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JOSEPH WASHBURN - BARRIER ATTACK

8/7/2019

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Joseph Washburn is 34 and Currently living in Gadsden, Al.  with wife and four kids. He is currently attending Full Sail University for his bachelors in creative writing.

​Barrier Attack

​ 
The light kissed his face as the sun dipped behind the mountains, a pink hue spreading across the open sky. A klaxon sounded somewhere behind me as I moved closer to him. I studied him, his faded jeans and worn t-shirt as his gaze shifted to the last of the townspeople scurrying to enter the city.
  The humming began, my body, involuntary tensing up as I watched him, a burn in my chest inching its way to the surface. The sweet, tart zing of ozone perforated the air. My heart leaped as he stretched his arms out the majestic scene shifting to a purple-blue haze just inches from him.
“I thought I would find you here,” I said as I moved in behind him.
A chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped away from the barrier, turning his head to face me. “Jonah! My friend how what’s up?”
  I smiled, as he moved in beside me, slapping my back and embracing me in a quick hug.
 “Jacob, why do you do that? The last thing I want to do it tell you, mother, how her oldest son got vaporized by the barrier because he liked to stand too close to it.”
Jacob eyed me his gaze drifting down to the ceramic jar I held in my hand. “We all have our vises to survive this hell of a life.”
“Yeah, at least mine doesn’t kill me,” I said, moving the jar to my lips savoring the burn of the amber liquid as it floated down my throat. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Jacob smiled his gaze moving back to the barrier,  “It’s starting early tonight. I bet they ram the barrier.”
I follow his gaze to the silhouettes of several creatures forming in the horizon. “They are smarter than that; they’ll stop before they hit.”
“Care to bet on that?”
“Yeah, winner buys drinks?” I said.
Jacob nodded as the creatures charged toward the town. It's humanoid features a blur as claws extended from its fingers — the coarse black fur covering its body waving in the wind. Static crackled as it impacted the barrier, a shimmer running across as several more creatures charged.
“Damn, I guess they never learn,” I said.
Jacob laughed as he turned to town. I shook my head as I moved to follow. “Um, I am a little short today.”
A broad smile crossed Jacob’s face. “I guess that means you’ll owe me.”
The barrier popped and cracked followed by the sound of breaking glass. Jacob and Jonah paused turning their heads back toward the barrier. One creature was pushing its arm through the barrier. Splinters and cracks were running through the barrier.
"What the hell," I said looking over at the empty spot where Jacob used to be. I turn my head to see Jacob running full speed back to the barrier.
“What the hell is that noise? What is going on?” I yelled at him, but I didn't need a reply, my eyes shifted past him to the arm of the creature pushing its way through the barrier, several cracks splintering away across the barrier.
My heart plummeted as Jacob pivoted towards a cart of farming supplies. "What the fuck. How the hell is it doing that?" I yelled as my body was going frigid and locking in place.
“No clue,” he yelled grabbing as he scooped up an ax. The sounds of screams filtered around me as more creatures impacted the barrier.
Jacob shouldered his weapon and glancing my way. “Dude get your ass into gear. We need the alarm going and General Richard needs to mobilize the defenses!”
I tried, but my body froze, as I watched Jacob charge the creature. My eyes fell on a small girl her leg at an awkward angle only inches from the creatures outstretched claws. The creature was struggling to pull his last leg through the barrier.
Jacob jumped into the air the ax arching toward the creatures back and slide harmlessly off its hide.
A klaxon roared to life in the background followed by General Richard's voice. "Everyone that isn't essential personnel, please get indoors; I repeat all non-essential personnel, please move indoors. This isn’t a drill!"
Relief and loathing coursed through me my mind registered that someone had alerted everyone. The creature stretched its arm toward the little girl ignoring Jacob's attacks completely. Its claws cut a thin line across her leg.
The pain and scream in the girls face finally got my legs working again.  I sprinted towards her as I noticed Jacob bring the Ax back preparing for another strike. I slide in beside her dust billowing around us. Digging my feet into the dirt as I wrapped my arm around her pulling us away. The creature's claws stabbed down digging into the earth where her leg used to be. I turn away and focus on the girl the sound of boots rushing towards us. I glanced over at Jacob, and my heart sinks as Jacob falls to his knees blood pouring from his ruined side. The world around me devolving into chaos fading to black
"I don't remember when they stopped the creature's attack," I said as I sat beside Jacobs prone form. Tubes and wires were running from his body. "When I saw you lying there my brain shut down."
Nurses came and went as the days drifted by. “They had to up the voltage of the barrier, and they seem to have a stronger resistance to it.”
“Am I dead?” rang through my ears jerking me awake. My eyes moved over to Jacob, and his blue eyes staring back at me.
My heart, and before I could control myself, I had closed the distance pressing my lips against his. "I didn't think you would ever wake up," I said as my lips refused to leave his. Jacob pushed away looking at me as tears streamed ran down my face.
“Jonah,” Is all he said as he studied me.
“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have. It’s just…”
Jacob pressed a hand to my lips. “No don’t, I feel the same.”
My eyes widened as our lips came back together.
The world around us ceased as what we kept bottled inside moved to the surface and overtaking us.
Life can wait a little while longer.
 
