-Somewhere in London, 1829-   The darkness of the forest started to recede, losing to the fire and torches of the town. As he sprinted away, his steps were hushed on the stone roads, rather than the twigs of the woodland that would crack under his bare feet. His shoes were down by the pond, where he had taken them off to try and stifle his footfall, however he regretted not bringing them, as his skin was now cut with small rocks and covered with splinters.   Pete, was his name, was relieved of not having to carry anything as he ran, bearing the bags of money no longer. Somehow, someone had known of their plans, him and Ida, and had tipped off the bank to alert them of the couple's intent. This is why instead of them being together, with the money, quietly leaving town on a carriage, they were seperated, the money hidden and both on the run. Pete had no idea where Ida was, but he knew exactly what to do. Just as they had discussed.By this time, he was out of breath and his legs were in pain, but he felt a rush of adrenaline, and he continued until he made it to his destination.

  It was a small old tower, that was composed of a door to go in, a tall staircase, yet another door, and finally a rather minute room. As he entered the tower, and locked the door with a key hidden in the unprepossessing shrub just outside, he quickly ran up the cold stone steps, and set foot in the room. It was a messy place, with papers bearing writing and drawings on them, mainly of one particular building, the bank. However he paid no attention to this, and instead took a piece of blank parchment, a quill and some ink. He then began to write as fast as the wet ink would allow him.

To My Lovely Bonnie:  -I write to you in sorrow, as I will not be able to visit you this week.  Realisation fell upon me that I came down with a sickness, and I shall not be able to leave my home for a bit of time.  Even though I want to see you once again, I wish to keep your health safe more.  Do not bother worrying however, since- But he then stopped writing when a sudden loud banging came upon the door at the bottom of the tower. He heard incomprehensible shouting, and the knocking grew louder, till a tumultuous banging took place. The Peelers, those who guarded the banks, found him. This did not terminate his original intent however, hoping to have enough time to finish his letter and throw it out the window, in aspiration Ida would obtain the simple piece of parchment. Even if it meant getting caught, resulting in his demise. -since I do not think it will be too bad, and I'll be fine in a few days time.

 Beatrice is doing well (on a side note), and seemed to be happy enough with the adjustment. The food is splendid and the forest is a congenial place for walks.  And she will be thrilled to see you once more!

 Rats have started to come through the interstice in the wall we were trying to fix last week. I filled it in with stone, so hopefully they won't come in anymore.  Every day is always filled with joy here, with the sunshine and very friendly townsfo- But then Pete heard a few muffled yells and the knocking then ceased. His heartbeat quickened, and he set a chair below the doorknob to block whoever would try to enter. A droplet of sweat fell onto his nose, so he took a rag thrown aside and wiped his face, then sat back down. He had to make sure Ida had a way to find the money and live her life, with his existence only a mere memory. He stopped and thought that was not what he wanted at all, but realised it was better for her to have it than anyone else. So the Peelers would not have the satisfaction of catching them.

-townsfolk. Lots of love is sent from I and Beatrice.

-Clyde As these last words were jotted down, he perused the letter, to ensure it would have any meaning to only her. He grinned as he read it however, and thought I don’t even know a Beatrice, which was indeed accurate.

  You see, this letter was for Ida, and Ida only. The young couple had chosen two random names to use in letters, in the event that they would get seperated. Bonnie and Clyde.

  They did not discuss however where one would hide the money, as Pete had to, in case they got seperated. So, once Pete had the bags of money and Ida took care of the additional Peelers, he ran away, which led him into the woodland near the edge of town. As soon as he set foot on the damp moss, he knew where to hide the money.

  It was a week before their heist, and after reviewing their plans, the lovers went out to the edge of the small town, into the immense forest. With no particular destination in mind, they wandered all day, until they came upon a small pond. It had a giant fallen tree above it, closer to the side, that they used to sit on. It was only when Pete almost fell over they saw that behind it was a partially destroyed barrel. Upon closer observation, Ida noticed it was a very old wine barrel, and that some of the wooden planks on the top had fallen in. It also happened to be a bizarre colour of wood, instead of the usual brown, it was an almost blood red barrel. As they observed it, they never thought that would be the last time they would set their eyes upon it while feeling content, during the halcyon days before the heist.   However, when Pete was running in the forest, looking for the place to hide the money for Ida, he passed the pond, and sighed in relief. He had found his hiding place. The red barrel. Carefully placing the money on a plank of wood inside the ‘carcass’ of the barrel, he ran. The feeling of wind caressed his face, transporting him to a different time, a different place, with a different plan. Something he did not like. No, not at all. Improvisation.   And that is what brings us back to the room, the room in the tower, the tower in the village, the village outside the gloom and shadow of the tree’s. He had finished writing this letter filled with utter nonsense, but that held critical information, of where the money was. Pete knew he could not risk writing it plainly in the letter, in case it fell in the wrong hands. And Ida was probably the smartest person he ever knew, smarter than him, and at only 17 years young too. So this was why he wrote a code. If she found the letter, addressed to a girl named Bonnie from a guy named Clyde, she would know it's for her. And then she would figure out that it's a code. A simple code, but even if someone else figured it out, they would never know that it's for money. Because once you read the first letters of every paragraph -try it you'll see- it says RED BAREL, or red barrel. Now in the message it was in fact just one phrase with R, but he knew Ida would know what it meant.

  Pete could imagine her smiling when she figured it out, running with the letter in hand into the woods. And it was at that thought he came back to his senses, by taking a deep breath, and praying no one was outside the door waiting to kill him. He could hear the cicadas outside, and a few shouts in the distance, but the rest of the town seemed so calm. How he wished he was one of those kids sleeping in a nice bed, only worrying about school and the next day's weather. He slammed the door open, and rushed down the stairs two at a time, almost tripping twice. But as he spiraled down the staircase he knew something was wrong. The crisp breeze was drifting in from outside and the smell of campfire was also to be noticed. But right before he took one more step and would be able to see the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. He had never smelled anything quite as horrid, horrendous, grim as this smell. The smell of blood. He closed his eyes so firmly shut they started to water.

  He took two more steps down, and opened his eyes. As he correctly guessed the door was opened, and there was blood on the ground. The latter of which was from a gruesome scene, with four visible bodies laying, dead on the ground, weapons astray, their bodies blemished by scratches of various sizes. He slowly walked out into the middle of this act of pure wickedness. There was one more body sitting against the wall, held up by a spear going straight through him and seen on the other side in between two bricks. Two of the men had arrows sticking out, one had two on his arm and stomach, the other had one going straight through his head. Pete felt like he should puke, but he had not eaten in hours, depriving him of the feeling of being a normal human in this situation. He closed his eyelids once more, not on purpose this time, but of fatigue. He put his hand against the wall, transferring some of his weight off his bloody and sore feet.

His notice was soon afterwards attracted to the last two bodies however, mainly out of curiosity. He turned around, and saw them. Several large scratches littering their skin, with one man having an axe sticking out of his stomach, the other had no presence of a weapon beside him. Pete let out a sound he never thought he would have to in his life, a whimper. Bizarrely, he only had one thought in his head, in fact a word. Clyde, his made up name. I am Clyde. I am Clyde. He repeated to himself, for no particular reason. The letter for who he now thought was only Bonnie and no more, was crumpled in his hand, after gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

A presentiment of death came upon his thoughts, washing away what little hue of red and bronze from his face, turning it as white as snow. Instead of running back in the street where he could hear people coming, but in the tower. Clearly he was not thinking straight, as they would link the bloodbath to whoever was in that tower, but in the moment the thought never crossed his mind. He raced back up the stairs, while simultaneously trying to calm down. But a horrible, horrible image crossed his mind. He stopped with no hesitation, on one of the flat landings beside one of the large and dark holes acting as a window.

  He turned to face the descent of the stairs. Whoever opened that door… Well he had definitely locked it. And the lock was not broken when he went down. Whoever had opened it… Had a key. And whoever opened it… Must be in the tower. No. he thought. It can't be. She wouldn't. “SHE WOULDN'T!” he yelled to try and convince himself. To try and rid that thought in his head. That it was- That it was all… Bonn- But was quickly cut off from a dagger coming out of his chest.A shadow stepped out of the opening. The blade retracted, and as Clyde fell onto his knees, his hands held his wound as the letter drifted harmlessly to the floor. While falling flat onto his stomach, he leaned and was able to face his attacker. He gaped in shock while staring at the beautiful face he once loved. Bonnie. She smiled as she held the bloody dagger, and said “Sorry baby, but I need to make a livin’.” while looking at the weapon. She cocked her head towards him, and said. “You will be dying soon, but I still have the time to make your life hell. Before you go back down.”. Her smile faded. “So where did you hide the money?”, repeating it twice in a sweeter voice then natural, twiddling the dagger with her finger.

  Betrayal. That was what he felt. Betrayal and loathing. How she must have used him this whole time. He would die before letting her know. He let the blood flow from the wound in his chest, while the hole in his back also seeped blood out in the cracks of cement. He slowly moved his hand towards the fallen letter, in hopes of hiding it. He managed to grab it between his fingers, but she very quickly saw what he was doing and snatched the parchment. “And what would this be?” she said teasingly. Opening the piece of bloody paper, she saw the random phrases, and realised what it was. Clyde felt woozy, and knew he lost too much blood. However, just as Bonnie chuckled and muttered something about how it was too easy, Clyde smiled. While grabbing it, he had managed to smudge half of the first words, deleting the code.   Bonnie did not appear to realise this, and she walked down a few steps and said “Bye Chief.”, a nickname she had given him when they first met. Clyde watched as the figure of the person he once knew walked down the stairs, smiling at the thought that she would never get the money, but it was for the next adventurous couple, or little kid wandering by the barrel to find.   And then, without another thought, he then slipped back into the darkness of the woodland he once came out of.


Ellie examined herself in the mirror. Her long, blonde hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail, and her eyes were sunken in from stress. She sighed, tightened her ponytail even more, and exited the small bathroom. She trudged down the long hallway and re-entered the head master’s office, where her mother and father were waiting for her.

