that night. Most say that he was likely out doing some good deed, saving a child from a fire in a neighboring town or something.

Between you and me, ol’ Uncle HH was blitzed out of his mind when he peed on that cat. He didn’t realize he was saving a life by relieving himself while walking home from O’Toole’s Tavern that night. He just really, really had to go.


I have been keeping secrets since I was six years old.            My first secret was when the teacher at our one-room country school came to board with us. Teachers used to board with our neighbors across the road but when Mrs. Watkins became ill, Momma and Daddy thought it would be a good way to make some extra money. So, Miss Trent came to stay with us. I was just starting Grade Two and at first I thought Miss Trent was terrific. She was pretty and funny and had wonderful blond hair and was not nearly as strict as our last teacher. Did I say she was pretty? I wasn't the only one to think so, which is where my first secret came in. When Momma had taken the old car to the store for groceries, I was out playing and when I heard giggling and Daddy's voice, not a regular combination in our household, I peeked around the corner and saw Daddy and Miss Trent in an embrace I didn't really understand at six years old. However, I did know enough to realize it wasn't the sort of thing Daddy would ever talk to Momma about, so I kept quiet.            It wasn't until the third time I saw them together that Daddy caught a glimpse of me watching and made a point of asking me if I knew how to keep a secret. What could I do but say yes?            I don't know how long it took Momma to catch on, but catch on she did. When Daddy was away with a load of calves to be butchered, Momma and Miss Trent had an all-out free for all by the garden behind the barn. This time I could see them from the vantage point of the barn roof, behind the air vent column, a favorite spot of mine. They weren't shouting, just locked in a tight hold, and at first it looked like they were practising some strange sort of dance. But then Momma pulled free and swung a punch at Miss Trent's face. When Miss Trent stopped to put her hand to her jaw, Momma grabbed her and shoved her really hard. Miss Trent landed against the concrete base of the corner post that marked the garden. After that, she didn't move. Neither did Momma for a few minutes. Then, after a long, slow look around, she turned and ran to the barn.            I watched Momma dig a big hole with the shovel, stopping every once in a while to look around as if she could feel someone watching. Then she turned back to the house and came out with the suitcase Miss Trent had brought with her. This Momma threw in the hole after Miss Trent.            By the time Daddy got home, Momma had cleaned up and expressed great surprise along with Daddy when Miss Trent didn't show up for supper. For some reason, people accepted the fact that she'd left without a word; I think our community thought she'd been a little too exotic for our school area, just got bored and left. It only took a week for the school board to find a new teacher for the rest of the year. By now Mrs. Watkins was well again and the new teacher was back to boarding with her.            I figured that, as I had kept Daddy's secret, I had to keep Momma's. It wouldn't have been fair to do otherwise.            I don't know if Momma was aware I'd seen the fight or not. Sometimes, she'd look at me in a puzzled way as if wondering why I never mentioned it. Maybe she caught a flash of color from the barn roof when she ran back to the house and it only partly registered. I don't know. I do know Momma and Daddy went on as if nothing had happened. I don't think anything of that kind ever happened again, but then how would I know.            Last month I came back to help Daddy with Momma. She was showing signs of worsening dementia. I was starting to be afraid—not just of the dementia, but of her mind straying back to the past. She would come out with cryptic comments sometimes, maybe a reference to teachers or to Daddy's fascination by blondes, and then she'd give a little giggle and look at either Daddy or me with a glance of conspiracy. I was afraid Daddy would soon figure out what had happened all those years ago. What would happen then? Would he still care for her as he had throughout her illness, or would he feel revulsion towards her? Would other people find out and would justice have to take its course with a sick woman? I didn't want to find the answers.            Sometimes Momma had good days. That's when she'd realize what was happening to her and she'd clutch my hand and plead with me for help. She had problems sleeping and took a strong sleeping pill at night. One day I caught her with the bottle, dumping the pills into her hand and staring at them for a long time before putting them back with a heavy sigh. Daddy and I started hiding the pills from her, only giving her the one at a time.            Then one night when I gave her the pill, she grabbed my hand, taking the pills from me and holding the bottle tightly. The pleading look she gave me was heartbreaking. I turned and left the room.            When we found her lifeless in the morning, the doctor castigated us for not keeping the pills out of her reach. There had to be a hearing of course, but it was ruled suicide while of unsound mind and no-one asked many questions. Neighbors fell into two groups—those who felt she was probably better off this way and those who expressed regret at the loss of years she still could have had with her family, whatever quality they were.            And now I have one more secret to keep. Secrets can be lonely when you can't share them with anyone.