 
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ROBERT E. PARKIN - BLIGHTED

8/7/2019

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Robert E. Parkin is a writer of Young Adult Fantasy and Science Fiction works and graduate of Suny Oneonta with a major in Mass Communications and Media Studies. Robert has enjoyed the creation of fictitious worlds and characters since an early age thanks to his exposure to many  mediums of story telling throughout his educational career. His wish to light the imaginations of young readers with his work has always been one of his top goals. Robert promises dark tales with high stakes, but not without characters we can all full in love with. Robert lives in New York with his close friends, family, and not enough time in the day to write.

BLIGHTED
​
The Summoning 

​            Everything was quiet. The dark room glinted and shimmered as refracted streaks of light sliced the blackness clinging to the surroundings like ink.
            The room was grand—massive. The long hallway looked to stretch for miles, as if its length represented its complete disregard for limitations. The floor and walls were covered in silver metal. The tiled floor sparkled as if never blemished by any taint or living entity. Columns of brilliant craftsmanship lined the length of the hall as they climbed to the ceiling about three stories high.
            It was incredible. Breathtaking, but…
            Not made by man.
            The light grazed a throne of silver sitting atop ascending stairs of white marble. The stairs extended the full width of the vast hall, looking to have been carved and polished to shine as if pearls.
            A lone girl sat—smiling.
            “Could it be…”
            She was too small for the throne, only taking up a little over half the seat. The throne itself stood like a metallic gargoyle, its structure reminiscent of symmetric blades that fanned out like a giant wing span. Yet there the girl sat, humming as she kicked her feet and gazed at her open hand.
            She wore a strange blindfold over her eyes. An odd symbol of a golden eye was etched into her black fold that blended into her dark hair, no longer than the nape of her neck. The eye hummed and glowed, looking almost mechanical in nature. It blinked several times.
            She giggled. “I think I found one.”
            Her hand sprang open, causing a dark swirl of pulsing energy to appear. The dark matter looked to move and throb like a beating heart as it took the shape of a deformed circle.
            “Yes, I think she will do nicely.”
            A sudden noise split the throne room. It was an eerie squeaking sound, like wet skin being dragged along glass. It was coming from behind the throne, within the cover of shadow, where no light dared to touch.
            “Another sacrifice for your amusement?”
            The voice boomed, echoing through the metal halls.
            The girl smirked. “Not this one. I do believe I’ve found the perfect fit.” Her sneer grew. “She is a prime candidate.”
            “Most intriguing. This one sounds promising, yes?” the dark voice inquired.
            The girl nodded. “Indeed. I think the stage will be perfect for the child, wouldn’t you agree?” she said with a venomous sweetness while looking up.
            The disturbing squeaking noise came again.
            “Yes, I do believe fresh conflict is needed to rekindle the dwindling fires. I’m looking forward to it.”
            The girl let slip another giggle. “Well then, shall we call for her?”
            The voice chuckled. It was a deep laugh, grand, and powerful.
            The girl looked forward as the golden eye on her blindfold blinked, and began to glow brighter. She smirked as she held out her hand.
            “Thy slumber ends, rise before your master.”