“Hello, Miss Elaina,” The headmaster greeted, sitting straight up with her hands folded on her desk. “Hello, Mrs..” Ellie glanced at her name plaque. “Rothschild.” “Ms,” She was corrected. She nodded awkwardly and sank into the giant, pleather chair in front of Ms. Rothschild. “So,” The headmaster began. “Elaina will be enrolled into our seventh grade gifted program, and she will be on the third floor of the boarding house. Her extracurricular activities will include soccer, French, and pottery. She will be on fall break in October, and it will be two weeks long. She is expected to complete all of the homework given for that break. Any questions?”

Ellie’s parents looked stunned. They shook their heads, and Ms. Rothschild smiled. “Great! Well, we’ll get her to her room then. Say your goodbyes, and I will have my assistant walk her to the boarding house.” Ellie looked at her mom and dad, and gave them reluctant hugs. They had tears in their eyes, and she wondered why. They were the reason this was happening, they could stop it at any time. Once the goodbyes were over, Ellie followed a small woman named Miss Scotts out of the building and into another, taller one. They walked up two flights of stairs, and got to a room with the number 83 carved into a metal plaque.

“Here is your room,” The woman squeaked. Ellie nodded at her, and entered the small dorm room. It had two creaky metal beds, and a small window in between. Off to the side, there was an old, particle board desk and dresser set, and a tiny closet. Ellie unpacked her small suitcase, and then sat on the left bed to read a book. She hadn’t even been reading for five minutes when the door to the room flew open. In bounced a petite, redheaded girl.

“Hello!” The girl chirped. “I’m Shelby!” “Hello, Shelby,” Ellie responded, and introduced herself.

“Well, I guess we’re roommates,” Shelby smiled. Ellie smiled back, in spite of herself. Shelby’s attitude was infectious. For the next few hours, Shelby and Ellie lounged in their room. At about 5 o’clock, they decided to go explore. But, when they left the room, they couldn’t find the stairwell. They brushed it off, and went back to their room.  Later that evening, they were called down for dinner. They headed down the stairs, and went across the courtyard into the cafeteria. They sat down at the tables, and ate ravenously, exhausted and hungry from the long travel to St. Mary’s. Ellie was so hungry, she almost didn’t notice the teachers whispering amongst themselves. But she did, and pointed it out to Shelby. Shelby shrugged it off.

“They’re probably just gossiping about something.” Ellie nodded, not completely convinced.

They went to bed at 9 o’clock, because that was their curfew. Ellie laid in bed, not tired at all. She could hear Shelby snoring, and it made her giggle. Suddenly, she heard loud creaking. She listened hard. It sounded almost like the building was.. Moving. But Ellie knew that wasn’t possible. After about three minutes, the creaking stopped. Ellie was confused, but decided not to question it. She flipped over, and finally fell asleep.

In the morning, they woke up at 7 o’clock. They got ready for their lessons, and went into the cafeteria. They all entered at the same time, and noticed none of the teachers were there. They sat down at the tables, and suddenly food appeared on the table. The girls gasped. Where did it come from? Ms. Rothschild appeared at the front of the room. “Hello, girls. I am sure you’re all confused; let me explain. There are 300 of you, all young women. Now, this might come as a surprise, but you are all beginning witches.” The girls looked at each other in disbelief. She was joking, right? “No, I am not joking. You all have a very rare blood type. That blood type is F positive, and it ensures that you are descendants of Merlin. A lot of people don’t believe in him, but you girls.. You ARE him. Now, of course you will still learn the normal school subjects. But you will also be learning how to hone your powers.”

The girls were shocked. This was NOT what they were expecting when they arrived at the St. Mary’s. Girls started trying to use their powers, making things float and bounce around the entire cafeteria. Ms. Rothschild watched, laughing slightly at their delight. Ellie looked over at Shelby. Ellie concentrated hard, and Shelby’s ice water floated into the air, before dropping back down onto the table. They grinned widely at each other. They could get used to this whole ‘witch’ thing.

After breakfast, the horde of girls rushed to their first classes, excited to learn. Ellie and Shelby had a potion-making class first, and they chose two large, plush seats to sit in. They held hands, and listened intently as the teacher explained the ‘level one’ potion that they were going to practice making. It was meant to turn a teenager into a toddler for five minutes. The girls worked hard; mixing together cinnamon with frog tongues and tree roots. Once they were all done, the teacher looked into all of their cauldrons, nodding. Then she turned to the students. “Drink them,” She demanded. The girls were shocked, but did as they were told. Suddenly, they were all little toddlers! They could think like girls their age, but appeared to be three years old. After the potions wore off, their teacher smiled. “Well done, girls. You are dismissed.” Shelby and Ellie joined hands, hurrying to their next class and chattering excitedly. This was going to be a fun school year.


Anchor aweigh with the booty ahoy I climbed aboard the Jolly Roger. It was most definitely enormous and mighty, but it was a relatively new ship on the dock made from unfamiliar ingredients that I assumed would be of the highest quality. Burly and daring men danced on board, crying about the tale of the seven seas in unison. They seemed delighted and rather jubilant, unlike my divergent attitude, which excited me. The wind whistled sonorously like a bagpipe in rhythm, accentuating the pride of the unrestrained jolly roger flag. Not so long after, the ship set sail for the hidden treasure situated near an old remote island. I could not gain information regarding the glory, and the pirates didn't seem to entertain me. Our captain(pirate), a very mysterious man, never seemed to come out of his room or, to be precise, never communicated with the menacing men who never seemed to stop fighting. The journey was exceedingly alarming to me; I was always expected for the unexpected, yet my instinct always reminded me that something was peculiar about the weather. Our captain has yet to introduce himself, the odd behavior of the men, and the devoid of tone and excitement frightened me. The cold flowing breeze brushed against my skin, slightly numbing my body and disheveling my hair, which I found exasperating. The abnormal raging ocean violently trashed around, seeding fear into everyone on deck. In an instant, a shadowy figure emerged from the inn, as the light slowly exposed his frame, which was starting to ascent on deck. Pirates observed as he came into visibility, the captain asserts, "IN THE QUEST FOR THE TREASURE ISLAND, WE W-WILL DOCK RIGHT NEAR THE BENBOW PORT IN AN HOURS FROM NOW" With that speech, he left, without entertaining questions. Indeed he had already established the hierarchy, but his voice hinted something was in disarray. He struggled with his sentences. Our captain's a well-groomed man, and a had a proliferating amount of skills. One of the finest may I add and feared across the seven seas. But never once did he seem so eccentric. Night had befallen, every pirate on deck was heading into their inns, but since I was the skipper, I was required to check the tides, current location.  The sea calmed down after the aggressive activity that occurred during the day. The scene was almost tranquil and serene, just like how the clouds float on the pleasant days of spring. I dragged myself to the inn while jerking my body to not pass out until I overheard a few men leaning beside barrels. My current state would not let me stay awake any longer, but I succumbed to my tendency of butting into conversations. I lay beside and heard them squabble. "eye dont think the captain can take this ship over, blody he cannt talk" shouted grunt. "aye, you're right if I think so myself, how bout we overthrow this captain and seize the treasure? I NEED THAT TREASURE," cried Black dog. The rum was taking effect on them, and I ran back to the inn and slept. The next morning, I awoke and noticed a clash between the captain and Black dog. The men shouted at each other as they clashed notoriously. Black Dog insisted on stealing the treasure and taking control of the Jolly roger. The captain blatantly refused and charged forward. Black dog and his men retaliated, grabbing their pistols and swords. Followed by this, the opposing men in favor of the captain fought in defense. I have grasped my flintlock and primed to defend myself and aided the wounded. Suddenly, Black dog charged towards me with his bloodthirsty aura, I was vulnerable, and there was nothing I could do. Simultaneously, the captain shielded me and told me to rush to safety as he gave me a glass that seemed to contain a map. With no time to waste, I ran and hid in one of the inns and locked the door. I sat down in panic and slowly passed out from dehydration. "wake up, littl boy, GIVE ME THAT SCROLL YOU ARE HIDING," shouted Black dog. I lurched up from the wall and was surrounded by Black dog and his men. I had no choice but to surrender. With nothing left for me to give, I thought I would be killed; I reminisced all the previous events and dreamed of how I could free and languid like the white clouds in the sky. I felt the sword as it brushed my neck and down to my chest. "You are a lucky boy; I won't kill you just yet. You see, we don't have any other skipper in this ship, so how will we navigate round the treasure. Now, won't you help little Jimmy?, If you do a great job, you too will be rewarded," exclaimed Black Dog. "S-Sure I'll help…." said I "good Jimmy, now help us with the treasure," said Black Dog With that talk, he and his men left the room with joy. The captain had been overthrown, and I was now in their endeavor. The cold air, the smell of blood, and sweat made me sick. I was in a state of turmoil. These heinous, wicked men showed no remorse as they stomped and ordered around the deck. I have severely injured myself, and I could barely walk. I trudged down the deck and saw the state of the ship. It was disastrous. Dead bodies rolled around and smothered with a concoction of body fluids. It was one of the most horrific moments of my life. This incident was unanticipated, so I ran back to help those in need. In the days that followed, I helped around the Jolly Roger and did my jobs as a skipper would do. The pirates would grow impatient day by day, and the need for treasure grew with every passing second. Black Dog often lost his patience and almost made someone walk the plank. The sky was ever so calm. No deadly storms and raging tides occur during that day. The following day, we arrived at the shore and docked it near the tropical lake that was connected by the sea. The pirate obsession with the treasure was crystal clear, and so was his attitude. He often burst with anger when we were unable to pinpoint the location of the buried treasure. After a few days of searching and scavenging, we had finally found the buried treasure; Black Dog jumped in joy, as well as the other pirates. I was happy because I was going to receive some of the treasure. We marched to the ship and lifted our anchors to escape this island with the prize. Black dog kept most of the money, and the rest was split between the other pirates and me. The treasure value was a staggering 500 million quids. I received 25 million quids for which I was excessively happy. Each of us departed and went our own separate ways after we reached land. Black Dog mysteriously disappeared and abandoned the Jolly Rodger after getting the treasure. His attitude shocked me, but I soon disremembered it and left to fulfill my desires in life. After a few years, with my money, I was able to afford a house and start my own family in London. I often still go to watch clouds while I reminisced the whole eventful journey. It was ridiculous, but every now and then, I am haunted by Black Dog and the other souls of the dead pirates. And that is my journey in the Jolly Roger with a pirate who had a strange obsession with a not so mythical treasure.