Jamie stepped off the bus just as it was starting to snow. "Merry Christmas." He heard the bus driver say before closing the doors and driving off. Jamie was the only one to get off at this bus stop. He stood there scanning the short buildings that lined the only street in his small hometown. Nothing had changed, at least not for the better in the two years since he'd last been here. The buildings were looking more run down than they had before. He noticed that a few were missing, making the street look like a smile that was missing some teeth. Jamie thought it suited the town perfectly as most the residents were in fact missing teeth. Despite the sorry state of the poor little town, Jamie was surprised to see festive lights and decorations covering the ruins of a once bustling coal mining town. He was also surprised to see so many people walking up and down the sidewalk, dressed in red, green and white. All very cheery and talking to each other and laughing. Jamie stared at the scene for a moment, his dead little country town looking for the world like a Christmas movie. BEEP! BEEP! Jamie turned in the direction of the parking lot across the street from the bus stop. There sat a large Chevy pickup truck with a lanky woman he recognized as his older sister, Lily, waved at him from the driver's side window. Jamie made his way across the street and got into the the passenger's side of the old truck, slamming the door loudly. He could smell the smoke scent that he knew was from the fireplace that heated his childhood home, radiating from Lily. The smell hit him hard with nostalgia. Lily reached over and patted Jamie on the back. "Well, look at you, " she teased, "look like you've actually gotten shorter." Jamie snorted, "looks like you've turned into a street lamp." Lily laughed heartily, but the reaction he wanted but one he expected. She was always giving him crap about being shorter than her. "Ready to go home, college boy?" "Yeah, " Jamie sighed, clicking his seatbelt,  "I'm exhausted." "I'd say so," Lily put the truck in gear and they started home, "you've had a long ride and still a long one to go." Jamie and Lily's childhood home was deep in the mountains of Appalachia, almost an hour away from the small little town. On their way home they chatted about the weather and school until Lily made her way to her favorite topic. "How's the love life?" Jamie rolled his eyes. "Don't have one. How's yours?" "You know," Lily glanced at him, "Tessa is still across the river." Jamie breathed in deeply through his nose. He could suddenly feel his heart beating. "You talk to her?" He asked a little too quickly. "I see her every now and then at the store in the next county," Lily grinned, "she's just as sweet as ever." "What do you guys talk about?" "Oh, nothing much," Lily looked over at him and smiled, "I take it back, you have gotten a little taller. You should go down to the river some time tomorrow and show Tessa hour much you've grown." When they arrived at their little brick house, Jamie made his way up the snowy steps and into the house to greet his father. They stayed up a while talking before retiring to bed. Jamie lie awake for a while thinking of Tessa. He remembered the first time he'd went down to the river by himself when he was fifteen and had seen Tessa's bright red hair shining in the sun from the other side. It was love at first sight for Jamie. He remembered how they would skip rocks back and forth and try to figure out how they could cross the river without getting wet. How they would laugh. He'd said to hell with it after a few meetings and jumped in the river and swam to her. Jamie finally drifted off with the memory of his first kiss. The next day Jamie told his father and sister he was going to take a walk and they gave each other a knowing look that Jamie pretended not to notice. He walked quickly down the familiar snow covered roads. The snow was sparkling in the sun and everything looked brighter than it used to. And smaller. Jamie finally arrived at the river and was disheartened to find there was no Tessa there waiting for him. Jamie looked around and saw the rope he'd tied to a large tree that held his little row boat here. He stood there for a moment, staring at the broken rope before he started to shiver. Then he remembered that they used to light fires to notify the other that they were here, both being able to see the smoke from their houses. As he gathered driftwood and dead trees Jamie thought about the last time he had spoken to Tessa. It was the weekend before Jamie graduated high school. By this time Jamie had aquired a small boat he kept tied by the river. Tessa and Jamie went to different schools and they could only see each other after hours, and that day when he came to the river Tessa was already there waiting just like she was everyday, sitting cross legged with a book on her lap. She smiled at him and Jamie smiled back. He felt the letter in his pocket he'd received months ago. He was anxious to show Tessa. He untied the boat and rowed over to her side of the bank. When he stepped out of the boat he was greeted with Tessa's arms around his neck and a kiss. He picked her up and spun her around. "What's got you in such a good mood?" Tessa