 
 
[CH:01]
Touch of Decay
 
 
 
 
 
 
            For Cecilia Mara, nothing made sense.
            Just seconds ago she was lying on her bed reading a book. It was something she looked to do any chance she got. Getting lost in the stories of grand quests and epic characters was a release from the daily tribulations plaguing her. She was free to imagine, free to dream. The worlds were always so colorful and grand as she followed the stories with a pleasant smile, cried when proud and strong characters died, laughed when the comedy was rich and genuine, and felt alive as her heartbeat raced during scenes of passion.
            All of it was a fleeting afterthought now. What she faced was nothing like anything she had ever seen or read before. She had heard the phrase “falling down the rabbit hole,” but what laid before her as she floated in a torrent of blinding, green light, was something far more uninviting.
            “What is this?!” she cried as tears welled up in her eyes.
            There was no wind. Her tears were fresh from pure terror.
            The vortex churned and pulsed as she continued to fall further and further into the spiraling mix of light. She saw she was getting closer to its center. She wanted to run away, but no matter how much she kicked, she could never find her footing. It was like she was skydiving, stuck forever in freefall.
            She no longer could look and sealed her eyes shut. She curled up into a ball and hugged her knees to her chest as her long, dark hair twirled behind her.
            It’s just a dream. A nightmare. It’ll be over soon. I’ll wake up, and I’ll be on my bed, with my book, and everything will be fine.
            She repeated this to herself over and over, trying to reassure herself.
            You’ve dealt with worse, Cecilia. You’ve endured. You can beat this. This is nothing.
            She clenched herself tighter, willing with all her being to wake up from this endless decent. She had to be strong. She was strong. Like she said, this was nothing.
            “I’m not her.”
            No sooner did the words exit her mouth did she feel the cold sensation of metal on her face. Her eyes snapped open in alarm. She scrambled to her feet in a panic as she started gasping for breath as if recovering from near drowning. She wasn’t aware of holding her breath this entire time.
            Lights streamed and flickered around her like thin blades, reflecting off the silver surfaces all around her. She couldn’t tell where the blades of light were coming from, but it was the least of her worries.
            She held her hands close to her chest. Everything around her felt so vast and endless.
            “H-hello?”
            Her voice echoed across the walls. She cursed to herself after realizing how stupid she was.
            Why is the first thing someone thinks to do in a dark, eerie place is to say “Hello” like a freaking idiot!
            Her own self-ridicule didn’t last, when fear crippled her ability to breathe. Her heart raced as a blade of light sliced over her and down the long hallway where she stood, stopping just before ascending stairs of white. The stairs were broad and extended the full width of the hallway, stopping only where massive columns appeared supporting a large balcony.
            That’s when Cecilia saw the throne and had the very breath sucked out of her when she caught the sight of the lone girl.
            A sudden burst of light occurred, blinding Cecilia as she hid behind her arms. The flash didn’t last long and soon dimmed to a light glow. When she removed her arms, and her eyes adjusted, seven glowing lights of white flame lingered above the area, illuminating the massive throne room.
            Cecilia hadn’t even taken in the seven archways atop the balcony as she was too focused on the girl now before her. She didn’t look any older than her. Seventeen, maybe eighteen at best.
            Her body started to shiver as she took in the girl’s strange appearance.
            She had a short bob cut of black hair and wore a matching blindfold over her eyes. To add to her strange attire, she wore open-toed heels that looked like barbed wire, but with long black socks up to her thighs. Her, black, strapless dress was short in the front and touched the tiled floor at the back, draping over the throne’s seat as she crossed her legs.
            Averting her eyes, Cecilia felt embarrassed seeing a flash of the girl’s underwear. Black and lacy. A little too adult for a girl not looking much older than herself.
            The girl was smiling. She bobbed her leg as it balanced on her opposite knee as she ran her hands along the throne’s sharp armrests. Cecilia was amazed the blade-like design didn’t cut through her milky skin and stain the throne crimson.
            Cecilia swallowed. She couldn’t take her eyes off the girl. Though looking like a gothic princess, she couldn’t help but think.
            She’s so pretty…Very pretty.
            Cecilia’s eyes fell upon the girl’s necklace. It stood out among the coils of chains and jewelry she wore along her thin arms and dress. It was a strange, gold necklace with an orange gemstone at its center. It pulsed with warm light, almost hypnotically.