Thirty seconds until the bell rings. Just one more period. I can do this. I give myself the once-over in the bathroom mirror and head back down the hall. All around me, students are rushing to beat the bell. I walk slowly, enjoying the last few seconds of solitude before I enter my room. Once I cross this threshold, I am Miss. Ka'eo. And like my namesake suggests, I am strong. At least, I pretend to be in front of my students. I can hear the soft murmur of my tenth-graders in the classroom. They know at any moment, I will pop through the doorway with a big smile and chalk-covered slacks. And once I’m in the room, all eyes remain on me. It may be an introvert’s worst nightmare, but it’s my daily routine. I take one last steadying breath and stroll confidently into the classroom. I quickly scan the students while being careful to avoid eye contact. I greet them, instruct them to turn to page 103 of their textbooks and click on the projector. Ah, the projector. I use it frequently, not just for its technology, but because it gives me an excuse to turn down the lights. A little less light shining on me makes presentations more comfortable. Must be an introvert thing. As we move through the lesson, I repeat the words I practiced the night before. Every night, I run through my lectures for the following day. Being prepared gives me confidence and allows me to feel comfortable spending hours in the spotlight. The thought of presenting without the words already running through my mind or visual materials to divert attention makes my heart flutter. Each time I run through my lessons, I sound and appear more confident. Not only am I practicing my public speaking, but I am practicing my extroversion. Or, rather, the extroverted facade I display while on school property. After forty minutes of my voice echoing through the classroom, the lesson comes to an end, and I am right on schedule. I pause, taking another look at my pupils. They are fading, and I’m not surprised. It’s Friday afternoon, and the last thing on their minds is structural functionalism in a society. I lock eyes with one girl, Sama, sitting in the back row. She keeps to herself and doesn’t participate in class discussions. But based on her essays and test scores, I know she is following along. Sama is like me, and while other teachers may demand her to be more vocal, I let her remain comfortable. I know that going to school and spending hours with her peers exhausts her, and I know not to confuse her silence with carelessness. But when Sama does raise her hand and contribute, every ear listens. When she chooses to speak, she picks her words carefully, and she brings up excellent points. And because of that, I let her be. If there is anyone who understands the difficulties of an introvert living in an extroverted world, it is me. I glance at my watch to see there is less than one minute of class remaining. The students are getting restless, and they want to start their weekend. I don’t blame them, as I’m looking forward to a solo kayak venture myself. I ask for questions just as the sound of the dismissal bell emerges from the intercom. The students jump up, even Sama. Before she leaves, she waves softly, and I nod back. Within moments, I am alone in the classroom. Finally. I sit down at my desk, lean my elbows on the worn-down wood, and gently rub my temples. It was a long week filled with volunteer events, assemblies, and lectures. Physically, I’m fine; mentally, I am drained.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my classroom phone blinking red. I have a voicemail from Mrs. Saetang, the mother of one of my below-average students. She wants to come in around four o’clock to discuss her son’s academic performance. It’s already quarter to four, which means it’s too late to cancel.

I scurry out of the classroom and down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge. It’s empty, and I release a soft sigh of relief. I quickly fill a cup with hot water and gently drop a green tea bag into it. I cradle the cup in my hands to not spill a drop as I briskly walk back to my desk. Two minutes of solitude remain, and I settle into my desk to sip my tea. The steam feels good against my lips and the hot liquid makes me feel warm. I hear authoritative footsteps moving towards my door and brace myself for Mrs. Saetang. She’s a nice woman, but she’s the opposite of me in every way. Mrs. Saetang does not knock; she lets herself straight into the classroom and plops down at the desk closest to mine. I smile warmly and she immediately launches into a story about a woman cutting her off on the drive over. She uses explicative language and talks with her hands. I nod and shake my head appropriately, letting her go on. She continues for nearly three minutes, and I can’t help but wonder if she notices that I have not spoken one word since she arrived. Finally, after nearly five minutes of storytelling, she pauses long enough for me to get a word in. I point out some of my concerns for her son’s academic scores and areas he needs to start working hard to improve. But I can tell she is not listening; Mrs. Saetang is nodding along, just waiting to interject. As soon as I stop speaking, she chimes in with more unnecessary chatter. The minutes drag on as I listen to Mrs. Saetang overshare the personal details of her life. I offer a few words of advice, but I know she won’t hear them. Mrs. Saetang scheduled this meeting to talk, not listen. So I let her. As our time dwindles, I hand her a learning guide and tell her to look it over when she has the opportunity. She asks if she should come back next week to review the information, but I quickly tell her my schedule is full. Instead, I jot down my email address and tell her to contact me that way. She nods, then exclaims she is late for dinner with her girlfriends. I wave as she hustles out the door, gently closing it behind her. By this time, it’s nearly five o’clock and time for me to head home. I gather my belongings and pull out my AirPods. Wearing earbuds tells the world you don’t want to talk, and after an hour with Mrs. Saetang, I need the AirPods to be my shields. Whoever invented earphones was definitely an introvert , I think to myself as I wiggle the devices deep into my ears.

I walk briskly down the hallway, listening to Coldplay’s tender harmonies flood through my ears. I fly down the stairs and rip open the door leading to the back lot. I am just about to reach my car when I hear, over my music, someone shouting my name. I whip around, and my heart sinks. It’s Aran, president of the teacher’s association and chairman of catching me at the worst possible moment. I already know he’s going to ask for a favor, as that’s the only time he seeks me out. I was right: they want to recruit me into helping put on the school’s upcoming spring dance. According to Aran, they could really benefit from my creative eye in coming up with this year’s theme for the school dance. And, of course, they are always looking for more chaperones for the dance floor. They thought I would make the perfect fit since I get along so well with my students. I’m smiling politely at Aran as he babbles on, feeling tempted to agree just so I can escape. Finally, he pauses and I let him know I’ll have to peek at my calendar before committing. He nods excitedly and says he’ll track me down on Monday. By then I’ll have decided to suck it up and help or have come up with a valid reason to decline. Satisfied with my answer, Aran waves goodbye and shuffles away, saying something about needing to find another teacher for the fine arts committee. The moment his back turns away, I slip into my car and lock the doors. I drive in silence, feeling overwhelmed by the day’s unexpected activity. I need moments of solitude, even if they are brief, to collect my thoughts and recharge. But today, the silence was scarce, and I’m feeling depleted. My apartment feels cool and dark, and I immediately flop down on the couch. I lay there peacefully, thinking about the day’s events. As my mind wanders, I decide to treat myself to dinner-and-a-movie night. And by dinner, I mean ordering Gaeng Daeng online from my favorite restaurant. And by movie, I mean finishing the true-crime novel I’ve been working through for the past three weeks. To others, this type of Friday might be called “lame” or “low-key”. But to me, it is perfect. I sit up and grab my phone just as my stomach starts to grumble. As I glance down, I see a row of text messages. It’s a group chat with the teachers from the school, and they are all at a local pub celebrating Katina’s birthday. Katina wants to know when I’m arriving, and she’s saving me a stool at the bar. My heart sinks, and I let out a soft groan. Katina is a good friend, and I don’t want to be rude or disappoint her. So I stand up from the couch and decide to reschedule my introverted Friday night. Instead, I run a brush through my hair, slip into a leather jacket, and pop on a fresh coat of lipstick.

I can do this.


Tom dropped his empty beer can at his feet, letting it loudly clang amongst the others as he cracked open a new one, taking a sip before setting it down on the tattered armrest. Can’t hear a thing, where’s the damn remote ? He plunged his hands into the crevice on either side of the armchair’s fat cushion until his fingertips brushed against hard plastic.With considerable effort he gripped it between two outstretched fingers and was able to drag it up from the depths below. His head spun a little, and he was unsure whether it came from the exertion or the booze. He wasn’t particularly accustomed to either. On an ordinary day, after work he would have curled up on the couch with a new book, or watched that documentary on underground farming he’d been meaning to watch. But of course, today was no ordinary day. Today was the summer equinox, which meant that the AstroLottery was today, which meant that Tom was racked with anxious jitters and needed a drink or three to take the edge off. It wasn’t working, so now he was just anxious and tipsy. He pointed the remote at the screen and held the Volume Up button until the man on the television was shouting into the room.

“THANKS AGAIN FOR JOINING US, THOSE IN THE STUDIO AND THOSE WATCHING FROM HOME. I KNOW THE SOLAR FLARES HAVE PUT A DAMPER ON SOME OF TODAY’S PLANNED ACTIVITIES, BUT I HOPE YOU’RE STILL FINDING WAYS TO KEEP THE CELEBRATION ALIVE.”

Tom’s ears were beginning to ring, so he turned the volume back down, drinking more of his beer. Surely they must make the announcement soon?

“We remind everyone how important this annual event is to the health and safety of our world, and everyone living on it,” the TV man continued, smiling towards his female co-host. “Every year, from time immemorial, we’ve sent brave warriors off this Earth to celebrate our devotion to the Astral Gods, and this year is no different.”

“Well we haven’t had rockets since time immemorial, so that seems unlikely,” Tom muttered at the screen, punctuating the end of his sentence with a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a burp.

“I think we’ve waited long enough. I’m excited, aren’t you Charlene?” The host didn’t wait for Charlene to respond before turning back to the camera as he was handed a large envelope from someone off-screen. “Now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. This year’s Solar Champion is… Emily Garbrandt!”

Her name flashed on the screen, emblazoned on a picture of the burning sun.

