She felt their eyes on her. The aspens that lined the street to his apartment. She hated how each of them stood, quivering and pale. But most of all she hated the dark swirls in their bark, like so many eyes. They watched as she rang the buzzer. They watched as she slipped into the grey building from the grey street. His door was unlocked. The apartment consisted of a single room, with a bare mattress and a tiny kitchen. The only other furniture was a giant easel, at which he was standing with his back to her, rocking back and forth and staring in great concentration at the painting it supported. It was a masterpiece. A pale figure covered in pale cloth, face turned away and obscured by pale hair. The warmth of the model’s skin radiated through the folds of the fabric and heated the otherwise frigid room. She reached out to him, and he turned abruptly, splattering her with flecks of paint from his palette knife. One landed in her eye, and for a moment his body blurred to match the one she remembered, then resolved back to the man as he was. “I wasn’t sure you would come” he started. His beard looked like he hadn’t cut it since she had seen him last. “You contacted me” she said. “Well, you contacted me first” he retorted. She glanced around the room, at the pantry filled with cheap boxes of macaroni, anything to avoid looking directly at him. “This is your best work yet. Are you going to put it in an exhibition?” she offered. He looked back at the canvas. “If I ever finish it. I keep coming back and making small changes, but it never feels right.” There was a moment of silence between them before she said in a timid voice “Remember when you wanted to paint me?” He broke their eye contact, as he had broken that promise. The cloud of memory melded with the cloud of smoke from the car accident on her way to see him for the first time. How she had gingerly slipped into the slip she hoped to surprise him with, scarlet silk to match the gash on her chest where the seatbelt had spared her greater disaster. A badge of devotion she wore as proudly as her lingerie when she displayed herself to him. How he hadn’t seen either, just rambled about Rembrandt as if she weren’t standing there bare. “After you sent me that letter, I started writing again. Started painting more. Started wanting to be a better man.” “Why?” “Because, I hoped, after all this time that we might…” She looked away, back at the macaroni boxes. “Is that still the only thing you eat?” she asked. He smiled a half smile. “I’ve tried a few new things, but yes. That’s it.” There was another silence. She broke this one too. “I am in a relationship” she said, the message she had carried with her this whole way finally delivered. “So am I” he said “but I am not happy. I don’t feel it in my chest like I do with you.” He reached out to catch a strand of her pale hair between pale fingers. He held the dead part of her a moment, then released, turning the living parts to ice water. “If you wanted, I could finish up teaching in a semester or two, then move down to Arizona with you. I feel like we never really got a chance. I was too wrapped up in the divorce, and you with your career.” She looked at him, ice water boiling over now. “You made your choice a long time ago, and so did I. How could you be my savior if you won’t do your time in the desert?” He smirked “I never figured you for the type that needed saving.” She couldn’t think of a response to that, and stared at the painting again. The model’s areolas bled through the cloth. “Is that your girlfriend?” she asked, hating herself. “No. I’ve only ever had one muse.” He trapped her in his gaze. “I hope you don’t mean me. Can you really be someone’s muse when they never make any art when they’re with you?” His knuckles whitened around the palette knife. “I’ll always hold a candle for you” she whispered. He exploded “Then blow it out or light a fire. Just don’t leave me flickering like this!” She retreated from his outburst toward the door. “Some light is better than no light at all, and if I remember right, too much of it causes you pain. Maybe that’s why our relationship always stayed in the dark. Why it couldn’t handle the Arizona sun. Why you let me go without a word of goodbye. So I’ll just say it. Goodbye.” He lunged forward, grabbing for her wrist. She felt his white hot touch, wet from his sweaty palms. She slipped from his grasp and went for the door handle. Her fingers passed over it, leaving red streaks. She whirled and the world whirled with her. When it steadied she saw the palette knife in his hand, covered in her blood. Blunt as it was, it must have nicked an artery. The red liquid frothed and bubbled out of her, evaporating into the air. The room filled with a scarlet haze. Through the clouds of blood she saw him look down at his tool and turn to the painting behind him, raising the knife to the canvas and spreading the pigment that only moments ago had passed through her heart. “This is it” he muttered, tracing the curves of his woman. Somehow she found purchase on the knob and fled. Out into the street, all color left back in the room. The bleeding had stopped now, though she still felt dizzy. The eyes of the aspens closed in around her. Quivering and pale, but never moving. She hated them, but its always easiest to hate in others what you hate most about yourself.


We were both young when I first saw her. I was bumming around the shops with a friend and she was selling Donuts. “She’s super cute!” I say. “What? She’s like fourteen man. What is wrong with you?” Jeremy replies. “No way she’s that young, she’s at least sixteen.” “Are you kidding me? There is no way she is sixteen. I tell you what lets go ask her. If she’s under sixteen you have to shout me a milkshake. If she’s older I pay.” “You’re on mate.” I lock eyes with her as Jeremy and I walk to the counter. “C-c-c-” I begin to stutter. “Can we get two milkshakes?” Jeremy orders for me. She smiles and says “Sure, chocolate ok?” “Yeah” I answer. I stare awe-struck as she whips up our drinks. Passing us over the cups she says “That’ll be $12.50” “Sure, but first how old are you?” Jeremy asks. “Oh umm, I’m seventeen.” She says. Jeremy pays for the drinks. As we walk off he yells to her “My mate thinks your super cute! Next time he sees you he’s going to ask for your number!” My face turned instant red. “That’d be good” She giggles in reply. Jeremy and I walk away. He’s keen to get to EB Games and see if they have the new Call of Duty out yet. As we get to the front of the store I stop and say “Mate, what the fuck am I doing? I’ve got to go get her number!” “Yeah you do, now go get it!” Jeremy says. I take a single huge breath and storm my way back to Donut King. There’s a huge line of customers. I walk right passed them to the counter. She is still serving. “Hi, uh, can I get your number?” I stutter. “Umm, I’m kinda busy right now, can you come back in five minutes.” “Sure, yeah, ok” I wander off in a daze. Taking a seat in the food court I glance down at my watch. 7:38. Five minutes OK. The seconds hand of my watch takes it’s sweet time clicking around the face. The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so hard I begin to worry they might fly off with me. 7:43 GO TIME! I rush back over to her. The line of customers has dwindled. She’s making an ice cream sundae for some primary school kids. “Hey. It’s been five minutes...” “Can you give me a minute? I need to finish this up.” My stomach drops. I stand watching her while she works. The kids get there sundaes, she walks over to the counter. She scribbles something on a piece of receipt paper and heads back over to me. “Here you go, now go on get. I need to work.” I look at the paper ‘Mary 0401 113 301’ I couldn’t believe my luck. I blurt out “I’m Will by the way!” before fleeing to find Jeremy. Our first date is typical for kids our age. We meet up and grab a train all the way into the city. I don’t take a single breath the whole train ride. She tells me about her life. She takes care to explain that although she is Australian she has a strong connection with her parents home country. We watch a movie in the city. It’s some stupid comedy. If I had known then how impeccable her taste in film was I would have put more thought into what we watched. After the movie we head back to the train when I bump into a friend from work. We greet each other. He introduces me to his date, a cute girl named Stacey, I go to introduce him to… Shit! What’s her name. My mind freezes. Here I am with the most gorgeous girl to ever talk to me and I can’t even remember her name. After a mortified pause she introduces herself and shakes her head at me. I apologise a thousand times on the train ride home. Back at the station her friend picks her up, leaving me with the shortest goodbye in the history of dating. Second date, dinner and a walk around the South Bank Park. Things go better. We are both chatting and laughing the whole time. Ten minutes into our walk through the park I take her hand. We both go silent and walk for a while. I can feel her blushing. The conversation picks back up as we begin making our way down the river. She is teaching me why Stanley Kubrick is best director of all time. A crazy idea strikes me. It’s a gamble that could go very wrong. But I have always loved risk. I pull her hand across and touch it to my bum. Letting her hand go I step away and say “Whoa! You’re cute but I’m not that type of boy!” She bursts out laughing and calls me an idiot. I shoot her a smile wider than my face and throw my arm over her shoulders. We continue through the park. Third date, I pick her up in my car. A new Subaru liberty, it costs more than I can afford (I’ll sell it before the year is out). We’ve been messaging each other non-stop since out last date and I’ve discovered she can’t ice-skate. Tonight we will remedy that fact. There is an ice-rink near my old school. My friends and I used to go there every Friday as kids. I take her on a Wednesday night to avoid the crowds. Getting on the ice she is super nervous. Our first lap she holds onto both me and the wall with a vice-grip. Starting our second lap around I propose a bet “If by the end of tonight you can skate a whole lap of this rink on your own I get a kiss.” “Ok, but what if I can’t?” “I don’t know… What do you want?” “You have to come in and meet my parents when you drop me off.” My heart skips a beat. I know how important her family is to her, and I’m scared of her Dad. The idea of meeting them so soon mortifies me. I can’t let her know I am scared. “Sure, but I will be getting that kiss.” I answer with false bravado. We lap the rink at least a dozen more times. She begins to find her feet, loosening up she lets go of the wall, and eventually lets go of my hand. It can be mesmerising skating loops of an ice rink. She is concentrating hard as we make our laps around and doesn’t even realise when I pull off to the side. She keeps on skating around focusing on her balance. As she finishes the lap and sees me standing on the side she makes her way over to me. “Are you OK?” she asks. I give her a goofy smile then with