giggled. Jamie smiled and pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it up to her. Tessa unfolded the paper, scanning over it quickly before handing it back and walking over to the water. "You got in." Jamie was hurt and confused at her  reaction. "Yeah," Jamie put the letter back in his pocket, "what's wrong?" "I didn't get in," Tessa didn't look at him, "I didn't get in anywhere." Jamie was shocked. Tessa had always told him that she excelled in school and was the top of her class. That she'd applied at all the same schools he had, so they could be together. "What do you mean?" She sighed and sat down on the bank, sliding her fingers through the sand. Jamie joined her. He stared at her and waited but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Tess?" "I quit school last year." Tessa said quietly. "What?" Jamie took a deep breath, "but you talk about school all the time!" Tessa let out a shaky breath. "I was never any good at school. I never applied to any colleges." Tessa picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through her fingers. Jamie watched it fall into a small pile for a moment. "Why?" He gulped, "why'd you lie?" Tessa sighed and stood up suddenly. "What's it matter?" She was looking at him now with her hands out, "you're leaving! Like I knew you would." "No," Jamie stood up, "tell me why." Tessa picked up her book and turned to walk away but Jamie grabbed her arm and tried to make her turn to face him but she budge. "Tess!" He loosened his grip and she slipped out, running up the bank, "wait! Talk to me, please!" He started after her and stopped as he watched her running as fast as she could away from him. He was confused and he didn't know what to do so he sat down and waited. When the sun started to go down he untied the boat and headed home. When she wouldn't return his calls he decided he would come back to the river the next day and every day until he had to leave for college. Tessa never showed. As he gathered wet wood into a pile he turned the whole conversation over and over in his head, as he had done many times before. He still turned up with no answers and a broken heart. He wondered if maybe if he really knew her at all. He gathered some dead, wet leaves and struck a lighter them, and they began to smoke immediately. He worked for some time trying to achieve a good flame and eventually he had a small but very smoky fire. He kept the fire going for about an hour when he decided to let it die. He thought was being a fool and it was time to head back and be with his family for the holidays. He turned and began his walk home. "Jamie." He spun around to see a beautiful mane of firey red hair glowing against the color of the snow across the river. Tessa threw a rock, which skipped six times across the surface of the water before landing in front of Jamie. He picked it up and held it tightly. "Tess!" He laughed, "I didn't think you'd come." Tessa bashfully looked down at her boots. Now that she was there Jamie had no idea what to say. It was hard to have a conversation like this, even though the distance between them wasn't that far. Instead of saying anything Jamie shot the rock back across the river towards Tessa only to fall short. She laughed then and the sound softened the awkwardness. "You've gotten rusty, huh?" "Yeah," Jamie laughed, "it's been a long time. " Tessa paused, "Do you want to talk?" "Uh, yes! Sure," Jamie gestured to the tree with what was left of the rope, "the boat is long gone." "There's a bridge now," Tessa smiled, "this way." Tessa started to walk upstream and Jamie followed on the other side. They walked in silence as the river began to widen the gap between them. Jamie kept looking to his left to make sure she was still there, and finally he spotted a bridge to ahead. They climbed the banks to get to the bridge and finally met in the middle, panting, their breath coming out in white foggy air. "Tell me why." Jamie got straight to the point, out of breath and tired. Tessa chuckled. "Right, right." She turned and leaned her elbows on the railing of the bridge, "I had to quit school because my mom was sick. She couldn't work. I had to take care of her." "Oh. Why didn't you just tell me that?" "I don't know," Tessa shrugged, "I was embarrassed and ashamed of how far I'd let the lies go on. You always talked about how badly you wanted to get out of here and I knew I wasn't going anywhere. My mom was sick, I just couldn't process any of it at the time." "Your mom, is she-" "She's gone." "Shit, Tessa." Jamie sighed, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I'll be fine." She cleared her throat, "but what about you? Living the good college life?" "Uh, yeah," Jamie looked down at his hands, "yeah, it's fine." Jamie thought for a moment on what to say, finally something came to him. "Do you want to come to my dad's house for Christmas? If you're not already busy." Jamie bit his lip and stared hard at the river. They stood there in silence, staring at the slow moving river below them. Tessa moved closer to him, nudging his elbow with hers. "I'd love to." He looked at her and smiled before pulling her in and hugging her tightly, his chin resting on her head. Lily was right he had gotten taller.