“Wow, a lady Sun Sacrifice? It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those, hasn’t it Charlene? When was the last one, ‘39? Congratulations Emily! Environmental Protection Services will be contacting you shortly about your prize. Once again, thank you Emily. Your sacrifice ensures another year in which our homes will not burn, and out seas will not boil.”

Tom threw his now-empty beer can at the man’s stupid, empty grin. There were sharks with fewer teeth, and more sense, than that idiot. The camera panned over to the female host, now holding an envelope of her own.

Just one more name .

“As for our Lunar Champion, we’re looking for someone extra special this year, given the unprecedented flooding we’ve witnessed over these past 12 months. Let’s hope that this year’s champion is better able to appease the Moon God better than last year’s Champion.” She cracked the envelope, pausing for dramatic effect.

“This year, our Lunar Champion, who will be sent to the moon to make the rain go away and keep the monsoons at bay is… Tom Thompson!”

Tom sat slack jawed, as his stupid name flashed across the stupid screen, placed upon a picture of the moon so stupid, they’d given it eyes and a mouth. Every year he’d dreaded the possibility that he’d be chosen for this inane superstition. A testament to mankind’s delusions. And here it finally was. He was to be the Man on the Moon.

He hated this world.

A knock at the door interrupted his panic, and a man called out. “Congratulations, Lunar Champion! We are here to escort you to our facilities in Florida, where we will prepare you for your journey!”

Well that was quick.

“He’s not here!” Tom called out in a panicked falsetto as he stumbled up from his seat, sending empty cans clattering across the room. “This is Mrs. Thompson. Tom’s just stepped out to get some milk, you might be able to catch him if you go hurry!”

“Tom, we know you’re not married, why don’t you just open the door and talk with us”

What an immensely stupid plan that was , Tom thought as he searched the room for an alternate exit, knowing that living in an apartment meant there was only one: the window.

Something heavy thudded against the door as Tom ran to the window and struggled to take out the screen.

“Tom, we know how nervous some people get when declared champion…”

THUD.

“So we’re just going to help open the door for you to get you ready for the celebration…”

THUD.

“You won’t be needing this door anymore, anyway.”

With a final crash, the door burst open and two men in suits stepped in as Tom finally pried the screen off and stuck one leg out the window. The wind outside whipped, and the intense heat was already beginning to burn Tom’s exposed skin. His stomach fell as he looked at the drop he faced to the street below. Smog billowed out of unseen pipes, rising to sting his eyes and nose.

“Now don’t do anything crazy, Champ,” one of the men said as he crept towards Tom. “You don’t want to go out like that, do you? Out in that mess? Come on back inside, and we’ll make sure you go out like a true champion.”

Tom looked again out the window. He supposed it didn’t matter at this point. He was done for anyway. He had no family, little in the way of friends. No one who’d really miss him. At least this way he’d get to see the moon up close. Cautiously, Tom started to lean himself back into the apartment.

“That’s it,” the man said. “One small step…”

“Don’t you dare,” Tom interrupted.

*****

The journey to the Florida launch pad where the rockets were housed was not what Tom thought befitted a Lunar Champion. From his home they’d taken a taxi, and then two flights - economy class - to the airport in Melbourne, Florida, all the way squished between the shoulders of his two EPS chauffeurs who seemed determined to never let him out of their sight. Even at the airport bathroom, they’d sidled up to urinals next to his when he went to take a pee.

“What exactly do you think I could do in here?” he’d asked, and they’d had the audacity to look at him as if he was the odd one. Once they arrived in Florida, Tom was shocked at how hot it was, and was grateful that he wasn’t the one being sent into the sun. Intellectually, he knew the whole world was getting hotter every year, but knowing wasn’t the same as feeling the heat in a godforsaken place like Florida. Outside, the pavement bubbled underfoot, and passers-by wore thick rubberized suits to protect against the radiation. Occasionally Tom could glimpse their faces through the little window in the front, all red and sweaty. Tom was not a thin man himself, and felt as though he had sweat several years of weight away.

Soon they arrived at the NASA centre, and his escorts parked in a large, empty parking garage. EPS had bought out NASA a few years ago, when the country had stopped caring about science enough to properly fund it. EPS had kept the name though, and had simply changed what it stood for. Now it was the National Astronomical Sacrifice Association. It coordinated exactly two launches each year.

The three of them walked through the internal maze of the NASA building. Inside, the air-conditioning was on full blast, causing Tom’s skin to prickle and his hair to stand on end. The halls were empty, although all the lights and computers were on.

“You know, this is half the problem,” Tom said, gesturing as they turned down yet another empty hallway. “The energy it must take to keep this place cool, not to mention all the lights. We should try shutting some of this off, maybe don’t waste so much, see if that fixes the problem.”

The two men shared a glance over Tom’s head before looking down at him, laughing.

“I’m sure the Sun God will just accept that.” One of the men said. He pulled his shoulders up to his ears, and deepened his voice. “Go ahead, turn off the light’s. I don’t need a sacrifice this year.”

“Well, that’s an argument,” Tom replied, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

Eventually they came upon a larger room, where already there stood a pretty young woman, flanked by her own pair of EPS henchmen. Evidently it was customary to have the two Champions meet, talk, and share some last minute wisdom. Tom walked towards where she stood, clutching both her elbows and looking down at the floor.

“You’re Emily, right? The Sun Champion.”

She gave a terse nod.

“Name’s Tom.” He thumbed his chest. “Moon Champ.”

Silence. Tom teetered back and forth from heel to toe, trying to find something to comfort this young woman with which he only had one, unavoidable thing in common. As was often the case in such uncomfortable circumstances, he reached for humor.

“Makes sense that you’re the Sun Champion and not me.” He said. “You’re much hotter than I am.” He gestured to his thinning hair and considerable girth.

“We’re going to die,” she cried, as she looked up at him, her face wet with tears.

Really bungled that one, didn’t you Tom.

Mercifully, the henchman must have realized there was nothing more to be gained from this meeting, as they were shuffled apart down two separate corridors. At the end of the hallway they stopped at a set of double doors. Tom’s two guards opened a pair of lockers nearby, and each began donning sets of radiation jumpsuits. Apparently they were going outside.

“Where’s mine?” Tom asked.

“Do you really need one?”

“That’s fair.”

Once fully suited, the two men opened the doors and escorted Tom out onto the tarmac. Finally now there was the faintest element of fanfare. Just off to the right of the tarmac sat a big, wide tent, with a bright yellow roof and thick, clear plastic walls. Tom could see a number of people mingling inside. It looked as though there was a buffet table, and some of the people appeared to be wearing party hats. Idiots come to revel in this madness . Tom raised a hand to give them what he hoped was a condescending wave, but brought it down quickly when his exposed palm began burning in the sun. He quickened his pace towards what he knew was his destination: the rocket.

The rocket was smaller than he had expected. He supposed it didn’t need to be anything fancy. There wasn’t going to be a return trip. Next to the rocket was one of those rolling staircases, like the kind they used to get people on and off airplanes. On the side of his ship he saw they had painted that ridiculous face of the moon. The one from the television, with eyes and a mouth. Its eyes followed him until he stood directly beneath the rocket, thankful for its shade. If he wanted he could reach up and touch its stupid mouth.

Something about the face made Tom suddenly very angry at the absurdity of this whole thing. Why should he go quietly along with this charade? Did going along with this nonsense make him somehow complicit? Had he also abandoned reason?

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, crossing his arms. “You know that this is ridiculous right? There is no Moon God. No Sun God. How many years has this blasted tradition existed, sending people off into space? And yet the world keeps getting hotter, and the storms keep getting more frequent. Could hardly say it's been working, can you? Don’t you see? It isn’t about a Sun God or a Moon God. It is our fault that the world is this way. We are the gods we ought to be appeasing!”

He watched as a look of puzzlement crossed both their faces, as if he had spoken in an ancient and foreign language, and they struggled to translate it into their own. Finally, after a long pause, the taller of the two spoke.

“No, I don’t think so. Why would we have a rocket if there was no Moon God?”

Tom truly could not think of an argument against that, and decided that perhaps it was time for him to go. He gave one last look to the tarmac and watched as the horizon shimmered under the midday heat, before climbing the stairway leading to the top of the rocket. At the top he saw a round capsule window, about 3 feet across, was currently popped open. Peering inside, he could see just a single seat facing straight forward in the direction of the rocket’s flight. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out, so he sat down, and began fashioning the multiple seatbelts.

“Wait!” A voice called from just outside the rocket.

“What is it?” Tom said, his hand hovering above the latch of his seatbelt. Have they heeded my words?

“You forgot your helmet,” the tall man said as he reached the top of the stairs, leaning into the capsule to hand Tom an astronaut’s helmet.

“Thanks.”

Once buckled in, Tom placed the helmet over his head and tightened the straps, hoping it was sufficient to keep him conscious for the full journey. The capsule window began to close with a pneumatic hiss, and the sound of the seal being made was reassuring, albeit final. Tom heard a rumble, and through the very side of the window could see a small grey streak lifting into the sky. Goodbye Emily.

He heard the stairs being wheeled away from the rocket and he waited, staring up at the open sky. He expected some kind of countdown, and so he was startled when suddenly the rocket began to shake, and a great noise began building up behind him. His whole body rattled as the rocket began to lift from the ground, slowly at first, but building speed. Faster and faster he climbed, clouds buffeting past the capsule window. As they broke through the cloud cover, climbing higher now than any plane he’d ever been on, he couldn’t help but let out an uncharacteristic ‘whoop’ of excitement.

Behind him, the rocket pressed noisily on, propelling them forward and pushing Tom deeper into his seat. Through the window the light began to dim, as if the day had decided to abruptly pack up and leave. Soon he was high enough, far enough out into the darkness, that he was certain he’d left the Earth’s atmosphere. Stars, unseen to all but the precious few who’d gone this far, blinked into view. Tom struggled to lean his head forward against the force pushing it back, wanting to take in as much of the view as he could.