a wink I say “You made a full lap on your own.” She turns white as a sheet. I grab her hand and pull her forward. With my other hand I take the side of her face and lean in giving her a deep passionate kiss. Leaning back I stare into her eyes. “Th-th-that was my first kiss!” She blurts out. I can’t help but explode with laughter. Months pass, we see each other every week. I meet her parents. We have dinner at her place. Her Mum, Victoria, is the best cook in the world. Her dad turns out to be one of the warmest people I have ever met. He regales me with tales of his youth and when he fought in the revolution in their home country. Mary meets my friends, she isn’t too impressed. Our drunken shenanigans aren’t nearly as funny to her as they are to us. I meet hers and I am blown away. Who knew there were so many smart people in the world? She also meets my family. My mum and her become instant friends. They take to teasing me together. It becomes their favourite pastime. One day in October, Mary calls me up. “I have huge news!” “Cool, me too, what’s going on?” “I made it in to uni!” She is ecstatic and begins babbling on about the uni that accepted her and about the course she wants to take. After her telling me everything I could ever want to know about it she stops and says “Wait, you said you had big news?” I pause for a moment and respond “You know how I applied to join the army?” “Yeah” “Well they called me today. I am shipping off in two weeks.” There is a long pause. “What do you mean shipping off?” “Recruit training is down in Wagga Wagga. After that they will send me to Melbourne then Canberra.” Her voice turns to a whisper “But you’ll come back to Brisbane right?” I take a deep breath and answer “I don’t know.” CLICK She hangs up on me. Two weeks pass. I text her everyday. I tell her I love her and that I am sorry. I send her details of my enlistment day. Where and when the ceremony will happen. No response. I call her home and speak with her Mum. “I am sorry Will, Mary says she won’t talk to you.” I spend my last few days of freedom with my school mates. Having last drinks and reminiscing about all the trouble we’d gotten ourselves into over the years. My parents buy me a suit for the ceremony. The day arrives. My whole family come to see me off. Arriving at the recruitment depot, I am taken to a separate room with all the other new recruits. A scary mid-forties lady takes us through some paperwork before a group of sergeants explain what we need to do for the ceremony. We are all going to be stood on a small stage and have to take an oath to the Queen. After about thirty minutes they march us into a separate room. Our families are already seated inside. I take my place on the stage as an old Colonel begins a speech about service and duty. I stare across to my family. My brothers are giggling at me while one of my sisters has started to cry. My mum catches my eye and gestures to the back of the room. The oath part of the ceremony begins The colonel reads from a page and we each have to recite after him. I search the back of the room as I recite my oath. And there I see Mary. She is in the back corner staring up at me smiling. We don’t take our eyes off each other for the rest of the ceremony. The ceremony ends, the other recruits and I get marched off the stage. They take us to a back room to sign our contracts. Once everyone is all signed up we are released back into the ceremony room for a final goodbye. My crying sister is the first to hug me as I enter. She is followed by my brothers then my Dad. As he lets me go, my Mum hands me something. It’s a necklace with a medallion of St Christopher. “He is the patron Saint of travellers. It should keep you safe.” Mum explains before giving me a long warm hug. “I love you mum” I whisper to her. “I love you too, pork chop” she replies “Now go see that girl or you’ll be in trouble.” My mum lets me go and gives me a small shove towards Mary. She is standing in the corner, waiting for me. I inch my way over to her. “Mary...” She leaps onto me before I can say any more. She holds me tight to her. “I love you. You idiot.” She says. “I thought you wouldn’t come, I thought you hated me for leaving.” I reply. “Of course I was going to come. And I don’t hate you for leaving. I hate that you are leaving.” “I’m sorry I have to go. I will always love you.” “Don’t be sorry. You have to live your life and I have to live mine. You’re amazing Will. I will never forget you.” A big burly sergeant bellows “Times up, get on the bus.” Mary squeezes me extra tight for a moment then gives me a final soft kiss. We are both teary eyed as I make my way to the other recruits. I get marched out of the room and down to the bus depot. Each recruit has a seat designated to him. Before the bus moves off we are given a speech about being soldiers and how to act. The bus pulls out of the depot and turns on toward the main street. As it pulls out I see Mary there. Standing on the corner of the road. She is crying and waving at me. I give her a wave back and she blows me a kiss. I blow one back as the bus steps into gear and pulls me away forever. **The saddest part of life is saying goodbye to someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.


I wake from a deep and restful sleep, slowly stretching as I stifle a yawn. The sunlight streams in through the gap in my curtains. I carefully roll over and lift myself onto my side to pull them closed, but as I reach for the curtain I slip. I feel the pain before I even fall, trying to twist and evade the mess of claws and teeth that is Snowball the Destroyer. She hisses and yowls as she digs into the soft skin of my abdomen. Damn, I think as I blink away what little sleep was left in my eyes. I need to start wearing hockey pads to bed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you, your highness". Snowball glares at me, unimpressed. I swear she rolled her eyes. I get up from the bed to grab some antiseptic and bandages. Snowball slinks along after me, and once we arrive in the bathroom she proceeds to hack up a hairball. "You know, you probably wouldn't hack up so many of those if you weren't a flesh-eating beast!" I shout as she scurries back to bed. I open the medicine cabinet and pop a couple Benadryl as I search for the first aid kit. After I get cleaned up, I head back to my room to clean up the mess and make my bed. You would think that I'd have learned to stop buying white sheets by now. I sigh as I strip the bed, silently praying that the bleach removes the blood. It's a wonder that Snowball stays so pristinely white despite feasting on my flesh every other day. After tossing the sheets into the wash, I check the clock and briefly panic before I realize that today is my day off. I head into the kitchen and to make a pot of coffee and some toast. As I walk into the kitchen, I catch a whiff of a familiar scent before I see the accompanying smoke. I calmly grab the fire extinguisher as I push open the door. "Damn it Snowball! How the hell do you even manage this??" I ask, as is the tradition. After I've extinguished the blaze, I unplug the toaster for good measure. I let it cool off for a minute before tipping it upside down into the trash bin specifically for toasty toy mice. Snowball's most recently acquired habit is putting one of her mice in the toaster if I don't feed her soon enough. I swear, that cat is going to be the death of me. She legitimately looks disappointed that she didn't burn the house down. I clean up the mess in the kitchen and decide that I'm energized enough without coffee. I decide to go to my desk and try to get some shit done. I pull out my chair, sit down, and open up my laptop. Before I can even hit the power button, Snowball is on the keyboard, swatting my hands away from the computer. Not wanting to lose a finger, I pull out my chair and take a step towards the other computer. Snowball takes the bait and races me to it, climbing atop the second keyboard. I quickly shut the door behind her and return to my desk. Finally, some peace and quiet. I get logged on and launch Chrome. As I log into Reddit I hear a loud crash, followed by the door behind me swinging open. Snowball pushed the decoy computer off of the desk and used it to reach the knob. I get up to check for damages; thankfully, the computer was already broken. No mess to clean up this time. I turn to get back to business, only to see Snowball smirking at me from my keyboard. "Fuck it. The apartment is yours. I'm out", I say as I grab my keys and march out the front door. I swear she cackled at that. As I make my way outside I pull out my phone and text my best friend. She's going to meet me for breakfast at the café near my building. I head inside before even receiving a response and snag us our favorite table, the one in the corner. It has a great location for people watching, but it's also secluded enough that we can have meaningful conversation. "Two black coffees, please," I say to the waiter as I hang my jacket on my chair. He gives me a pitying look, but brings both nonetheless. My friend eventually arrives and we spend the better part of two hours catching up and sipping coffee. I fill her in on all of Snowball's shenanigans from the morning and she, again, asks why I don't just get rid of the damn cat. She hasn't been over to visit in the two months since I've taken Snow in. "You know I can't do that. She's all that I have," I tell her, with an exaggerated pout. She rolls her eyes at me, unconvinced. She argues that Snowball has done more harm than good since I've adopted her, but I tell her that the pros just outweigh the cons on this one. She scoffs at me, a familiar sound. She doesn't believe that anything can outweigh frequent morning mauling and occasional kitchen fires. I tell her that she would understand if she just came over and met Snowball, but she just gives me a sad, disappointed look. She tries to explain to me all of the reasons that she can't do that, but I brush her off. I've just gotten over my mess of a morning and I don't need my coffee buzz to be killed right now. My best friend gives me a sad smirk as we go our separate ways. It's noon when I head back home. I decide to take the long way around today. I decide that I'm finally ready to face the truth. I stop by the florist before the cemetery and purchase a single white rose. I silently walk past tombstone after tombstone until I get to hers. It's been three months since the day I lost my best friend. The reason that I can't get rid of Snowball? I've been so deep in depression and denial that I haven't wanted to get out of bed, but Snow always makes sure the open the curtains. She makes certain I get out of bed and that I don't do anything stupid by following me to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure her attempts to burn down the kitchen are really attempts to make me breakfast. She only sits on my keyboard when I'm slacking off, never when I'm working. I believe that deep down, somewhere, my best friend is still with me, watching over me and keeping me going. So thank you, Snowball. Thank you for being my best friend.