What would you do if you were born the son of a brilliant scientist? I’ll tell you what I would do, what I am. I’d always be curious. Though I can’t remember much from when I was younger, my father told me I was always a curious kid. While other kids played outside, I observed what was around me. One day, my father was too busy to answer my questions, so he gave me access to his library to look up the answers independently. Looking back, that was probably when I stopped going outside as much. At the time, I thought there was no point in exploring the world when I already had it at my fingertips. I read quicker than most kids in my class and could understand what I was reading even better. Every year in school, I was at the top of my grade, and the gap between my classmates and myself grew larger with each year. Once I reached middle school, my father gave me my own computer so that I could access even more of the world’s knowledge. I would spend any free moment reading from any book or online documentation I could access. Eventually, my high school life began with me having more professional contacts rather than friends. One such person contacted me to help them conduct a study abroad, and I couldn’t have been more excited. With still a week leading up to the trip, I started packing immediately. My clothing, toiletries, spare clothes, and laptop. All I needed to finish up was some containers for sample gathering. I went to grab some from my father’s lab, but they were all being used or cleaned, so I went down to the basement to see if there were any spares. Opening the door to the basement revealed the dark and damp staircase going into an impenetrable darkness. I felt around for a light switch but to no avail. So I turned on my phone’s flashlight and took my first step onto the wooden stairs. The step let out a wicked creek that echoed through the house behind me. As if instinctively, I looked around, but with my father in the lab, nobody could be seen. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and descended the steps. The basement was uncomfortably dreadful, whereas the rest of the house had a more modern look. Unpainted walls and a noticeably colder temperature than the rest of the house followed me down each creaking step. I reached the cold concrete floor and began to scan the room for a light switch, only finding the splintering wooden walls and the beginning of many shelves. I let my hand guide me as I started to look wherever my flashlight landed. The metal shelves held boxes of different shapes and sizes: shoe boxes with scribbled messages on the side, clear plastic bins with countless wires inside, and what I was looking for in the corner, a wooden crate with varying amounts of lab equipment. As I bent down to pick up the box, I noticed something odd on one of the lower shelves; a square shape covered by some sort of furniture blanket. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I went over and carefully lifted the blanket to reveal an old square computer monitor. I say old because I had never heard of it, even with all of the research I had done in the past while looking for my most current computer monitor. I glanced at the frame of the fossil and wiped off a shocking amount of dust but couldn’t find any brand name. Before I could even consider if I recognized it based on looks alone, I was snapped out of my thinking by the violent creaking of wood from the top step.