They were turning now, the thrusters behind him giving syncopated bursts as they fired in strange patterns until finally he was facing it. Her. The moon. For the first time in his life, he felt that he could appreciate its size. From Earth, the moon felt like some small, inconsequential thing. An astronomical afterthought. Out here, however, it had its own magnificence. As they drew closer,and the moon filled more of Tom’s window, he studied its face, full of pockmarks and craters. Without an atmosphere like Earth’s to protect it, the moon was vulnerable to strikes by passing space rock, taking damage from whatever debris might chance upon it. Looking at the moon now, Tom felt as though he was reading its story written in braille, and wished he was able to understand it. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, and the abuse she’d taken.

Chief among the scars on the moon’s surface, Tom could see a deep, black crater. Closer now, Tom could see strange sculptures around the base of the crater. Metal. Large, gnarled sheets. He squinted, and was certain he could see the outline of the drawn moon face along a discarded piece of hull. This was the crash site. From here he could see cracks, branching out from the centre of the impact site like the branches of a spider’s web. Moon river, Audrey Hepburn sang in the back of his skull. Some of the crevices were so deep, he couldn’t see the bottom, but it was clear now that they covered the moon’s surface. After so many rocket launches, the moon was close to crumbling.

They were close now. The moon filled the entirety of the capsule window and the rocket showed no signs of slowing. Details emerged and rushed out to meet Tom. A seat. A broken window. A helmet.

It’s alright. Tom thought. It’s okay if you break. You’ve done well by us. None of this is your fault. I hope it ends for you soon.

With a final effort, Tom unbuckled his seatbelt and removed his helmet, throwing it to the ground beside him. Just before the rocket met the surface of the moon, he planted his feet on the back of his chair and pushed off, throwing himself into the impact in the hopes that he might be the last Lunar Champion.


From the Shadows “Are you ready to take your medicine?” I asked my Momma on a gloomy Saturday morning. “Well, I can’t say no can I?” she laughed, taking the pills from my hand. Shaking my head I was about to go and read the newspaper when Poppa came into the room. “I’m gonna be going to town today, I’ve got something I gotta do,” he said, kissing my mom on the cheek and hugging me. He was in a good mood for good reason, because going to town was always special. I lived in the country with my Momma and Poppa...and three brothers. There was Michael, who just turned 15 and the was oldest, then Judah, who was 12, and Charlie who was 6. I myself was 11. Living in a house full of boys was definitely no fun, especially since I’m homeschooled. We just live so far from town. The nearest urban town was a 2 hour drive by car from us, so we normally went to town only once every 2-3 weeks. “Can I go! Can I go?!” screeched my brother Charlie. He may seem cute, but he really was a little devil - screaming and crying whenever something isn’t going the way he wants it to. I feel guilty, but sometimes I wish Charlie and the rest of my brothers would just disappear.

“Sorry buddy, not today,” he answered, patting Charlie on the head. I could tell he was about to start a fit, but dad gave him such a look that Charlie knew that he better shut up if he knew what’s good for him. At that moment, Michael and Judah ran in. “Hey we heard you’re going to town, can we go Pop?” asked Judah. “I’m already 15 so I can practice my driving skills,” he continued but Poppa cut him off. “No one’s going to town with me today, understood?” he said sternly, but not angrily. “Yes Poppa,” they all answered as I nodded my head. My brothers rushed back outside to continue whatever they were doing. Poppa leaned his head near mine and whispered, “We all know the real reason those two wanna go,” as he winked at me and I giggled. Obviously, the two of them just wanted to look at the girls in town. Then Poppa left, leaving me all alone with Momma again. *

*

* Poppa came back around 5 with a giant smile on his face. He also came back with a gigantic, black piano. It was really big, like really, really big. Though I haven’t seen very many pianos in my life, or actually any but the one in old Mrs. Fitzgerald’s yard. But that wasn’t all. “And… I’ve invited all of our neighbors over to celebrate this momentous day,” he said. “All the invitations were already sent out, and they’re coming tomorrow at 12!” My jaw dropped. The only time we invite all our neighbors over is for Memorial Day because they all live at least 45 minutes away. My brothers all went crazy, running around the house - but Michael swore he would kill me if I told anyone about his burst of emotion. I just shrugged, I don’t really care about what he thinks is embarrassing, potential drama.

Dinner was boisterous and even Momma was excited, talking about what we should all wear. Once everyone was done we started getting ready for bed. I don’t like nighttime. I don’t like the dark - no, I hate the dark. It is insanely spooky and even having to get some water or go to the bathroom is scary for me during the night. I know I sound like a wussy, but people don’t understand that part of the reason is our house. Our house is super old. I believe that it was built about a century ago by my father’s great grandfather. The floorboards creak, the walls seem to shake, the doors rattle, and the house itself seems to groan - especially when it is stormy outside. I am always so hot at night because I’m constantly hiding under the covers. My parents think night-lights are dumb and are for baby’s so I don’t have one. The light from the stars sometimes shines through my curtains which makes things even worse because of all the shadows it creates in my room. Sometimes, I’m convinced that they move.

This night though felt strange, it felt especially bone-chilling. The shadows seemed to be on the move which is why I decided to wear earplugs to bed and stay under the covers all night long. Little did I know that I would be regretting that more than anything the next day. *

*

* “Where’s my baby? Where’s my baby boy?!” sobbed my mother hysterically. We had woken up to the worst thing imaginable - Charlie was missing. Gone. Lost. Nowhere to be found. We had searched the whole house, the barn, and even the old tractor out in the field. Poppa had immediately left to look for him, going to town a second day in a row. I couldn’t believe that just yesterday I had wished for my brothers to disappear. I said it but obviously, I hadn’t meant it, but here’s what happened. Now, we weren’t very religious people but today we all were praying. I was trying not to beat myself over this possible curse I had started and the fact that maybe, just maybe I would’ve heard what happened to Charlie if not for my stupid fear and stupid earplugs. Our celebration, obviously, didn’t happen. However, a couple of our neighbors still came over to drop off food when they heard the horrible news. We would be eating casserole for a while. All day we moped around and tried to figure out what had happened. Why would someone take Charlie? For money? Blackmail? There is just no way I can believe he ran away. Charlie was scared of the dark and anyway, he loved his life - he’s only 6! When night came around everyone was terribly stressed. Father had come back with no news. He had printed posters to put up around town and had gotten some locks to set up around the house. We spent all day setting up security systems and by dinner everyone was emotionally and physically tired. We were all too scared to sleep, but eventually we were just too tired and decided to turn in. We discussed whether or not we should sleep in our own rooms or all together, but we decided that whoever took Charlie probably would’ve taken more of us if they wanted to the first night. Besides, coming back two nights in a row is very risky. It took me quite a while to fall asleep, but right before I did I heard some music - probably from Michael’s room since he loves falling asleep to music. I tossed and turned all night long, watching the shadows dance on my walls as if coaxing me. I was parched but I was way to scared to get out of bed to get water. The house groaned all night long and the storm outside wasn’t helping except that someone would probably not want to travel through all this rain - I felt slightly safer because of it. No matter, I was just trying to distract myself. The only thing I could think of was poor Charlie until I dozed off until morning. I woke with a start to a screech and a thud. I sprinted to where I heard the noises came from and it was Michael’s room. I saw my Momma on the floor, she had past out - and no Michael. “Oh no no no…” I muttered under my breath, standing in place, completely blank. After my mind starting working again I yelled: DAD! HELP!” as I ran out of the room and saw dad and Judah running in. “He’s gone! He’s gone! There’s nothing I could do! And mom...mom” I tried to explain but couldn’t stop sobbing. “I-I...Mom-mom...medecine,” I tried to get out. Why couldn’t I speak! “It’s gonna be okay honey,” my Poppa said, trying to calm me down. “We’ll go straight to the hospital. And so, for the third day in a row, Poppa went to town except with two crying children. *

*

* It was 6pm. Poppa and I were on our way home. Judah decided to stay with Momma in the hospital since Poppa couldn’t. Poppa and I had to go back to the house and pack cause we were getting out of there as soon as possible. But, that also meant we had to spend another night in the house. “We’re gonna have to pull an all-nighter honey,” Poppa told me. “I know this isn’t the way you wanted to, but we’re gonna have to do it,” he continued to explain. I wasn’t hearing a word he was saying though. I was almost too scared to breathe.

Back at the hospital, Poppa said that either me or Judah had to stay with Momma. We had asked why both of us can’t stay but he said something about safety with numbers and that we could never be alone. Poppa said that maybe I should be the one to stay, but Judah basically had a mental breakdown at the thought which left me to be the mature one. “It’s okay, Poppa,” I told him. “Judah can stay. I’ll go with you,” and I did after Poppa asked me if I’m sure about a thousand more times. Obviously I wasn’t, but unlike Judah I kept my mental break down in my head. Entering the house was like entering a living nightmare. The house seemed to be extra loud and the shadows seemed to be monsters who were more prominent than ever. Poppa and I tried to be productive and pack, but eventually we had to stop because it was obvious nothing was getting done. We got into comfier clothes - not pajamas because we couldn’t get comfy - and went into Poppa and Momma’s room. We brought snacks, drinks, entertainment, lamps, and weapons so we could be as prepared as possible for the long, long night. We barricaded the door and windows and made sure all the lights were off in the house so no one could see that people were there - except our room which we put five pairs of curtains on. We had brought so much to do but we mostly just sat in silence listening to wind that was rattling the window. Occasionally we snacked or had a drink, but that was it. I suppose that not sleeping well for two nights isn’t going to help when you’re trying to pull an all-nighter - as well as sitting in silence. So, before I knew it, I was waking up to see my Poppa was asleep - and I had been as well! The problem was, I really had to use the bathroom. We had been locked in the room since 9pm and it was 3am and I had been drinking Sprite. The door was barricaded, but I knew I couldn’t wait so I quickly and quietly removed the chair from under the doorknob, opened the door then closed it, and ran two steps across the hall to get to the bathroom where I locked the door.