Life is funny in the moments that it doesn’t hurt. It has that sense of humor that isn’t supposed to be funny, but somehow it is, and you laugh. It was her birthday. All day she had been calling me with plans, but I just wasn’t in the mood to party. I would celebrate with her tomorrow, but I still listened to her voicemail. “Let’s drink.” Is all I could make of it. Well, all I decided to make of it. I rolled over and looked at my book shelf. I needed a new book to get lost in. I wonder if she would read with me. I had fallen asleep before I could think of an answer or pick a book. By the time I had woken up, it was dark outside. Although it was that time of year where it got dark at around 5 p.m. and your body reacted to it by being tired all the time, my clock read 9:15 p.m. Below the time on my phone was a notification of a missed call and a voicemail. She had decided to go out without me. I was okay with it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to celebrate her birthday with her. That day I just didn’t want to be anywhere but by myself. I had pushed all the errands I had to run off, making the next day the only day I had to get them done. I just wanted to relax. I decided to walk to the store for some snacks, given that I had put off grocery shopping, I had no good fattening foods. This was a walk that she usually accompanied me on. I usually never walked by myself at night, but the store was so close I was sure I would be okay. However, as soon as I hit the street my anxiety decided to kick in. When I got closer to the gas station, police cars were lining the street. Something happened, and I wanted to get home before getting asked questions that I didn’t know the answers to. Just as I started to pick up my pace, she called again. “You know I never got to tell you how much of a good friend you are,” she began. A greeting I had never heard before. She continued before I could ask if she was alright. “it’s like sometimes we forget that the greatest things are in people, and before you know it, we’ve forgotten to tell them just how much great shit they added to us.” I was focused on a man walking a black dog as I listened to her words. She was most likely drunk. “You must be walking to the store,” she said. I assumed that she heard the wind or something in my background. “You getting candy?” she asked. “Uhm, yeah,” my eyes shifted to a street light as I avoided the police cars across the street. I was still thinking about her greeting. “Where are you? Are you okay?” Even drunken her had never told me those things. We were alike in that sense. We could read each other’s eyes, making words unnecessary in most instances. Our strong-point usually included us saying everything by saying nothing at all. “I’m okay.” Was the last thing I heard her say before the line faded out. I hung up and imagined how she would recap her night to me tomorrow. I made it into the store and retreated straight to the candy and snack aisle. I would change these habits one day. I picked my poison and placed it onto the counter. 3 Milky Ways. I asked the cashier to hold on before I ran over to the “Slim Jim’s”. I decided against it. When I returned to the counter the cashier handed the candy over to me. “That guy paid for you.” She said. She then began attending to the next customer, barely allowing me enough time to move out of the way. I turned around to thank the good Samaritan. He was cute, and looked to be no more than 20 years old. I gave my thanks to him and walked out of the store. I wish I would have said more. I adjusted my coat while wondering why he paid for my things. My phone ringing interrupted my thoughts as I unwrapped one of my candy bars. It was my dad. I clicked the green button before putting the phone to my ear. “What you doing?” another weird greeting. The phone line faded out again before I could process my confusion. I decided to call him back later, along with Sprint to discuss their sucky coverage. \*\*\*\*\*\*\* The next morning, I woke up expecting a conversation to take place about how her birthday went. It didn’t happen. Instead, everywhere I went, people kept handing me flowers that had magenta ribbons tied to the stems. But it wasn’t the odd gesture that concerned me, it was the sorrowful looks on their faces. People I had never seen before had somehow seen me, and for some reason, they were sad for me. I could feel it. At this point, I called her. I was wondering if people were handing her small bouquets as well. The phone rang until it got to the point where everyone knows to hang up. I decided to walk back to the store that I went to last night. Maybe we would bump into each other. As soon as I got to the curb, two women greeted me. They both handed me flowers wrapped in a magenta ribbon. But this time, one of them spoke to me. “Sorry about your friend.” She then dropped her head and walked away. “Hey! What the fuck does this mean?” I called after them, raising the flowers into the air to seal my question. They kept walking. I turned on my heels to cross the parking lot. It was then that I seen the boy again. This time he was on the ground, being cradled in the arms of a much older woman. I suspected that it was his mother. The scene made me uncomfortable, like it was supposed to take place in their home, behind closed doors. Not in the middle of a gas station parking lot, with people surrounding them. My feet walked toward the woman as my mind protested it. The boy laid lifeless, obviously dead. My mind went back to how he paid for my candy. A man walked up, and laid flowers wrapped in a magenta ribbon at her feet before walking away. I seemed to be the only one close enough to actually talk to her. “What happened?” I managed to ask. “Magenta days.” Was all she could muster up to say through her tears. I got up quickly and went inside of the store, trying to escape the chaos from outside. The same cashier from the night before was working again. She didn’t seem to notice the commotion going on just outside of the store’s doors. I walked up to her in a panic. “What happened here?” I asked, desperately searching her blank face for answers. “A boy committed suicide. He stayed out there all night before somebody discovered him inside of his car. I suppose his mother got here before the police did,” she said through pops of gum while peering out of the window from the register. “I’m stayin’ out of it.” I looked at her and was offended by her mannerisms and comments. It may have stemmed from the boy’s kind act from the night before. She noticed me staring at her and looked down at the flowers that I still had gripped in my hand. Her expression changed. “Sorry about your friend.” She said while nodding at the flowers. “He’s not my friend. I didn’t even know him.” I responded through a sigh. My eyes were closed and I was massaging my temples. “Not him, the girl. The one I always see you with.” She said matter-factly. I’m surprised she didn’t add a “duh” to her statement. “What are you talking about? And what is with everybody and these damn flowers?” I began to get angry because I was still processing the stranger’s death. “Your friend was murdered last night,” her face told me that she was surprised that I didn’t know. “Right outside of here.” She said while pointing to the parking lot. I recalled the police cars from last night silently in my head. My heart began to beat faster, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of the flowers in my hand. “Wh- what time did this happen?” I stuttered, still staring at the flowers. I still don’t know if I believed her when she said it. “Around 9. About thirty minutes before you came last night.” Her voice was quieter now and I could tell that she regretted talking, not prepared to accept the fact that she was the one who was breaking the news to me. I shook my head, a bit relieved. “That’s impossible,” I dropped the flowers on the counter. “I was talking to her on the phone right before I walked in here last night.” I said, unknowingly talking much louder than when the conversation began. She gave me the look that everyone gives when they know that someone is in denial. That look of pity with a touch of fear. She was afraid to say anything else. “Are you sure it’s her?” I asked, while blinking heavily. My anger was turning into annoyance. And what was with those stupid ass flowers? Magenta days? I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the cashier turn on a small TV behind the register. She kept her head down as I looked at what was on the screen. It was her. My best friend. The picture of her that I had taken not too long ago was plastered on the news. Below it, a headline. She was murdered. Last night. Around 9. Prepare for magenta days. Magenta. Universal love at its highest level. Compassion that ignites harmony and balance. My eyes went back up to her picture. I had forgotten I was standing in the gas station. Seeing that picture and word combination on the TV screen caused something to break inside of me. I drew the connections in my head. I had heard of connections from beyond the grave before, but it just didn’t seem real until now. That’s when I began to laugh. A big, hardy, belly-filled laugh. The cashier looked taken aback and looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed. She was the one offended now. But despite her judgement, I could not stop laughing. I recalled her greeting in my mind. *“You know I never got to tell you how much of a good friend you are.”* My laugh turned into a big, ugly cry. I clinched onto the flowers and fell to my knees, staring at the ribbon. The flowers comforted me in a weird way. I began to think about the boy, and I stopped crying. I thought of his mother and stood up, wiping my tears and steadying myself. The cashier was still staring at me. I was relieved that no one else was in the store when I looked around. I made sure that the flowers were in my hand as I made my way to the door and walked out. Outside was still in a frenzy, but I found the boy’s mother through all of the people and flowers. She was talking to police officers now. The boy was no longer in her arms. I slowly walked over to her and handed her the flowers wrapped in ribbon that were given to me. I still don’t entirely know what they mean, but I know how they made me feel. “He paid for my candy last night, and I didn’t even know him,” I said, looking at the flowers that were now in her hands. “Sometimes we forget that the greatest things are in people.” I walked away remembering my friend’s words, and all the people that handed me flowers. I crossed the street with two things on my mind: my dad and magenta ribbons.


Hi Guys, I've written this piece heavily influenced by the amount of western films I've watched recently, combined with a love of fantasy. As always, I greatly appreciate any feeback or thoughts, let me know what you think! Cheers, Lordchimp The bell rang out through the dark, deserted town, echoing through the few wooden buildings with ease. The chime desperately sought to tell everyone possible about the figure striding towards the saloon, but alas, nobody was interested in the old bell’s ringing. Especially at this very late hour of the night. And so the figure clad all in black like a living piece of darkness, moved purposefully through the dust road. When the bell rang quiet, only the sound of his spurs could be heard, the metal ringing gently with each step. Clink. Clink. Clink. Doors creaked when he neared. The flames in the fireplaces began to ebb on his approach. Battered wooden signs swung and rattled on worn out iron chains. The horses that were stabled whined and cried gently as he walked passed. His presence was so repulsive that even the dirt itself seemed to recoil under his feet. Clink. Clink. Clink. There was a dull thud that now accompanied the clinking of the spurs as his boots met the wood of the porch outside of the saloon. The wood, like the dirt before it, grumbled it’s dismay at having to be close to the mysterious man in black, creaking and groaning at his every step. Thud. Clink. Thud. Clink. Thud. Clink. The doors whined as they swung open, the old hinges struggling with yet another customer’s entry. A few lanterns just barely lit the interior, casting yet even more shadows in an already dark room. The dull yellow light splashed over the three men sat inside, revealing their tired, grubby faces. All three of them were just as miserable as each other, preferring the company of their tankards instead of the horrible alternative of human interaction. They barely noticed him enter, not even bothering to turn their heads from the bar counter. They did however, all act at exactly the same time. One of them, the tallest of them all, took off his beaten hat and gently lay it next to his drink. He was built like a stick, thin and wiry. His clothes practically hung off him, all baggy and loose. One scratched his beard and slowly pushed his stool back. He was almost a polar opposite to the thinner one, with a large gut bulging from his waistband forcefully, threatening to pop the buttons off of his shirt. The last one, the smallest, finished his ale and coughed to clear his throat. Where the other two were fat and thin, he was perfectly in the middle. He would have been quite unremarkable, if not for his short stature. Then, they all rotated their heads over simultaneously, to look upon the new guest. A dead eyed gaze was set upon all of their faces, one of bored toleration. “Hello.” The tall thin man said in a monotone voice. “We were wondering-” “When you’d show.” The fat one said, completing his sentence in the same drab tone. The figure stood motionless, his face hidden by his wide brimmed hat. After a few moments of tense consideration, he drew a small metal box from his pocket. Opening up with a practised ease, he took one of the rolled cigarettes and placed it comfortably to rest in between his lips. The match hissed as it gave birth to the small flickering flame, which illuminated only the lower part of his face, the rest was still gracefully sheltered by the hat. A few greying hairs were dotted around his sharp jaw, but the most noticeable feature was a large scar which stretched from ear to ear, making him look as if he was constantly twisting his mouth into a grotesque smile. Before they could see anything else, the flame had lit the cigarette and he had tossed it aside lazily, once again, plunging his face into darkness. Smoke curled into the air around him like a old friend and with every puff he took, the sickening scar was briefly illuminated again. Silence reigned absolute in those next few moments, neither party so much as breathing. The wind seemed to be able to tell that the conversation demanded sincerity and so it politely stopped it’s whistling and howling, almost eager to hear what these strange individuals had to say. The quiet was interrupted