“Son, what are you doing down here?” My father’s cold and analyzing voice filled the room. “I was looking for some spare lab equipment for my trip on Friday when I found this old computer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this brand before.” Before I could finish what I was saying, he was already heading down the stairs.

“That is because it isn’t a branded computer. I made it for fun back when I was your age.” He walked to the center of the room, and with a clicking noise, a dim light illuminated the room. I turned to face him to see a pull-string light seemingly hanging in the middle of the room. “Oh, there it is.” I murmured under my breath. “I can teach you how to make one like it, but the one you have upstairs is much more efficient. Cover it back up and I’ll help you get the supplies upstairs.” He pushed his glasses up and walked over to me. “What do you have on it? Did you practice any of your research papers on it?” I asked. He knelt down and covered up the computer before looking back at me. “I used it for practice, but it had nothing to do with my career now. Don’t look into it again.” I was shocked. The dry way of delivering his demands wasn’t new, but this was the only time he gave a demand without explaining his reasonings. Stuck thinking about the computer's possibilities, I couldn’t think of which question to ask first. Before I could decide, he had picked up the crate of supplies and started heading to the stairs, “Turn off the light for me?” He said, never once looking back at me. I couldn’t help but look back at the covered computer as I got up, though I eventually followed him out. The days leading up to the trip were spent thinking about anything but that. What was on that computer? I thought to myself day and night but couldn’t find an answer. Whenever I tried to bring it up to him, he would effortlessly brush it off. With how loud the stairs were, my only chance to go down them without him coming by would be when he was out of the house; with him working from home, this was not often. The day before my trip, he had to walk away from the house for roughly half an hour. It wasn’t enough time to set the computer up, but it was enough time to get the information I needed. Once his car left the driveway, I rushed downstairs and uncovered the computer. I studied it harder than any book I had ever read, taking photos of every side. I then rushed over to the bin of cables to locate any cords that may work to power it. After much searching and even more untangling, I placed the needed cords on top of the pile to get to them quickly when the time came. Finally, I used the last moments before he returned to find a mouse and keyboard that could connect to it. A box on the shelf held precisely what I was looking for. The pieces were set, and so was the plan. I covered everything back up, placed them where they once were, and went back upstairs. The trip was extraordinary. Spending a month in another country and learning from new people was incredible. However, the back of my mind was always on that computer. It could hold anything and everything. It was Pandora’s hard drive. It could have the blueprints for the White House. It could have the chemical formula for a poison, as well as the formula for its antidote. It could even have nuclear launch codes! Even if they were unlikely, my mind couldn’t help wandering from one idea to the next. Finally, the trip came to an end, and I was able to get back home. While he was fixing lunch for us on my first day back, I snuck into his office and looked at his calendar. Nothing. There wasn’t a single day he would be out of the house. I couldn’t wait that long, so I looked at the nearest date with something marked on it and waited. The day finally came, only three days, but it felt like an eternity. I sat in my room with the door open and listened carefully. “Hello everyone.” He said to the recipients of a conference call. He would be stuck in that meeting for at least an hour, plenty of time to get a taste. Even when he hears the creaking staircase, he won’t be able to come to stop me until after the meeting finishes. I carefully rushed to the basement door, swung it open, and went down the steps as quietly as possible. The slowest descent wouldn’t have been enough to stop the steps from alerting everyone in each corner of the house, so I threw caution to the wind and ran down. Pulling down the light’s cord, I put my plan in motion. I grabbed each cord and connected them where they could be connected. I gripped the keyboard and mouse and attempted to plug them in. With only a spot remaining for the keyboard, I slid the mouse away and readied myself. I sat on the ground and took a deep breath as I looked behind me to ensure he wasn’t there. I looked forward and slowly exhaled, pressing the power button. At first, nothing happened, sending panic throughout my body. After a minute of looking around to ensure everything was plugged in, the screen lit a dim green.

The options on the screen read “Files, Help, Back”. I tried to use the arrow keys to navigate the options but to no avail. After thinking a bit, I pressed the keyboard and noticed it let me type at the bottom. I started by typing “Back” to see if there was anything. Still, it seems he never made whatever would have been before this screen as if nothing had happened. I next typed “Help,” which caused the screen to fill with text. Quickly skimming through it, it looked like this option was meant to help anyone other than him navigate many possibilities that he never got around to adding. I typed “Back” to return to the original set of options. With excitement shooting through every corner of my body, I typed in the word “Files” and pressed enter. Six vertically listed dates appeared on the screen, dating back to when my father would have been in high school. Without a second thought, I typed the first date and pressed enter. I thought I had conceived every possible option, but this wasn’t any of them. I continued to read quicker and quicker, swapping from one file to the next. I could have been in there reading for moments. It could have been hours. I have no idea. After I read the final file, I slowly said aloud, “He was right; this didn’t have research. He was practicing, but for what? I mean, for who?”

“Your mother.” I whipped my head around to see my father sitting on the bottom step, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose with an ever so slightly blushing face. “Why did you deliberately disobey and look?” How had he snuck up on me? I thought to myself, but then I realized something; there is no way he did. This means I was so enthralled with what I was reading he was able to come down, and I didn’t even hear him coming closer. “How could I not?” Both of us were at a loss for words. It seemed like he wasn’t as mad as he was embarrassed. I finally formulated something to break the silence, “You were quite the poet, huh?” “Go to your room!” He let out in a stern yet flustered tone. I shot up and hurried up the stairs back to my room. Maybe I should try finding someone to write to like that, I thought to myself. He’s right, I thought to myself. If I were him, I would have gone crazy with curiosity. I looked at the stairs my son ran up and back to the computer. I sauntered over while rubbing my neck before sitting on the ground by it. I read the final entry on the page to myself before snickering with sheer embarrassment. My son found my love letters to my wife and his mother. He didn’t seem too fazed by it, though. Standing up, I went over to where the computer was plugged into the wall and chuckled. I had created an entire computer just to practice making love letters. I should have just used a pencil. With a grin on my face, I swiftly unplugged the computer. Now I need to get it all packed back up, I thought to myself. My wife will be home soon.


“ Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone ” That was the quote that Phillip had found several times in sundry websites while making his new investigation, it seemed to be the motto of some sort of club. He became obsessed with finding out who were the members of that group and how to stop them. Phillip was a hacker who specialized in discovering the dirty laundry of important people to blackmail them with that information. He knew that it was not the line of work his mother would want him to follow, but he found it morally okay so far. For him, threatening to reveal people’s secrets was, in fact, a good deed. It could go one of two ways: or the person got afraid and stop doing whatever he was doing, or Phillip had actual proof of awfully bad things to tell the police. His friend, Detective Molina, was always happy to receive this kind of information and look into it. Nevertheless, saying they were friends is a little exaggerated; Phillip considered him his friend, but they had never met in person; Phillip slid the envelopes under his door and detective Molina answered on an advertisement webpage with a secret language only they had knowledge of. This has been happening for four years. Each one of these messages from Detective Molina ended with “Let’s meet”.  Phillip felt that he could trust his friend, however, he preferred not to risk revealing his identity, in the end, it was the only thing that could protect him.

It was not the first time that he had found some compromising information about someone who eventually ended up in jail after the detective conducted an investigation based on what Phillip had given him. Their partnership had paid off, some bad people were sent to jail because of their felonies, and some not so bad people disbursed their money to keep Phillip quiet. Nonetheless, this routine was about to change due to the last things, Phillip came across to.

Following a very well-known businessman who allegedly was having an affair with his secretary, Phillip was able to find disturbing content this man shared online with colleagues. It involved a series of pictures, videos, conversations, of horrible, unimaginable things, that even Phillip, who thought he had seen it all, had been left completely perplexed. He knew he was going through a dark passage and that he probably should just drop it, but he also knew this was something big, and that perhaps, and luckily, he could take down a high-profile organization.

“ Seek and you shall find ” Four months had passed, and Phillip was still gathering information. He had discovered the identity of other three of the members of that group and had constructed a concept map to illustrate all the associations of this group with disappearances and the dates they occurred. Lately, he happened to disclose that these men used to attend meetings to discuss or do God knows what. The secret meetings took place every four weeks, and Phillip had just found out where. He had planted a tracking device in the businessman’s car, it led to an abandoned building outside the city. If his suspicions were precise, this elite was committing horrible crimes, and he needed physical evidence to send to Detective Molina. At this point, Phillip was not sure what he wanted to accomplish, he only felt that it was his duty to do something. The date came and Phillip went to the building some hours prior to the meeting, to sneak around the guards and get into. He had been already there a few days back and noticed they were not any security cameras outside, there were only two security guards at the front door. A message could be read on top of the door: “ Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone ”. With gloves and balaclava on, he got into the building jumping through a window and hid, he would have to wait several hours for the guests to arrive.

Men started to arrive at midnight, and they all directed to an auditorium on the underground floor. Phillip approached a small superior window and started to record. After a while, he was knocked by a huge hit in the head. He felt back, unconscious. … “Phillip, welcome to our meeting” said who seemed to be the leader. Phillip realized he was on a chair in the middle of the room. Around twenty men were surrounding him.

“Who are you?” said Phillip still dizzy. “Don’t you know already?” Phillip looked around, recognizing the four men he had been investigating lately. “No.” he replied. “Well, we know who you are and what you’ve been doing. As a matter of fact, we knew you were coming tonight, and we let you in” “Before you kill me, there is something you should know” said Phillip trembling. “Kill you?” said the man smiling. “Someone has been watching too many movies”. The laughter sounded like an echoed chorus intoned by everyone present in the room. Then he continued: “We don’t kill people, we straighten them, reform them if you will” “Ha, really?” said Phillip. “Why do they disappear, then?” “Phillip, Phillip, how could you think that? We are men of good, religious, we would not commit murder, ever! They disappear because they are given a new life, so they could be reborn, out of sin” “What does it mean? What are going to do to me?” “I know you consider yourself a good person, but what you do is nothing to be proud of. Do not judge, or you will be judged ” “Could you stop quoting the Bible? I am not proud of what I do, but at least I don’t disappear people!” he made a pause and then continued. “You better not hurt me, all the information I got from you is been already sent to someone, if something happens to me, you’re going down” “Perhaps we should take a visit to Detective Molina, shouldn’t we?” Answered the man. Phillip felt helpless. He feared for his life and his friend’s. The man got closer to Phillip and then uttered: “We do not judge people or their actions, since we are aware of the devil’s presence in their minds. We only help them cure through… procedures. Do you see? There are parts of our brains or our bodies that make us sin, so we remove them” “Please!” said Phillip crying. “I’m sorry” … Phillip woke up in an apartment he did not recognize.