Luckily, the bathroom had a night-light. No one wants to turn the light on in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and get blinded as well as wake up. This was especially good because I hadn’t brought a flashlight or lantern with me. I quickly relieved myself and was about to go back to the room when I heard something. Music. Then I realized that it was the same music I had heard last night! I had thought it came from Michael’s room, but now that I strained my ears...it was coming from the living room. Oh my god I thought it’s the piano . Normally, I was terrified of the dark but I actually felt strangely calm. I opened the door and walked over to the living room. I had been right. It was the piano - except no one was playing it. The keys were moving themselves as if trying to teach me how to play. I went over and sat down on the slick, black bench and tried to copy the keys. The piano led me through simple patterns at first, then got more and more complex. I was feeling so happy and relaxed that I hadn’t noticed how long I was there for - and frankly, I didn’t care. All of a sudden, from behind, my father jumped out, chair in hand, right as a giant metal crane grabbed my face. I tried to yell but I couldn’t. The shadows were coming back and I noticed how I was being lifted by the black metal crane or hand - that was coming out of the piano. I could see my father bashing the piano with the chair, but it wasn’t working. I realized that I was completely off the ground and the crane started to retract. The hand I screamed in my head hit the hand Poppa! Hit the hand! I tried extending my arm to give Poppa a clue and as I did I crashed to the ground. He had hit the hand. Gasping for breath, Poppa grabbed the hand and ripped it out of the piano and as he did something magical happened. From the piano tumbled Charlie and Michael. As if regaining consciousness of what had happened Charlie, Michael, and I all rubbed our eyes as Poppa continued to bash the piano with the very broken chair. Michale and I ran to the dining table and grabbed another chair each and helped break the piano with Poppa and Charlie ran to the kitchen to drink as much water as he possibly could. *

*

* “Momma! Judah!” yelled Michael and Charlie as they ran into the hospital room. “You’re not gonna believe what happened!” they yelled, interrupting each other. The morning of the piano fiasco we all set off to go to the hospital and bring Momma and Judah home (because the hospital called Poppa in the morning saying she was free to leave).

“Fourth day in a row,” whispered Poppa to me. “Might as well have been living here this whole time!” he laughed and I smiled at him.

“Let’s just say I’m completely on board with that idea,” I answered. I can say, for sure, that I’m never going to learn how to play the piano.


“Through ups and downs, together stick the Browns.” That had always been their motto. It started during the depression, when Mother and Father were still around. After so many days of struggling for just enough food to keep moving, they had to find some way to try and hold themselves together. And so the saying was born. Over the next few months, the line would make an appearance in the midst of tribulations and struggles that somehow managed to bring the family closer than they ever were. Crammed together in their studio apartment, they shared laughs and smiles that were such a contrast to the world outside. And even with the little they had, they were happy. Then Mother and Father died. No one really saw it coming. The fever spread before anyone really knew of its existence. One day they were heading to the square to get the family’s allowance of flour, and the next they were wasting away, foreheads damp and hands clammy. That left just Nancy and Corbin. The Browns. Each of them worked whatever jobs they could get their hands on, even if it meant trying to figure it out as they went. And they somehow managed to scrape together enough money to get by. They still spent every evening together in that old studio apartment, sitting on the floor as they told each other stories about their days. They shared laughs. They smiled. And they knew that they only had each other, and that was okay. The economy was beginning to stabilize, and Nancy was able to get a permanent job as a waitress at one of the reopened diners. Corbin kept working side jobs whenever he could find them, bringing in enough to even buy some nicer things like new shoes and jackets. And the Browns stuck together, and they were okay. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing job like I have,” Nancy said one night. “What do you mean?” Corbin replied. “As much as we went through, as hard as you worked, you deserve it.” Nancy flashed him a soft smile and they left the topic alone for a while. Nancy kept working, from sunup to sundown, at that same old diner. Corbin spent most of his time in the apartment, but he still occasionally picked up jobs here or there to make sure their ends meet. It all worked well until the day rent came, and Nancy came to realize that the tin jar they kept their savings in was far too empty. “Corbin, did you use any money?” She asked. He was allowed to spend, of course, but they had a mutual agreement that they were to inform each other of where their money went. Nancy handled the bills and Corbin handled the home, so each had their fair share of expenses. “I bought groceries the other day,” Corbin said in between sips of soup.

“Fifty pounds worth?” Nancy asked, eyebrows raised. Corbin seemed completely unfazed, watching the liquid slosh around as he stirred his soup. “Prices have jumped over the past couple of days. Should drop back soon though.” Nancy sighed, running a hand though her blonde hair. She had Father’s appearance when it came to her hair, but everything else about her looked just like Mother. Her brown almond eyes, her high-set cheekbones, her small lips. The resemblance was almost disturbing. Corbin, however, did not look much like Mother or Father, showing only minimal signs of either of them in his features. His eyes were blue, much different from Mother’s brown and Father’s green. His face was somewhat round, but still had shape. The only true give away that he was the son of a Brown was the line that creased in his forehead whenever he smiled, and only Nancy got to see that side of him. “I’ll have to see if I can take up more hours at the diner,” she said, massaging her temples. It was obvious from the shadows under her eyes and the softness of her voice that she was already exhausted, but she did not have much other choice. “And I’ll see if I can find more work,” Corbin said, a hint of disappointment buried in his voice. “And through ups and downs, together stick the Browns,” Nancy whispered to herself. She barely got her bowl to the kitchen sink before she collapsed into her cot in her corner of the apartment. Corbin pittered around for a while longer before seeking refuge in his own corner. With Nancy out, he did not hesitate to slip the flask out from under his pillowcase and take a few heavy swigs of the bitter fluid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flopped back. He stared off at the ceiling, mind lost in the abyss of his thoughts. The guilt settling in his gut seemed to become less noticeable with each sip of alcohol. So when the small bottle was dry, he slipped it back into its hiding place before trying to fall asleep. As with every other morning, Nancy rose before the sun to get ready for work. But when she did, she found herself heaving the previous night’s dinner into the toilet. After coming to the decision work was out of the question for today, Nancy grabbed a bucket and went back to her cot. She curled on her side, the anxiety of missing a day’s pay and the nausea creating a horrible concoction of discomfort. No matter, she eventually fell back asleep. When Corbin woke, the sun was directly in his line of sight. He sat up, feeling the pains of last night’s sins pounding in his head. With a groan, he pulled himself up and was surprised to see Nancy still in bed. Upon seeing the bucket, he chose to leave her be on the assumption she felt ill. With her being home today, Corbin knew he would need to actually go out and at least make a sorry attempt at finding work. He slipped on a clean shirt and trousers and made his way out of the apartment. At about noon, Nancy woke again to find that her nap had rid her body of the misery of sickness. She saw that Corbin had gone out, so she took it upon herself to try and wash sheets since she was home. She pulled her covers off of her mattress first, tossing them in the washing tub. She then walked to Corbin’s corner to grab his sheets. She never really looked in his section of the house, so she decided to take a quick glance as she started disrobing the bed. The only things really in the corner were a small clock and an old family picture. As she shook the pillow from its case, a loud crash bounced off the walls of the apartment. She looked to the floor to see shards of brown glass that had fallen from under the pillow. She stared at the shards on the floor, knowing exactly what they were from. She lowered herself to the floor, peeking under the edge of the cot. As she suspected, a lineup of other bottles and a wad of money were hidden just out of sight. She brought herself upright, sitting herself on Corbin’s bed. “And through ups and downs,” she whispered, trying not to let herself choke on her tears. “Together stick the browns.”


CHARLIE O’BRIEN, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR - II [4]. Charlie’s secure satellite cell phone rang, and as always it rang to “ Private Eyes ”, of course, what else would a real-life private eye have for a ring tone? Charlie always loved “ Hall and Oates ” the fantastic singing/songwriting duo from Philly ! “I see you, you see me, watch you blowin’ in the wind, when you’re making a scene, oh, girl, you’ve got to know, what my head overlooks, the senses will show to my heart, when it’s watching for lies, you can’t escape my Private Eyes .” On the ring tone were these words: “You play with words, you play with love, you can twist it all around, baby, that ain’t enough ‘Cos girl, I’m gonna know if you’re letting me in or letting me go, don’t lie, when you’re hurting inside ’Cos you can’t escape my Private Eyes.”