by the thin man, who began to speak. Once again, in the same, bored tone. “He’s not here-” “Incase you were wondering.” The fat man finished. The man in black took another deep puff on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke out of his hidden nostrils. He drew a deep breath in and cocked his head to the side, his old bones giving a dull crack which echoed around the room. “Where?” The man in black spoke, his voice as rough as gravel. It sounded like his throat was hoarse, spent, his vocal chords groaning as the words escaped him reluctantly. The thin man took his glass from the bar and wet his pale lips on the liquid within, licking them clean afterwards with a flash of his tongue. “You know we aren’t going to tell you, after all-” “Everything comes at a price...and you haven't paid.” The fat man added, in his drab, lifeless tone. Another drag on the cigarette. “I’ve paid plenty.” The man in black hissed, his words rasping from his mouth, thick with anger. There was a significant pause as the mysterious men contemplated the words he had just uttered. It was as if they were all actors in a great play and he had suddenly, without warning, gone off script. Then, the short man who, up to this point had been completely silent and unmoving cracked a smile. Immediately after, the other two began to laugh, although it was not a laugh like any other. It was a sharp, hollow, emotionless sound which existed out of duty, not happiness or joy. Their expressions remained completely blank, their mouths just opening and closing to let the sound escape. As quickly as the laughter had started, it vanished instantly in a very eerie manner. This, after all, was not how laughter normally stopped. Laughter should ebb, the moment leaking into the past, to be remembered fondly, like an aging whiskey. “Maybe-” The thin man started. “You’re right. We can give you that much.” The fat one ended the sentence with a slight nod, so slight, that any ordinary person might have missed it. The man in black was no ordinary person. Or even a person at all for that matter. He slowly reached up and finished the last of his cigarette with a final deep inhale, savouring the acid smoke entering his lungs. With a deliberate flick, he cast it to the floor, crushing it under his boot with a slow twist of leather. Scratch. Clink. “Where is he?” He growled again, urgency and rage echoing with every syllable he spat out. The shortest man carefully removed an old brass pocket watch from his coat and flipped the cover open with a gentle flick of his wrist. The watch looked like it had been thrown into a fierce river of stones, the surface covered in hundreds of scratches and nicks, it was a wonder the old thing worked at all. The other two followed suit and produced very similar timepieces, all of brass, all decorated with an endless criss cross of damage. They both flicked open the covers with the same practiced ease of the short man. “He’s at Arboretum-” The thin man said softly. “Waiting for you.” The fat man finished calmly. At with that final sentence, they all closed their pocket watches in unison, with a definitive click. There was a sudden burst of blinding yellow light that emanated from the three of them, blazing brightly with the brightness of a thousand suns. It was enough to make even the stubborn man in black raise a gloved hand to shield his eyes, even though they were still in the shade from the brim of his hat. There was a loud rustle, a flapping of large wings and then suddenly, the radiant light died, disappearing in the blink of an eye. The man in black lowered his hand and looked at the bar, which was now utterly empty. Only the slight wobbling of the glasses on the tabletop showed that people had been stood there at all. He stood there for a while, in that empty room all alone, watching the bar carefully. Eventually, the glasses halted their wobbling, the wind’s silence was broken and the ancient wooden planks began to creak in disgust again. The man in black cast his cold gaze around once more and then left the decrepit saloon, his spurs ringing with every firm step. Clink. Clink. Clink.


“What happened? Let me call for back up ma’am.” Jecob was still confused what to do next. He was trained ranger, and doing his job perfectly for last three years, but in three years of his career worst he saw was a guy who had lost his dog in wood. However, he never saw a person in blood asking for help. It was rainy whole day in Watkinsville, and it got dark so early in evening. Jecob started his night petrol early today; unlike others, Jecob always likes deserted places like Watkinsville where he was posted only a week ago. When he first heard from his superior that he is being transferred to Georgia; he knew that he is signing up for a very large area than usual. Nevertheless, he himself wanted to get out of rock city due to his recent break up and wanted to have some change in his life. He put his favorite bob segar song on his phone and started his night petrol. It was 12:30 am and he just crossed town 15 min ago, he was thinking of taking full circle before his shifts end at 2:00; and he saw a figure on raod. After a continuous rain for three hours, it was quite for last 1 hour, but roads were still very wet. He stopped his jeep, as he saw a woman waving for help in the headlight. He quickly came out to check on her, he was hoping that she would ask for lift, but when he saw her, he could not believe on his eyes; she was crying for help, her old-fashioned white top was having stains of blood, while her head was still bleeding a little as someone had hit her with rod. He was confused for few moments and he heard her tired voice “I need to save him”, “They will kill my husband”, “Please help me”, “They will kill him” continuous crying made her voice very heavy; but plead in her voice was heavier. Since then He tried to adjust frequency on his radio for third time but still not able to get proper response from other side. He was little terrified; but worried more for the woman in blood. He is able to understand the situation more clearly now. She was still crying, “What’s you name ma’am? What are you doing out here this late?” After spending 10 min of trying to connect to nearest police station, He gave up. “Me and my husband” she took a pause to take a deep breath. And then she continued “Me and my Husband came here to spend time to nearby lake; and then they came out of nowhere and they took us..” She again started crying. “Ma’am please calm yourself down, please explain me whole situation then only I will be able to help you properly” Jecob tried to see if she is seriously hurt. “Ma’am you are still bleeding let me get first aid kit from jeep” Jecob noticed a dip cut on her head. “Please you need to help my husband, they are still holding him there,” She pointed at the forest besides road while holding Jecob’s wrist as she wanted him to come with her. “*Her hand is so cold*” Jecob thought when she touched him. “First let me please stop bleeding from your head” Jecob was trying his best to convince her to let him patch her head’s cut “They will kill him, why do you not understand?” She cried in pain and burst out in tear Jecob felt a sense of chill when he heard the cry. “Ok, let me get the torch, we will look for him first” Jecob felt helpless, he wanted to wait for back up as he learned in his training, but she was so determined. “Let’s go” Jecob got the torch and his rifle from zeep and land hand towards her to help her get up. Jecob noticed that she is in pain, as she was bleeding from her leg also, Jecob tried to look properly. “You got shot Ma’am” It was not easy to see clearly due to dark but a rangers eye cannot miss to identify a gun shot. “I am fine, I need to save him” She replied as she does not even care about her pain a bit. “Ma’am please let me first bandage this, It is not looking good at all” Jecob was amazed, worried and horrified at the same time. Amazed due to her determination, worried because he can see how much she is bleeding and horrified because he didn’t know what he is getting into? “NO, we need to save him” She again cried and Jecob felt the same chill in her voice. She crawled her way into jungle and Jecob followed her as a obedient kid. They walked for next 1 hour and Jecob sensed that they are lost. “Ma’am, I think we are lost, are you sure you came here?” Jecob tried to inquire. “We came this way only, we camped there.” She pointed to a very small pond of water, which seems like an old dried water body, which got water filled recently due to heavy rain. Jecob saw madness in her eyes and struggle to see something, which is not even present. She was in pain but still something was driving her. It’s been an hour since they passed small water pond, and they are very deep in jungle, It was becoming very hard to understand the way, but she was making her way in as she was well aware of this way. “That’s where they are keeping him, I need to save him.” she pointed to a very old deserted church and she took an unusual speed. “Ma’am please wait, you need to be careful” Jecob tried to keep his voice as low as possible as he didn’t want people inside the church to hear him; but she was already out of his reach, he also ran behind her while keeping his rifle ready in his hand to take a shot. “They were here only, where they took him?” She cried like mad while Jecob was trying to understand the situation. It was an empty ruined church; it seems like no one came here for years, roof was showing signs of time and half-broken, due to rain whole floor were wet. He was not able to understand what is going on. “Ma’am are you sure this is the place” This is the first time Jecob was doubting her mind. “Yes, they tied us here” she pointed to ceiling Jecob saw in direction up, and there was nothing to tie, ceiling was broken there and it doesn’t even seems like it can hold a weigh of a kid. “They were questioning my husband for information and they were torturing him” She was horrified as she is visualizing everything again. “I got loose somehow and I ran for help, they were shooting at me, but I didn’t stop, They were here only, I need to save him” She was talking like she is under possession. “Ma’am no one is here who needs help, please at least let me help you, you are bleeding badly” Jecob tried to command her as he was little frustrated. He was now sure that she is mad, only thing, which is making him confused, was gunshot in her leg and serious injuries that anyone can notice on her body. “No, I need to save him” “I need to save him… I need to save him… I need to save him” She repeated same thing and she fell down clearly due to loss of blood. “Ma’am…” Jecob tried to catch her and barely succeed. “Shit.. Now what should I do?” He questioned himself loudly. He carefully put her down and started patching her wounds. Her body was cold as there is no life in her. He again started trying to tune his radio to connect someone, but could not succeed. He sat down on wet floor and tried his best to keep himself awake but got defeated from his tired body. “Ma’am….” He was trying to find her for last two hours since he woke up. He looked at the sun and tried to guess time again; his watch had stopped last night. “*I should have at least asked her name.*” He thought in his mind After spending another hour or so he started walking towards the road. He looked at his radio again and cursed his luck as it was also not working any more. When he reached out to his jeep he drove to the direction from where he came. He remembered clearly that he passed one local motel. After 20 min drive he reached to that motel, It was 2:00 after noon. “May I use your phone, I need to connect to local police station,” He asked the aged man on the reception. Old man looked at ranger keenly and handed over the phone besides him. “Yes, she was injured, there is no way she could walk on her own” He explained briefly about the whole situation to the officer on other side and demand for search. “It is first time I am hearing in last 15 years of such thing, but it was very common in old times that mobs are capturing hikers and couples” man at reception told Jecob after hearing him on phone. “What do you mean?” Jecob Inquired. “15 years ago local police ran an operation to kill or capture all the mobs after church incident” Old man told Jecob. “What church incident?” Jecob was curious now. “Around 15 years ago in the same time of year one local couple went for camping near old lake area, and one local mob group abducted them. Story goes as they were trying to send a message to local government and was torturing the couple in old church, wife tried to escape but they shot her, she managed to get out of jungle and was found by a police officer barely breathing. In her last word also she was telling that office to help her husband.” Jecob could sense the sadness in man’s voice. “What happened to husband?” Jecob was feeling as chill in his spine now. “By the time police reached there, mob killed him also” He responded. “If she is dead than…” He stopped himself to say it loud. But he couldn’t stop his thought from echoing in his mind. *Who was telling the story? And whose story was it anyway?* The word fluttered and flew in the wind. “Do you know who was the officer investigated the case?” Jecob was now full of curiosity, he was trying to figure out what happened last night. “Yes, his name is John Wikkins , he lives nearby only” Old man started writing the address on paper as he understood that Jecob wants to meet him. “Hey I am looking for John Wikkins.” Jecob told the man standing in front of him who answered his knock, he was so curious to meet the officer to understand full story. “I am John Wikkins, How can I help you officer” John inquired as he recognize the uniform. “I want to know about the fraizer couple murder case” Jecob learnt the name of couple form man at the restaurant. He learnt the same story what he heard before from Officer. “It was a very bad day for me, It was rainy whole day and I was about to end my shift after late night petrol; and I saw her, she was all wet in blood and barely breathing” Old office told Jecob with a very sad face. “Do you have her photo with you?” Jecob asked him. “These days everything is in computer, but in our time we used to keep hard copies in files, when I retired I took all records of the cases I worked on with me home; let me grab it for you.” John was little confused because of Jecob’s inquiries, but he didn’t ask anything as he could sense curiosity on jecob’s face. After 5 min John Returned with the file and handed it to Jecob. “Her name was Marrie, she took her last breath in my hands only, even with the last breath she wanted to save her husband, I still remember her last words…” John wiped his moist eyes. “I need to save him” Jecob mumbled and dropped the file after seeing the picture of Marrie.