Charlie just loves that tune, he really does. He also loves Philadelphia, and he calls his gorgeous model like looking wife, his ‘Philly girl.’ On the other end of the phone was Don Barnes , the OCSD Sheriff and Chief Coroner. He was just checking in with Charlie and Sarge and wanted to know what kind of condition our condition was in with regard to our investigation. Charlie responded to the Sheriff, “Sadly, Sheriff, we have not taken down the bank- robbery gang yet, but trust me Sir, Sarge and our A-Team, and I shall, and you can take that to the bank.” Just as soon as Charlie got off of the phone with the good Sheriff, ‘ Private Eyes’ began singing to him once again. It was Captain Danks, Sarge and Yvette’s boss at the OCSD on Santa Ana Street, in Santa Ana. The Cap wanted to know the same thing as did the Sheriff and he got the same answer from Charlie, that is to say, “Nothing yet Captain, but I will definitely keep you posted, rest assured of that.” Charlie just had a thought, a brainstorm as it were in his opinion anyway, he decided to call the excellent RCSD (Riverside County Sheriff and Coroner), Chad Bianco . He and the good Sheriff had worked on several criminal cases in the past. And Charlie held him in high regard. Charlie spoke just as soon as the Sheriff answered his personal cell phone, “Sheriff I was wondering if I could borrow one of your good deputies, perhaps a weapons expert, to assist us with our nightmare bank-robbery investigation?” Sheriff Bianco , replied immediately, “I’ve heard and read about the heinous bank robberies in L.A. It is very high profile out here in the I.E. ( Inland Empire ) because we are right next door to L. A. County.” Then he hesitated, then he continued, “Of course, anything for my old P.I. compadre . And I will let you have my undersheriff for up to six months, he is the best man that I got amigo, how about that?” Charlie was shocked, he really was, then after he gained his composer, somewhat, he said, “Sheriff I cannot thank you and the RCSD enough, and I shall return the huge favor sometime in the future when you need a hand with one of your investigations.” He also told Sarge, “You know my son, everybody needs milk. You and Yvette and your whole family should be drinking milk every day. Look at how healthy I am and I have been drinking lots of milk my whole life. But I still like a good cold Coke or Pepsi Cola every now and then.” Then just before he took his first bite of a French Curler (or his Chocolate Long John or his jelly-filled glazed donut) his cell rang once again, it was ‘ Sergeant Kevin Lybrand’ and he was calling his man Charlie to get an update on their investigation. Charlie very quickly took a bite, a big bite of the cruller, and a big gulp of milk and replied, “Hey Kevin, what’s happening my friend?” Then he added, “Kevin I am right in the middle of an important phone call, can I get right back to you after I finish my three donuts, oops, oh, I mean my long distant phone call?” Kevin, laughed and then laughed some more, then almost gagged with laughter and then finally spoke, “Charlie ole man, go right ahead and finish your three donuts, oops, oh no, I mean your important phone call, and then call me back, OK?” Kevin added, “I just talked to Hong Kong ‘Triade’ gang members, scary, very scary individuals with lots of tat’s (Tattoo’s), all over their bodies as well as their faces and on top of their shaved heads.” He then added some more, “The leader of the gang, which had five members, was named ‘ Vicktor Karchenco’ and he was big, and he was vicious and, he was most definitely deadly.” Then he thought for a second, and added some more: His nickname was the ‘ Fisherman ,’ and the reason for that name was that if you cheated him, or disrespected him, or if he just did not like the way you looked, ‘he would put you to sleep with the fish.’ Then Kevin asked Charlie, “Do you remember the God Father movies, Charlie?” And Charlie replied, “Yes, Kev I saw all of them, actually several times.” Then Charlie said, “Good work Sergeant Lybrand, very good work. You just got us our first concrete lead on the bank robbers.” Then, “Hit some ‘hot spots’ while you are still there in Chinatown and turn-over some rocks and see if any low life illegal Ruskies (or Commie Pinkos , as I like to call them) turn up. Remember Kevin, ‘ head on a swivel ,’ like Sarge always says.” After Kevin’s call, and taking some, or a lot, of his stomach medicine for his GERD, Charlie called Sarge. He was down in Korea Town, around Pico and Alvarado area. Charlie told Sarge that he loved Korean people as they were almost always very honest and honorable individuals. However, “Just ‘sniff’ around a little bit and see if anything, or anyone, ‘ smells .’” Sarge quickly responded, “10-4 Jefe, you know that I am on the job, and remember old man, be careful out there and watch your back.” Sarge loved our man Charlie but he just could not help himself teasing him every chance he got. Then Sarge thought, and decided to add, “Charlie, old man, sometime let’s, you, Yvette ‘Marie’, your lovely wife, Lynn, Kevin and his wife, and Captain Danks and his wife, all get together and fly down to my and your favorite place, Ensenada, Mexico.” And, he also stated, “And, Jefe , we could all sing ‘ Kum ba Yah’ on the way down there. And eat a ton of excellent real Mexican food (comida) on the jet plane. Also, you could tell us some of your well known ‘war stories.” Then he laughed, again. Later that same day, Charlie caught a call from Billy Thieme , an old friend who lives out in the Valley (San Fernando Valley). He used to work for the LACSD (Department) in the ‘rough and tumble’ Firestone Division in the Norwalk, Dairy Valley, Hawaiian Gardens, and Bell Gardens. Charlie knew that there was a very large Russian enclave who lives in and around North Hollywood. Most of them were here legally and they came to the U.S. to get away from the Godless Communists , however, lots were not, and they were former FSB [KGB], same people, same faces, just a different name. The restaurant’s name was the ‘ Little Odessa’s Russian Community Lounge.’ Billy knew some Russian friends who frequented that place. His friends overheard some tough and nasty looking guys in the corner one night. According to Billy’s friend, the leader of the ‘pack’ was a scary, very scary, looking man named ‘ Vicktor Kharchenko ,’ cousin of the very infamous ‘ Decebal Stefan Emilian Matasareno’ half of the North Hollywood ‘Shoot Out’ meth-head duo back in the 1990’s. . The other half of the quite deadly duo was “ Larry Eugene ‘Murph’ Phillips , Jr.” And it just so happens that he was one of the infamous ‘meth-head’ bank robbers back in the 1990’s that took down the Bank of America branch in North Hollywood. That was the worst botched bank robbery in US history. Charlie turned on his cell phone to the itune feature and looked up one of his all- time favorite blues songs, “ Boom, boom ” (boom, boom) by the incredible Mississippi Delta bluesman , ‘ Mr. John Lee Hooker.’ It started out like this: Then our man Charlie called Jan Smoker , and asked her to call her old CIA friends and see what they could find out about our ‘Fisherman’ and his Crew. Jan is so fast and efficient, that she called Charlie back in only four hours. She started out by saying, “Charlie my good Hijo , my CIA contacts at the ‘ Agency’ said that the Fisherman and all five of his evil cohorts, were all former FSB (formerly known as the KGB) members. The same mean and violent type people, same scary looking faces, same snake-like whisper voices, but just different names.” And then she looked at her notes, and started speaking again, “These are bad dudes, real bad dudes, Charles, so ‘keep your head on a swivel’ as Sarge likes to say.” Charlie was shocked at how much Jan found out in so little time, he replied, “Thank you ever so much, very important news from ‘your voice to my ears. And remember careful is my middle name.” Jan laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more, then answered, “Sure, Charlie, sure you will, old man.” Then Jan had a big smile on her face, and hung up her secure cell phone. [5] Charles Warner Kennedy (Charlie) O’Brien, is a Dreamer , he truly is! [6] On weekends Charlie drives his Classic 1964 Chevy Impala two-door hardtop. This beautiful ride has been completely restored to the original condition. He just loves classic cars and he has owned several of them over his life time.

Do you remember that great old 'Motown' song, " Charlie Brown " by the fabulous Coasters ? Charlie just absolutely loves Barry Gordy's Motown Music, he truly does.

Charlie and his lovely, model-looking-like wife, Lynn, just saw the fabulous 'Smokey Robinson .’ It was just an unbelievable performance and just to make it even more memorable, Mr. Berry Gordy (yes, the man himself ) was in the audience. How cool is that? Smokey and Barry live in the same theater. WOW.  People love to sing, "Here comes Charlie Brown, " whenever they see him.

Once again, and out of the blue , Charlie was hailed by his ever present and always within easy reach, cell phone. As you already know, his welcoming ring tone is “ Private Eyes ” by fantastic Philly boys, ‘Hall and Oates.’ On the other end of the line, was LT Yvette ‘Marie’ Murrieta, Charlie’s beloved Mija (adopted daughter). He was always so, so very happy whenever she called him, he really was. She was also known, when not ‘on the job’ as Mrs. J. J. Hernandez, the Sarge’s wonderful and very brave, wife. She was, as you know, a Lieutenant at the Orange County Sheriff’s department in the O. C. Also, Charlie likes to tell everyone, and I do mean everybody, that she is the better half, a much better half, and then he always adds “by far.” Whenever anyone tells Sarge what Charlie says, he always responds, “Charlie is right for once in his life, Yvette is the better half, no disagreement on my part about that, none at all.” LT. Yvette was doing some R and R (Research and Reconnaissance) on the ‘ Fisherman’ his Russki thugs, for the A-Team. And she ran across some very interesting ‘dirt’ about them and she thought that Charlie would want to hear about it, a-sap.  Yvette spoke as soon as he answered his cell and she said, “Pappy how are you doing? Good I pray, Sarge and I want to have you and Mama Lynn, over for dinner soon, real soon.” “And I will make my famous tamales , enchiladas, and burritos, and tacos too. Of course, with Mexican rice, beans, Sarge’s BBQ corn, and lots, and lots of hot flour tortillas.” She continued, “Plus as usual, I will make you a big family style taco salad, one of your favorites I know.” LT. could almost hear Charlie salivating over the phone (he is such a foodie, she thought to herself), so she added quickly, “Calm down Jefe, we got a vicarious bank robbery crime to solve first, then we eat, fiesta, and then eat some more, alright?” And.

And this is what the’ three ‘Amigos’ (Yvette, Sarge, and Charlie) found out that most of the good and law-abiding citizens of Los Angeles County do not know. Alex Villanueva, the Sheriff and Chief Coroner, of all of Los Angeles County, which is one of one of the greatest and largest Sheriff’s Departments in the whole country, the LASD Department, told Charlie and Sarge and LT Yvette, the brief (very brief) history of his excellent and dedicated department, and this is what he told them : [7] LASD Alex Villanueva , Sheriff, LAPD Michael Moore, Police Chief, and our man, Charlie the world famous, PI, were driving on the 10 (Santa Monica) Freeway, as it intersects with the log-jam 110 (Harbor Freeway) near downtown Los Angeles. They were riding in Charlie’s new BMW, which he likes to call Black beauty III, because he has had three of this particular model 750IL, and they were all beautiful black in color. Alex said to Charlie, “Hey, my amigo, let’s turn on your car stereo and listen to some tunes. I think that my compadre here, Chief Moore, likes the blues just like I do, and I recall you telling me that you love ‘John Lee Hooker,’ the great blues master.” Michael leaned over and turned the volume up loud, real loud and at the same time opened up Charlie’s cool sun-roof so that everyone in downtown LA could hear the great Blues music along with them. Then Alex said to Michael, “If we get pulled over for loud music, by the LAPD, can you flash your badge so that our friend Charlie does not get a ticket?” The Chief laughed really loud and then responded, 10-4 Sheriff.” And Charlie yelled to Alex, louder Sheriff, turn it up louder, let the gang bangers know that the new L.A. Sheriff and the new L.A. Police Chief are in town.” L.A. Bank Robbery Suspects Charlie called Peggy and Ron Edwards , Jan Smoker, and LT. Yvette Marie, and asked them who were the prime ‘person (s) of interest’ in the terrifying and accelerating Los Angeles (the bank robbery capital of the world) robberies? This is the list that they came up with, and told Charlie that this was just a preliminary list, and that there very well might be several more criminal organizations and or individuals to be added at a later date. 1. The Russians: Vicktor Karchenco (aka the Fisherman ); Alexandar (Alex) Kopiyka; and, Boris Omsk ‘Big’ Tvershaya. All of these despicable, and murderous individuals, were ex- FSB (formerly the hated and greatly feared- KGB) officers. They stole a lot of money, gold and silver, and a ton of weapons when they left their former ‘handlers.’ 2. The Deadly Hong Kong Triad: Formerly known as the “White Lotus Family” (San Ho Hui). And thought to be over 250 years old! 3. The North Korean Criminal Organization: Known as “Kkangpae Communist Society”. Also, they are said to be part of the North Korean Mafia, and the Japanese Yakuza. And; Charlie told LT. Yvette Marie, that he really liked Korean (South Korean) people. They have a great, honorable and very ancient culture, are very polite, and very respectful. They are also highly intelligent people and their children love to learn and excel at school. Then Yvette said to Charlie, “My favorite Jefe ever, I love Korean people just like you do. And also, I love and I know you do too, the Korean people in the North. They are treated so inhumanely and terribly, and yet they endure and they survive.” 4. The world roving Romanian Gypsyies : Known all over the world by the name, “The Emil Matasareanu gang.” [8] Charlie said to OCSD LT. Yvette Marie, “Mi’ja, wonderful daughter of mine, do you remember the very popular hit song by Randy Newman, ‘I Love L. A’?” Yvette immediately replied, “Si my great Pappy, I remember it well, me and all of my friends in school, went around singing it all of the time, back in the day.” Charlie said let’s play it on my iPod just for the fun of it, get Sarge on your cell phone speaker so he can sing along with the two of us, alright?” She laughed and then laughed some more. She has such a marvelous laugh , Charlie thought. Yvette started to laugh, again, and Charlie asked her what was so funny? She responded, “My Jefe, do you know how bad my beloved husband’s voice is? I love him dearly, as you know, but he really cannot sing very well.”


“No, I will become the leader of the world with or without you!” “Audrey, please!” “No! If you won’t help, then GO AWAY!” “Fine! Do whatever you want! Don’t come crying to me when you’re in a jail cell screaming for help!”

The scene played in Audrey’s mind as she shaved the last hair down there. I don’t need her. I’m doing just fine by myself; the global economy is up. I passed many laws, helped to maintain peace across the globe, and banned the use of fossil fuels around the world. “Madam, you got a call on line two.” “Thank you.” She stood up as her assistant walked out. Audrey shuffled her naked body over to the phone and pressed two. “Hello?” “Hey, darling! How’s the leadership life treating you?” her mom asked. “It’s going great! I just signed a couple bills that expedite the development of solar roads and raise the minimum wage!” “Oh, that’s so great, honey! Your dad and I couldn’t be more proud of you!” “Has anyone whistled at you, yet?” “Dad!” “Oh, I’m just kidding!” “If anyone does, I’ll beat them up!” Audry said. “Atta girl!” he replied. Audry chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d just ignore them and walk on.” “Yeah, that’s probably the best thing to do. Your mom and I raised you right.” “Well, thank you.” “If you need anything at all, give us a call, OK?” Mrs. Turner said. “Alright, I will.” “Well, I have chicken pot pie to make and you probably have political stuff to do, so I’ll let you go, now,” Mrs. Turner said. “OK, I love you, Mom.” “I love you too! Bye, honey!” Audrey hung up. She looked out the window and smiled.

Carrie slammed her locker and carried her U.S. history textbook down the hall. “Hey, Carrie,” a chubby boy said and her mind flashed back to the jerk who locked her out of her own house at the party. “Keep it together, Carrie.” She made it to the last room. She walked in and took her seat in the front row.  The bell rang. “Hello everyone, I hope you’re doing well,” Ms. Huffington said in her slightly raspy voice. She brushed her long blonde hair back, walked to the board, picked up a blue marker, and wrote while she talked. “Your reading assignment for today is page one fifty-three to one sixty-three.” Carrie turned to chapter ten, section two: The Road to World War I, and began reading. She tried concentrating as the book talked about some dude named Franz Ferdinand, but her mind was somewhere else. She put her head down and started sobbing. “Carrie, you OK?” a black-haired girl asked. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She wiped her tears and looked at the page. Her eyes welled up and she sniffled. “Carrie? What’s wrong?” Irene asked, sitting behind her. Now, she has a heart? After she helped Audrey strip? “I… I… I gotta go. Excuse me.” Carrie got up and left. She rushed down the hall and then into the bathroom. She opened the first stall, walked in, laid her head against the wall, and cried. Oh, Audrey! How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends. She wept and remembered the good times they had together: swimming in her pool, shopping at the mall, giggling at cute boys while they were being stupid. How they went to movies, sharing large popcorn as they laughed, cried, or rolled their eyes. Doing homework while gossiping about who went out with the popular girl. Was that all a lie? She couldn’t believe Audrey would do something so crazy and turn on her. She thought she knew Audrey, but… “I guess not,” she said as tears fell on the floor.

Audrey stared at a bust of Susan B. Anthony in her office. What would she think if she was alive today? Would she be happy that a young woman practically united the world? She remembered how Anthony helped create the International Counsel of Woman. Audrey, herself passed many laws, including the Equal Pay for Everyone Act and the Abortion Act. She already did a lot for the world. She smiled. I guess the world just needed a woman to run it. Realizing she had been stuck inside all morning, Audrey said, “I’m going for a walk, Zexado.” “OK, I’ll come along,” Zexadao said and followed her out. “This is the life, eh? Walking outside in the nude enjoying the warm sun...” “You said it!” “I just love this!” Audrey twirled around. “I’ve made a difference in the world and I’m only sixteen!” “Yeah.” “And it’s all thanks to you!” “You’re welcome, Audrey. It’s been a pleasure working for you.” A blue cloud appeared and evaporated. Then, a bird creature stood in front of them. ” Ah, Mokopai, how was Jamaica?” Zexado asked. “Awesome! I partied and ate Rice and Peas, Callaloo Coco Bread... and more delicious food!” “Good, good!” “Wait, you just took a vacation?” Audry asked. “Yeah,” Mokopai replied. “Seriously?” “Yeah, I brought back some ganja. Want some?” Audry felt weird. Why was this demon offering her drugs? ‘No, that wouldn’t be professional.” “OK, but if you change your mind, call me,” Mokopai said and pantomimed holding a phone up to his ear. “Uh, pretty sure I won’t.” “We’ll see...” “What?” “Nothing.” “OK, then, well, I’m gonna continue my walk now.” “Ooh, can I join?" “Suuuure?" “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I mean, yes, you can join me.” “Great!”  Audry continued walking. “So, tell me about yourself,” Mokopai said. “Excuse me?” Audry stopped. “I wanna know about you. You’re the Leader of the World, you know? “Well, um… I was born in California. I have no siblings. My family moved here when I was seven because mom got a job as a nurse. Um... I love history! I was taking AP U.S history two before I became World Leader and had to quit regular school.” “Cool, cool. I had five siblings, but my momma sacrificed four to Erebos, Ruler of the Underworld.” “I’m sorry?” “It’s OK, I don’t really remember them. I was only one year old.” “Oh.”  Mokopai checked his watch. “Shit! I’m late for something! See you later.” “OK... bye, I guess?” A blue cloud, appeared and sucked the bird creature up. Hmm, what’s he up to? Audry pondered.  “…And, so we must continue moving forward as a planet. Thank you.” Claps dominated the conference room as Audrey smiled. The room emptied except for one.  She came up as Audrey put her notes away. She took a deep breath when Audrey looked up. “Hi,” Carrie said. “Hi,” Audrey replied. “Can we talk?” “Go ahead.” She crossed her arms in front of her bare breasts. “This is weird. You became a nudist and the ruler of the world!” “Hey, I’m not a ruler!" “Whatever, my point is I’m worried about you.” “For your information, I’m doing great! I’ve never been happier in my life!” “That demon guy is planning something.” “Bullshit! It’s been six months, and he has helped me out so much. If he were to do something, he’d done it by now.” “What kind of logic is that? And, what about your parents? Are they happy with your decisions?” “Yes, they called just a short while ago and told me.” “Told you what?” “They were proud of me.” “Oh, so I am the only one who’s crazy?” “I suppose so.” “Do you know how much you’ve hurt me?” “Why can’t you be happy for me?” “Because this is INSANE!” Carrie yelled. “Oh, so I’m insane, now!” Audry shot back. “I didn’t say that!” “You said my choice is insane, so I must be insane.” “Audrey...” “I’m just some crazy naked bitch to you, now.” “Why are you doing this?” “I love being World Leader!” “Why did you choose to become a nudist?” “Why not? Zexado said I could do anything I want, so I choose to go nude.” “Is this some kind of weird revenge on those jerks at the party?” “Not anymore.” “What do you mean?” “I was going to have them stripped naked and burn all their clothes, but I realized it would look bad on my image.” “Your image?” “As World Leader.” “You care only about your image?” “No, I didn’t say that.” “But you did.” “No, I said it would look bad on my image.” “And that’s all you care about? Your image?” “I don’t need to justify anything to you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I love my new life. I’m helping the world, and people like it. They love me, Carrie. Can’t you be happy for me?” “That’s it! I’m through with you! Live your damn wonderful life! Just remember you lost your best friend!” Carrie ran to the door. “Oh, yeah, well, fuck you!” Carrie stopped, ran up to her ex-friend, and punched her. Audry placed two fingers on her lip and looked. Blood was on her fingertips. “You... you hit me…” She stared at the girl she had known since kindergarten. “Zexado!” He materialized beside Audry. “Yes, madam?” “She punched me! Arrest her!