Courtney winced as she stuck the tip of the charcoal-colored feather quill into the underside of her arm. Her blood flowed up through its slit and into its hollow shaft. She placed the tip on the alabaster page inside the obsidian book, and inscribed the name, “Cynthia.” Next to it, she wrote the word, “Cruelty.” She then put the quill down and looked at the words with a quizzical expression, unsure of what to expect. As she put a bandage over the wound on her arm, she recalled the strange conversation she had earlier that day with the customer at the bank where she worked as a teller. The customer was an unusually tall and thin woman who wore a shapeless grey dress and carried a matching grey purse. She seemed to hover a few inches off the ground when she moved. “Hello, how can I help you today?” Courtney asked in her best fake-cheery voice as the woman approached. The woman replied, “Oh, I think it is I who can help you, miss.” Courtney thought, “Oh great, a salesperson. These people are relentless.” Courtney said to the woman, “I’m afraid I’m not the one to talk to about whatever you’re selling. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll call my manager over to discuss it with you.” “I don’t need to talk to Cynthia, my dear. She wouldn’t want to talk to me anyway. Besides, you and I both know that you don’t want to talk to her right now.” Courtney furrowed her brow and remembered how she’d made a small mistake earlier that day, and that Cynthia, her manager, had berated her about it in front of everyone, including customers. “How do you know that, and how do you know my manager’s name?” Courtney asked, incredulously. The woman said, “You’d be surprised what I know,” and smiled. Courtney caught a fleeting glimpse of her teeth and noticed they seemed unusually wide and pointed at the end, almost like those of a shark. Courtney felt uneasy with the strange woman’s presence, but maintained her composure and asked, “Do you have an account with us?” “My name is Lilith,” the woman said, ignoring her question, “…and I’m here to give something to you.” Before Courtney could react, Lilith reached into her purse and pulled out a small book with a jet-black binding and a matching quill feather. She then placed them on the counter and slid them over to Courtney as she whispered, “Prick yourself with the quill and fill it with your blood, then use it to write the name of the person who deserves your vengeance along with their wrongdoing on one of its pages. Soon thereafter, they’ll meet a befitting fate.” Courtney was stunned by such a bizarre statement. As she stared at the book and quill that sat before her, she said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” However, when she looked up, Lilith had disappeared. Courtney arrived late for work and braced herself for another verbal assault from Cynthia. However, she didn’t see her anywhere. “Maybe she took the day off,” Courtney thought, hopefully. Courtney’s coworker Shauna passed by and Courtney asked her, “Have you seen Cynthia today?” Shauna stopped and said, “Didn’t you hear about what happened?” “No.” “Search for her name on Google. It’s terrible.” Courtney pulled out her smart phone and typed Cynthia’s name into the search field along with the name of the city where she lived. Links to several news sites came up in the search results and her eyes widened as she read the text of the first one, “Local Couple Killed During Home Invasion.” She clicked the link and it took her to a story that read, “Local woman Cynthia Newsome and her husband, Thomas were killed during a home invasion last night. Police believe that Mrs. Newsome was forced to watch as the intruder killed her husband by slitting his throat before she was stabbed to death. Nothing was stolen, and police are exploring possible motives.” Shauna said, “Pretty cruel, huh? Nobody deserves that, not even Cynthia,” then turned and walked away. Courtney’s began to feel sick with guilt. As waves of regret washed over her, she looked up and saw Lilith floating two feet off the ground in the middle of the bank lobby, smiling at her with a horrible shark-toothed grin. Courtney blinked hard in disbelief, and Lilith disappeared. Courtney dry-heaved into her toilet for the third time that day, then crumpled onto her bathroom floor, groaning. Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt as though she had all the symptoms of a cold, a flu, and food poisoning all at once. The wound where she’d pricked herself with the quill itched intensely, and then burned with equal intensity when she scratched at it. She removed the bandage that covered it and saw that it had turned a sick purple color. Dark red veins spiderwebbed around the wound and pulsated under her skin. “Not feeling too well, are we?” said a voice above her head. “What? Who is that? Where are you?” Courtney asked weakly, looking around her bathroom. “Up here, silly,” the voice said playfully. Courtney realized that it was Lilith. Courtney put her hands on the vanity and slowly pulled herself up as she grimaced with pain. She looked into the mirror and gasped. Instead of her own reflection, she saw Lilith smiling back at her, her shark teeth now noticeably more prominent and menacing-looking. A stream of drool trickled from her hideous maw. “What’s going on?” Courtney asked. Lilith chortled sadistically and said, “Why, I’d say you’re suffering from a bit of… withdrawal. You see, sweetie, if you don’t continue to write names in the book, well… let’s just say things will become more and more uncomfortable for you.” Courtney’s shoulders slumped and she began to cry. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “I just wanted to teach my boss a lesson. I just wanted her to be nicer to people.” Lilith smirked and said, “Oh you taught her a lesson, alright,” then cackled evilly. “Who else do you know who needs to be taught a lesson?” “I… I don’t know.” “Come now. How about your ex-boyfriend? What was his name? Oh yes, Brad.” “How did you know that?” “Didn’t I tell you before that you’d be surprised what I know? Want to know what else I know? I know he cheated on you, on your birthday of all days, when you turned 25.” Courtney trembled and said, “Yes.” “That day, you caught him in bed with another woman, didn’t you? And what was it that you said to him?” “I said, ‘How could you do this to me?’” “Ah yes, that was it. Well, why don’t you do something to him in return? It would make you feel so much better, and it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.” Lilith reached below the vanity in the reflection and pulled out the obsidian book and charcoal-colored feather quill, then held them out to Courtney through the mirror as if it wasn’t there. “Take them,” she said in a commanding tone. Courtney hesitated as she looked miserably at the book and quill, then slowly reached out for them. “Yes, take them,” Lilith hissed with pleasure. Courtney opened the book and laid it on her vanity, then pricked herself with the quill a few inches away from where her other wound was. She wrote Brad’s name on the page, and next to it, she wrote the word, “Betrayal.” Courtney curled up on her couch in her living room as she waited for her Netflix profile to load on her television. She absentmindedly ran her fingers over the quill wounds on her arm. Neither itched or burned, and she otherwise felt completely normal physically. The television screen filled with static, and Courtney used her remote to try to change the channel, but it didn’t work. She tried to turn the television off, but that didn’t work either. The channel then changed by itself to a local news station with a newscaster sitting behind a desk. “Good evening,” said the newscaster, a pretty woman in a smart-looking suit. “We bring you a breaking news update. A local man was found dead in his home earlier today after he was apparently killed last night.” A picture of the man appeared on the screen, and Courtney recognized him immediately. It was Brad. She stared in shock and horror as her eyes filled with tears. “Police say the victim, Brad Johnson, was stabbed 25 times in the back as he lay asleep in bed, and that his girlfriend has been arrested on suspicion of murder.” The screen cut to a video of a woman in handcuffs being led out of a house by police. She was thrashing about and had to be forcibly restrained. Courtney recognized her as Jennifer, the woman her ex-boyfriend had cheated on her with. “How could you do this to me!?” she screamed toward the house as she writhed around. “How could you do this to me!?” Courtney sat in stunned silence as the screen cut back to the newscaster who said, “The motive for the killing is unknown, though police say they believe the man’s girlfriend thought he was cheating on her.” The reporter smiled, and her teeth resembled those of a shark. Courtney moaned as she lay in her bed. She was drenched in sweat and felt as though her skin was freezing and on fire at the same time. Even the slightest movement caused shooting pain all over her body. She glanced at the wounds on her arm and saw they’d turned a putrid brownish green color. The skin around them was completely rotten. She’d gone from having dry heaves to throwing up blood, and she wondered how much worse it could get. “Oh, I’m afraid it can get much worse,” Lilith said as she stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room. She seemed to have read Courtney’s mind. “Much, much worse,” she continued. “You should know that you can’t die from this. In fact, you can’t die at all. When you wrote the first name into the book, you also entered into a pact in which you must continue adding names until all the pages are filled. Only then will you be allowed to die. Only then will the suffering end, yours and everyone else’s.” Courtney whimpered in response. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you enjoying our little game? Two of your enemies met gruesome fates already, and we’re just getting started. Why don’t you want to keep playing? You know you must continue if you want to feel better.” Lilith floated across the room and held the book and quill out to Courtney. “Take them,” she said. Courtney summoned all her strength and sat up. Pain wracked her body, but she forced herself to take the book and quill from Lilith’s hand, then thudded back down onto her bed. Her hand shook as she laid the book next to her and opened it to a blank page. She grasped the quill in her fist and jabbed herself in the arm. Lilith said, “Yes…” With the quill now filled with her blood, Courtney moved it back over to the open book and weakly scribbled her name onto the page. Next to it, she wrote the word, “Unforgiving,” and dropped the quill in exhaustion. Lilith sighed with disappointment and said, “You’re no fun,” then opened her mouth to reveal several rows of shark teeth and viciously bit Courtney’s heart out of her chest, killing her instantly.


It was the voice that convinced Remy to go further into the cave. He initially went into the cave to escape the blistering heat outside. As an old desert rat, treasure-hunter, gold miner, and seeker of riches, he knew better than to challenge the sun at its apex. At first he only went in a few yards. With the help of his flashlight he found a comfortable spot on a large outcropping of rock to sit on. He pulled the canteen off his belt and took a short swig of it. Just enough to wet his tongue and throat so he could swallow. He looked at his old Timex wristwatch that still glowed in the dark after 50 years, and decided to take a quick nap. He relocated himself on the ground with his back to the granite wall, and pulled his baseball cap (that said Lakers on the front) down. When he woke up an hour later the first thing he noticed was a horrible smell. Standing up carefully, there was only a small clearance between the roof and his head, Remy took a few steps further into the cave and shone his light down into its dark depths. He didn’t see anything, but the smell told him something was wrong. It smelled like death. Decaying corpses. Humans turned into torches with napalm. The fat in their body fueling the flames and causing a greasy smoke that clung to whatever was near. That bad. If Remy wasn’t an adventurer at heart, he would have left the cave right then. But his curiosity, which had nearly cost him his life before, was too strong. When he heard the voice in his head that cinched it…he had to go further inside and find out why it was calling him. He double checked the contents of his backpack. Extra ammunition for the old Army .45 he brought back from the Nam, and carried on his web belt. Enough dried, and canned food for a week. A Vietnam-era metal mess kit, plus P-38. A compact First-Aid kit. A compass. A flip phone (a concession to his grown daughter) with minimum functions. A charger for the phone which was only good if it could be plugged into an electrical outlet. A local map of the area he was in. A folded up plastic poncho. An extra t-shirt, and pair of socks. Extra batteries for his flashlight. A metal flask filled with Bushnell’s Irish whiskey. Along with the .45, he had a flashlight, two canteens, and a k-bar knife hanging on his web belt. Caves didn’t scare him. He’d been in a few hostile ones in Vietnam and Cambodia. He took his bearings with the compass, mentally noting them before pushing on further. After an hour he stopped when the cave abruptly broke off into three directions. The already stale smell of the damp cave was enhanced by the sickening smell that drove him on. The air was getting thin as he pondered which way to go. His sense of smell wasn’t so acute that he could tell which cave the stench was coming from. They all smelled like hell to him. Then he heard the voice. “Chests full of old Spanish gold and rare jewels…” “Where?” he roared, his voice reverberating down all three tunnels. “Down here…down here waiting for you…” the voice promised. Remy knew, on one hand, that he shouldn’t be listening to a voice in his head. After years of PTSD counseling he knew it wasn’t right to respond to a voice in his head. It was the fine line between sanity and insanity. But, on the other hand, he’d responded to voices (one’s he didn’t tell the psychiatrists about) before and things had worked out. He picked the tunnel to the right and started walking as he debated with himself about the value of voices with messages. After walking for eight hours he took his backpack off and sat down on the damp ground. He rummaged through it until he found some beef jerky and his plastic poncho. He unfolded the poncho and slipped it on. It afforded some protection against the dampness. He finished his meal off with a swig of water and whiskey. Before falling asleep it struck him that he was getting use to the foul smell. When he woke up the first thing he did was look at his wristwatch and turn on his flashlight. He’d slept eight hours. That was two hours more than his normal rest. He wondered how much the thin air weakened him. As if in answer, he got dizzy when he stood up. It took a couple of minutes to be able to bend over and retrieve his web belt. He felt a little better after sipping some water. His first decision was to go back the way he came until he found the crossroads again. It took him over eight hours because he had to stop and rest several times. When he came to the opening for the three tunnels he sat down and pulled out his metal flask and took a healthy swig. He sat down and took his compass out and studied it for a few minutes under the flashlights beam. He was exhausted and decided to camp right where he sat. After eating, still wearing the poncho, he curled up on the ground and fell asleep. An hour later he woke up, startled by an overpowering smell stronger than what he remembered earlier. Instinctively he reached for his web belt and his gun. He drew the .45 from its canvas holster, before slowly standing up. The smell was so strong he felt like vomiting. Then he saw the eyes – hundreds of them – glaring at him from all three tunnels! The only option left was a strategic retreat. The things in the tunnel made a low chattering sound in anger. Some grew more bold than others and came closer so that he was able to see their short, squat, hairy, naked bodies, clutching weapons made from human bones. Their faces were disfigured parodies of humans and they were covered in vile-looking boils. Some had three arms One had two heads, and hopped angrily on one leg. Remy backed up and kept the flashlight in front of him. When one of them burst forward and came within a few feet of him he fired his gun three times, then turned and ran as fast as he could! Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, he stumbled but never stopped running. It seemed like forever before he saw daylight and the cave’s opening. He was blinded by the sun and held his hand in front of his eyes. He looked back at the cave’s entrance once, expecting to see pursuit. None came. As he hiked back to his old jeep he decided this was one adventure he wouldn’t share with anyone. Especially with his friends who warned him to stay away from the Yucca flat region of the Nevada Test Site near Area 51. As It Stands, some of us are born adventurers that will always be looking for treasure, but not necessarily finding it.


I’d gotten used to the flashes of how people’s lives would end – as morbid as it sounds, it didn’t seem to affect me anymore. I suppose that is what happens after 30 years of witnessing such horrors as watching people die before it happens. What was I supposed to do, just live my life isolated from everyone; a life of no human contact? I can’t imagine a more painful and miserable existence – the loneliness would drive me to insanity at best. I’d already been cursed with this sight, I refuse to let myself be cursed with a lifetime of misery, insanity and loneliness. So I learned to make do and suffer through the horror and pain until I was more or less desensitised to it all. No, death doesn’t bother me anymore. Or at least it didn’t until today… Now, believe me when I tell you I have seen some horrific things – I’m talking people being stabbed or gunned down in cold blood or being hit by oncoming traffic. The worst I’d ever seen was the woman pushed onto the rails in front of a train – needless to say I threw up immediately after that one. But even those most horrific images could not prepare me for what I saw today – I’ll explain in a moment, but first I should probably tell you how my sight works so you understand. When I make contact with another person, I see their final 24 hours alive on this earth through their eyes – their las day alive may not be for a few weeks or even for a few years but whatever ending they are destined to have, I witness it. Not the whole 24 hours, just random flashes of the day – usually a minute’s worth – just snippets here and there, always ending with the last few seconds before they die. I’m not exactly sure why I am this way but it has always been this way for as long as I can remember – I honestly think I was cursed with it at birth. I only see it the first time I make contact with that person, so it’s not like I have to spend my entire life avoiding hugs from loved ones and handshakes from colleagues but it is still beyond unsettling to look someone in the eyes and know exactly what wicked plan fate has in store for their demise… I’d moved to a small little town, the kind where everyone knows everyone – as well as every minute detail going on in their lives, although not quite as much as I would I suppose. They’re lucky in that sense. For them, the biggest secret they have to keep from letting slip to Mr. Parks is that his wife is sleeping with their gardener and not that in a few weeks’ time that very same gardener will stab him in the trachea with his rusty shears… Because I can’t intervene – believe me, I’ve tried. But it always ends up happening just as I saw it. As I said before, I was not prepared for today. Not even remotely… It was just an average Saturday midmorning – a beautifull brisk Autumn one at that. The perfect morning for a leisurely stroll down Main Street to get a coffee and some cake, in fact. I glanced out the window at the perfect powder blue sky obscured only by a light dusting of white clouds. A quick check of the pockets of my black trench coat – keys, wallet, phone, check – and I was on my way out the door, greeted by the warmth of the midmorning sun and a soft, cool breeze blowing the crisp yellow leaves across the sidewalk, dancing on the wind. Pure bliss. I hesitated for a moment to take it all in, breathing in the scent of the freshly baked bread drifring along the breeze from the bakery down the street and began to make my way down Cherry Lane towards Main Street. Out of the corner of my eye I observed the strip of almost identical houses with their perfectly pristine vibrant green grass and white picket fences, the only difference setting them apart was the colour of their front doors and window panes. I reachethe corner of Cherry Lane and Main Street, giving a polite smile and wave to Mrs. Parks – not even the slightes bit surprised to see her openly flirting with the gardener in plain sight, almost as if she wanted her husband to catch her. I shuddered as I saw him lean his rusty shears against the hedge as the image of Mr. Parks’ inevitable brural and bloody murder flashed past my eyes. I took a deep breath and continued on my way and pulled out my phone to distract myself from the gruesome thoughts in my head. It wasn’t long before I found myself sucked into endlessly scrolling through my newsfeed seeing post after post from people I really didn’t care for much announcing their pregnancies, promotions and engagements or sharing their uneducated, racist and biased political views. With my face stuck in my phone, I’d barely noticed the street had gotten busier and there were other pedestrians on the sidewalk around me until I collided with someone. Instantly, the flashes began. A phone on the ground, a hand reaching down to pick it up and hand it to someone. A man in a black trench coat with sandy blonde hair, sky blue eyes and a look of pure shock and fear on his face that quickly turned to a nervous smile. A cup of coffee at a small round table and a glimpse of a man in a black trench coat across the room. A park, children running and playing while the crisp yellow leaves drift on the wind – a man in a black coat hovering behind a tree in the distance, watching. Various flashes of different locations throughout the day, each featuring a man in a black coat watching her. And finally, the same face as before with the sandy blonde hair and sky blue eyes only this time covered in a splattering of blood. The flashes stopped abruptly and I stood there in shock. I knew that face, I knew it very well – it was my own. A realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks – this stranger I had just bumped into would die within the next 24 hours and I was somehow connected to their death… I stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock and fear and jaw hanging open as I tried to catch my breath. I could feel my heart beating fast and hard, pounding in my ears louder than a nightclub’s speakers on a Friday night. I’d seen so many deaths in my time that I thought I could never be fazed by death again but this was the first time I’d witnessed a death I was connected to – possibly even responsible for? Could I be responsible for it – how? Thoughts raced around my head faster than a Ferarri and I was failing to keep up. I couldn’t make I was shaken back to reality by a soft touch of my shoulder and the muffled sound of a soothing voice asking me a question. ‘Sir? Are you…? Are you okay?’ the soothing, soft feminine voice repeated nervously. I blinked and found myself back on Main Street facing a young woman no older than her early 20s, her chocolate brown eyes looking up at me in concern. Realising I probably looked like I’d seen a ghost, I made a nervous attempt at a smile to try and calm her concern. ‘Sorry, I was… Somewhere else… I’m fine! I’m so sorry, I just didn’t see you there – I was too busy uh…’ I motioned towards my right hand meaning to hold up my phone only to realise it wasn’t there. The young girl in front of me held out my phone and handed it to me. ‘Here, you dropped this. Are you sure you’re okay, sir?’ I pondered my response for a moment, knowing full well that I was most definitely not okay. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Maybe just a bit shaken by the article I was reading. You have a lovely day.’ I calmly lied with what I hoped was a convincing and reassuring smile on my face – what was I supposed to say? No, I’m not okay – I think I might be responsible for your death? Because that wouldn’t make me sound like an absolute maniac, not at all. She smiled sweetly and gave a small wave before continuing on her way as I leaned against the wall aimlessly tapping my phone pretending to send a text while I watched her out of the corner of my eye. How was I connected to her and more importantly to her death? I needed to know, the confusion and question was firing through my brain at lightning speed. I watched as she continued to walk down the street, her long mahogany hair flicking behind her as she paused to throw a cautionary glance over her right shoulder back in my direction showing a genuine look of concern – whether it was concern for me or concern about me, I was not sure though I would not blame her for either. I hesitated for a moment once she was a considerable distance away and suddenly found myself following her path, my desperate need for answers overriding all sense of reason and logic. I watched, careful to maintain a safe distance between us, as she wandered down the street – her forest green peacoat a helpful visual indicator. She slowed stopping outside the café, peering through the window before looking down at her phone seemingly annoyed. I stopped and leaned against a pole as I watched her make a call. I knew I shouldn’t but it was like I had lost all concept of impulse control and I found myself trying to listen in as she left an unhappy voicemail telling someone she was at the café and would meet them there before hanging up and walking inside. I spent the next minute standing there facing the biggest internal struggle I’d ever found myself in. Conflicting thoughts shot back and forth through my brain as I tried to convince myself not to follow her in. I’d already taken this far further than I’d have liked to and yet I desperately needed answers. ‘Don’t do this, Alex. Don’t be that guy…’ I pleaded with myself, though it seemed my legs and my mind were not on the same page and I found myself heading to the door to the café. I guess I was doing this, then. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath as I entered the café, the warm welcoming of aroma of fresh coffee enveloping my nostrils and a feeling of peace washing over me. ‘At least she chose a café…’ I thought to myself knowing if there was any scent that always calm my nerves even in the most stressful of situations none could compare. I opened my eyes and scanned the room slowly and with a clear purpose, making a mental note of the eclectic and cutesy atmosphere around me – I’d have to remember to return in far more appropriate circumstances. My eyes passed over a mismatched collection of ‘vintage’ tables and chairs, few empty and an abundance of familiar faces filling the remainder – the numerous conversations and laughs all blurring into one big roar. I glanced across the various abstract art pieces hanging across the walls adding vibrant pops of bold colour to the room, my eyes only searching for one thing and one thing alone – the forest green coat. ‘Thanks! Have a good day,’ I heard her newly familiar voice over all the others in the room and turned my head to face the cashier’s desk and saw her walking away with a coffee in hand. My gaze followed her as she sat in a corner near the window. While the aroma of coffee filling the room was all too enticing, I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off her and lose her so I chose to sit several tables away – close enough to seem coincidental but far enough to still see and hear her. For the next half hour, I carefully watched out of the corner of my eye while pretending to play on my phone. She carefully stirred her coffee, only taking a sip at a time in between glances at her phone that progressively made her seem more and more frustrated. As she finished her coffee she raised her phone to her ear, getting evidently frustrated with every ring. ‘Hi Sam, it’s Jodie. I’m guessing you forgot we were meant to meet for coffee this morning? I’m only in town for another day so please call me when you get this. Thanks, bye.’ She sternly said into the phone before pocketing it and grabbing her jacket to leave. I watched as she walked out the door and turned right and counted to 5 before slowly following. I followed her for the rest of the day. She walked next door to the park and sat on a bench watching the children play nearby. I kept my distance and watched from across the park. I couldn’t figure out why but as she sat there I saw her get increasingly more nervous, holding her phone in one hand and clutching her purse in the other. Eventually, she rose and left proceeding down the street proceedingly getting more and more nervous and looking over her shoulder every few minutes. As she reached the corner of a road she needed to cross, she stopped and reached into her purse with her left hand and turned to face me with the same hand behind her back. ‘Why are you following me? What do you want from me?’ She asked me point blank, fear in her voice and I eyes. I stopped in my tracks, frozen and without an an answer. I opened my mouth and stammered before she lifted her hand from behind her back and using both hands to aim a black pistol at my chest. ‘I’ll ask you again,’ she said, all sense of fear having left her voice and eyes only to be replaced with pure anger. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT?! WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!’ My eyes widened with fear and I raised my left hand in front of me to try and calm her down before finally saying ‘I can’t explain how I know this but today is your last day. You will die toda-‘ BANG! Before I knew what was happening, I saw her eyes widen and felt splatters on my face. Then I felt the pain in my hand and looked down to see a hole right through it and felt the blood begin to ooze from my chest. As I grabbed my chest and began to fall to the floor, I watched her drop the gun and start walking backwards. I opened my mouth to try and warn her but no sound came out and I watched as the ute speeding through the intersection ran her down before coming to a screeching halt. As I lay in the pool of my own blood listening to the driver screaming and sobbing on the phone to emergency services, I reminded myself – my visions always come true, I can never stop them.


Everyone has their perception on beauty. Some think of it as physical attractions, some think of it as mental attractions and then there is me. The one who thinks of it as the nature of the heart. You never find that special someone by just letting your eyes fall on the first human that walk by. Particularly if she is flawless. Yes, her outer beauty deserves a ten out of ten but what exactly is she like? Miles prefers to know someone first. The connection that is built between two people is what makes something special but the society that he lives in does not believe in that. Not anymore. They say that you are living in a fairy tale if you think about happy endings but what if a fairy tale was meant for him? Is he not built with certain standards? Respect? Dignity? Loyalty? Why should society choose for him? Why should society make him turn a blind eye from something that he believes in? His brother, Nick Pearson, was one of those society people. He made everything look so easy. Nick's girlfriend, Jessica, would spend the weekends in our home and they would both be locked up all day and night in Nick's bedroom. When they finally emerged and Jessica left for home, Nick would sit on the porch or on a chair by the shore with a cigarette and a bottle of alcohol. Their parents are busy business people whose work requires travelling to different countries and attending seminars. Nick was practically the guy who would strike up a conversation with random strangers over a card game and suddenly they are all over the place. The fridge is stocked with so many alcoholic drinks even his yogurt felt like an outcast. Their parents are unaware of his drinking problem and Miles was pretty sure by the time they were back before the summer is over, Nick will look like the golden scholar boy that he is meant to be. Except, Miles is the scholar one. He has the brains and Nick gets the girls. Society at its finest. "You're always writing in that stupid little book of yours," Nick said as he walked in front of Miles, kicking sand into the air. He took a comfortable seat in the chair next to his younger brother. Dark shades covering his eyes was typically a sign that he was still sobering up from the night before, "What do you write, anyway?" He turned to face his little brother. The shades were also another phrase for 'I don't care.' "You know what, don't even bother. It's probably childish writing anyways. No good to my eyes." Miles remained silent. He always carried his black and silver notebook and a pen in hand or a novel which he bought at the bookstore a few days ago. Miles was not the typical eighteen-year-old boy who goes to all the weekend parties and hook up with random girls – or boys - for the weekend. Instead, he spends his time writing or walking along the shoreline since he practically lives on the beach. The Pearson's summer home is richly built near the shore with its magnificent structure, white paint that matches the purity of the ocean and blue for the stability and faith. "Are you okay?" Miles asked, "You're outside on the beach without a bottle of stupid in your hand." His sarcastic attitude always left his older brother furious because they are not usually on the same level of understanding and relationship. Nick winced with disgust, "Why aren't you out somewhere along the far end of the beach with a friend?" He paused, "Oh wait, I forgot. You don't have any." This was not the truth. Miles had a lot of friends but spending the summer in the family beach house takes him far away from them. "I'm stuck in this hell alone with you for the summer, a million miles away from our city home. What else do you expect me to do?" "We're not a million miles away from home. Stop exaggerating, idiot," Nick finally removed his shades and he stared at the ocean spread out before him. His blue eyes always reminded Miles of what perfection is. Having a brother with attractive blue eyes and blonde hair always bothered Miles a bit. "Why couldn't I have stunning eyes and blonde colour hair like Nick?" he thought, "He's always outstanding because of it and I'm just here with my black hair and brown eyes that goes unnoticed. Nick always gets the girls" Nick once took a sneak peek at his brother's journal when they were younger and Nick would torture Miles because of it. "What's up with your eye?" Miles was actually concerned now that he saw his brother's eye was a collage of blue, black and purple. "Got into a fight last night," he answered emotionless. Miles searched his face for a long time, unclear of what to say next, "It looks good on you," he turned his attention back to his notebook. Nick glared at him, his face twisting into disgust, "You're unbelievable. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend." Miles remained silent. He kept his eyes on his notebook. Nick was studying him for a little while. "I know I can be an ass to you but I am your big brother. You can talk to me." Miles still remained silent. Unmoving. Nick sighed in frustration and placed the sunglasses over his eyes, his arms outstretched behind his head. Miles still said nothing, "I know about you and Kyle" Miles shot a quick, terrified glance at Nick who was not looking at him. Instead, his eyes were probably closed. Nick knew. How? Miles managed to say after stumbling for words, "What are you talking about?" Nick just exhaled, "You and Kyle," he said in an obvious manner, "Other than the fact that I read your journal a few weeks ago, I always saw the way you looked at him when he came over. Or the way he spoke to you as if you were some delicate flower that needed protecting." He paused, still looking at the sky, "Also, why would any of my friends – who are older than you – show any interest in you? It must mean something. Especially if it's just one friend." Miles was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, heat rising inside of him, turning his face red. Nick sat up from his seat and looked at his horrified brother, "Please don't get any panic attacks now. Mom and dad will kill me." Miles ignored him. The boy was terrified. His world came crashing down. The blue skies breaking into tiny pieces and falling to the floor, leaving open darkness above. The ground caving beneath his feet and everything in between was like a hurricane. "Miles?" Nick said his name in concern, pulling the glasses off, "Miles!" Miles was having a full-blown panic attack. Nick rushed to his brother's side. Panic rising inside of him, "Miles! Come on, breathe," he was terrified as he held his baby brother. Miles clutched at his own throat, trying his best to breathe but it was all too much. Nick tried to hold him but instead, he slid to the ground. Nick went down with him, trying his best to calm his brother but nothing seemed to be helping. "I'm sorry, okay," Nick pleaded, "I should not have sprung that on you. Please don't do this to me. Not here. Not now. Come on Miles." The last time Miles had a panic attack was about eight months ago when his brother had a party at their home after their exams were over before they were headed off to college. Miles was, indirectly, invited. He thought he would have been okay with a party since he never hosted one and what better way to experience one where you didn't have to pay a fee? The house was overly crowded and while forcing his way through the crowd around the house, ensuring that everything was in order, nothing broken, the crowd was so tight that the frustration and lack of oxygen took a toll on him. He panicked and uncontrollably grabbed on to someone who shrugged him off in disgust, causing him to fall to the floor, gasping for air. The people around became concerned and in an instant, the news travelled throughout the room, a large empty circle formed around Miles, with him being at the centre. Nick appeared in the emptiness, horrified at what had happened to his brother. He tried his best to help him to get his breathing under control and luckily, someone called an ambulance under Nick's order, which arrived in a very short time. Nick notified their parents and they met Nick at the hospital where the doctor declared that Miles would be okay. Miles looked up at the blue sky now, his hand still clutching at his throat, trying his best to get his breathing under control. He knew from experience that staying calm and breathing is easier said than done. It was much more difficult than that. The feeling that your throat is closing in as you struggle to breathe, is painful and nerve-wrecking. In those moments, the thought that this might be your end flashes across your mind and you wonder if it really is. The hands of hope, regret and pain all grabbing at your throat and sometimes, just sometimes, you slip into unconsciousness. "Is he okay?" a girl asked. Nick did not look away from his brother, panic rising inside of him, "He's having a panic attack." The girl slid to her knees opposite the blonde brother, taking Miles' hand in hers, "Hey there -" "Miles," Nick said. The girl continued, "Miles." He opened his eyes at the strange voice. The girl was looking down at him. Her black hair was open, hanging from her head. Her eyes, though dark, looked at him with colour, "You're okay, Miles. Look at me and follow my breathing, okay?" Her voice was so soft and kind, "Deep inhale," and she motioned for him to follow, "Exhale." After a few seconds, he willed himself to follow her. Inhale. Exhale. He followed her pattern for about thirty seconds and by then, his heart slowed and his breathing levelled off. Miles was okay. The fresh sea breeze filled his lungs, sending a feeling of euphoria through his body. Nick exhaled a sigh of relief and he thanked the girl one too many times. The girl smiled at Miles and helped him into a sitting position, dusting off the sand from his tee. Miles glanced at her for a few seconds, avoiding her eyes, and managed a smile, "Thank you." The girl smiled back, "Are you feeling better?" Miles nodded, "Good. You scared your brother to death here." Miles forced a glance at Nick who looked awfully pale under the burning sun. The night of the party came rushing back to him. The way his brother looked, it was as if all the blood drained from his face and he could not stop thinking that it was all his fault. That he was the reason for crashing his brother's party. That he was the reason Nick got into so much trouble with their parents and was grounded for two months. That he was the reason for his brother to hate him so much, for Nick to be so bitter towards him. Miles thought he was the reason why everything felt like it was falling apart in his life. "I'm okay," he finally managed, "Thank you," he cleared his throat. Within the confines of the beach, swallowing sand is expected. Miles got to his feet, dusting the sand off arms. He bashfully looked at the girl in front of him, smiled and then turned to the house and walked away, leaving Nick and the girl watching after him.


The incantation was read, reverberating off the world, echoing, surrounding him. The underworld trembled as he was summoned. Through fire and brimstone, he rose through the Chasm of the Damned, tore across the Abyss of Lost Ones, burst through the line between his and theirs. A vortex of fleshy colors swirled around him, formed over his body, tightened, stretched, elongating, reached like pleading branches and down into him through every orifice. From one world to another, from one shape to another, to be summoned was a task he held highly, but one he would punish dearly if discovered to be made by a fool. He closed his eyes, his eyelids hissing on his flesh, and when he opened them he stood in a room that was far pinker than anything he had ever seen. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the blinding, vibrant color. Posters with various female humans in different poses, dressed in gowns, wearing tiaras and crowns, dancing, singing, were plastered to the walls, and sprinkled around them were colorful, shiny stickers of horses with horns, tiny cherubs with glittery wings, and rainbow colored stars and other symbols. The were white curtains with rose patterns hanging to the sides of the windows, and the bed in the far corner had more blankets and pillows than he ever thought imaginable. His sigil was crudely drawn on the small table he stood upon. A tiny, plastic knife blanched with red, and a paint set laid next to it; a wrinkled sheet of paper was on the floor, the incantation scribbled in red, a crayon nearby. A toppled over plastic chair was on the floor, painted with splotches of bright blue and indigo. *What is this?* he thought. “Yay! Yay, yay, yay! It worked! It worked!” A little female human cheered across the room, jumping up from a plastic chair placed in a ring of stuffed animals. A doll house nearly as big as her stood in the center of them, partially open, revealing dolls, plastic furniture, and other child toys. “You summoned me?” he asked, his voice grating, as if with every word his throat ground gravel to a fine dust. She threw her hands above her, one had a small, red mark across the palm, then pointed towards Him. “I did! I did!” “For what purpose do you summon me? Only those who require removal of a human’s life summon me, and only fools would summon me for anything else.” “To play, to play! Daddy’s not home, and mommy is sleeping!” “You summon me… to play?” A fine red mist escaped his lip-less mouth and slits for nostrils, rising and settling onto the ceiling above him. The plaster began to melt, and drips of white fell on his horned shoulders, the table, and the floor. The stench of burning paint, caulk, wood filled the room, mixing with the pungent, spicy scent of the mist. A hole revealing the attic formed, and insulation began to sing. “Yes! I need someone to be Ken! I can be Barbie and their daughter, but not Ken! Girls can’t play as boys, sil—” His amber eyes glowed and, as if a storm cloud passed over the sun, the room darkened. The lines that were etched up his body like snaking veins ebbed with a fiery light, illuminating the room. The small girl sat back down, putting her hands onto her lap. More mist escaped him, through his pores, through his eyes, became a smog engulfing him and the part of the room behind him. Hidden behind the cloud, the flaps of this world's frame started to peel, slowly being pulled back to reveal his true form; endless tendrils twisted, conjoined, endless innards like veering corridors, swirling staircases, that reach to the catacombs of ancient beings; places, things, words, names unimaginable to the little's girl world. “You summoned me!” he roared, stepping off the table that collapsed into kindle and embers. “To play? To play with toys? Do you know who I am child? Do you know who, what you summoned! Only the foolish have summoned me for greater things, and even those were childish!” The carpet singed around his hoofed feet, the smell of burnt plastic intertwining with the room's stench. A veil of tears covered her eyes, streamed down her chubby cheeks. She balled her shirt collar in her hand, biting her lower lip. The little girl spoke in between sobs. “Yes… I wanted someone to play with… Daddy’s— daddy’s always gone, and— and mommy’s always sleeping… she takes special medicine… We— we— we moved here for daddy’s work. I have… I have no one to play with here.” He loomed over the girl, peering down through the red mist, his eyes glowing, amber ovals. He balled his pincer-like claws into fists, black blood seeped in between them, dripping onto the floor. The demon glanced back at the table, saw the paper with his incantation among the rubble, saw the plastic knife that must have been used to cut her palm, and saw his symbol, now destroyed. “You summoned me little human,” he said, the color of his eyes and body gradually dulled and disappeared, returning to ember and ruby. The flaps of flesh mended, hiding the depths within his body. No mortal should look upon them, let alone a girl, though, perhaps, his mother may be an exception. “Thus, I will do your bidding this once.” The clouds lifted and sunlight fell into the room through the window once more, reflecting off the pink walls, filling the room with radiance. The fine, red mist quickly dissipated, as did the smell, though he didn't intend to repair the burnt ceiling, floor, walls, just yet. *For another time*, he thought. The demon crouched, glanced among the dolls and what he believed to be Ken into his claws, and asked, “How do we begin then, little human?” If you like what you read, you can view more of my work in my subreddit at .