            The girl’s cheerful smile grew. “Welcome child. I hope the journey here wasn’t too turbulent.”
            Cecilia almost gasped, hoping in vain that she was still dreaming, and what was before her was just a bizarre illustration her imagination created. However, with each passing second, her heart raced faster and faster, her head felt dizzy, and she couldn’t catch her breath. More and more, she was coming to the horrifying realization of how this wasn’t a dream.
            “Y-you’re real?” she uttered almost in shock.
            “See what you have done now, Blythe? You’ve frightened the poor thing with your sloppy summoning again.”
            “What was that?!” Cecilia cried out.
            The girl muffled a laugh. “Oh don’t mind him. Jasper is just critical about every little thing.”
            “Only when your performance is in need of feedback,” spoke the booming voice again.
            The girl puffed out her cheeks but returned to smiling as she looked down on the terrified girl before her.
            “Forgive me, child, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Blythe, though I suppose most people would know me as, The Golden-Eyed Witch,” she said in an almost purring voice.
            Cecilia broke out in a cold sweat as Blythe’s words echoed among the grand walls around her.
            “A-a witch?” she choked out, struggling to find the will to stand, much less the will to run for her life.
            “No need to be frightened,” she assured her as she waved her hand, causing several of her bracelets and chains to clink and jingle. “I didn’t bring you here to kill you…”
            Cecilia’s heart stopped. Blythe had trailed off, as if realizing she perhaps misspoke. Her smile returned as she peered down at Cecilia and rose up from the large silver throne.
            She shuddered. Still, despite her fear, Cecilia was in awe of the girl before her. Blythe’s dress fell around her hips and gave her a stunning level of maturity despite looking so young. However, the way her heels echoed with each contact with the steel floor made Cecilia wince with fear.
            “Tell me, Cecilia Mara, have you ever wished to leave your world?”
            She said these words so simply, like it was nothing, never losing her pure smile.
            How does she know my name?
            Cecilia tried to take a step back, but couldn’t muster taking her eyes off Blythe as she came closer to Cecilia.
            “The girl is terrified, Blythe. Look, she can’t even speak. Perhaps these pleasantries are pointless, wouldn’t you agree?”
            The dark voice boomed and echoed once again.
            Cecilia flinched, nearly causing her knees to buckle.
            Blythe sighed. “It’s you she’s afraid of, Jasper. Just be quiet for now.”
            A sudden sound penetrated Cecilia’s body, running chills up her spine. It was the sound of something being dragged along a dampened surface. It squeaked suddenly and then cease.
            Cecilia heard another noise. It startled her so much she nearly jumped out of her skin. It sounded like a pipe bursting. She almost wet herself in fear.
            Blythe lost her pleasant expression for the first time and scowled.
            “Jasper! Enough!” Blythe bellowed as she slammed her heel down on the floor.
            Cecilia froze. The echo was deafening. Still, what caused her to shutter was the golden eye burning along Blythe’s blindfold. At first glance, it was nothing more than a glowing symbol, but the more Cecilia looked at it, the more cybernetic it appeared. She thought she saw a pattern of lines within the eye like a circuit board.
            Then, the golden eye locked onto her, and blinked.
            Reflex and instinct took over. She ran. She didn’t even know where she got the strength. She bolted into the darkness, gasping for air as her lungs screamed. Fresh tears streamed down her face in sheer terror. She wanted no more of this. She wanted this nightmare to end.
            Why? Why was this happening to her?
            It was the only question bouncing around in her head as she clawed at the darkness, and dived further into the black abyss.
            Wake up! Wake up, Cecilia!
            Without realizing it, her eyes were clenched shut, and upon opening them, saw a single glimmer of light ahead.
            Her heart raced with excitement. She pushed herself harder, willing her legs that felt like rubber to reach her salvation; her freedom from this dark world. She would wake up on her bed, reading her book, and everything would be normal. Everything would be fine.
            The light grew and grew with each stride. With tears still falling down her reddened cheeks, she was consumed by the light and felt the unmistakable sensation of--
            Cold steel.
            She had tripped, falling face first down on the hard tile. Her eyes burst open as her palms touched the cold floor, reflecting her horrified expression back at her.
            Cecilia looked up, hoping beyond hope, that what she was about to see, wasn’t really there.
            “So, are you done running?” asked a very bored girl with a glowing gold eye.
            “Stay away from me!” Cecilia shrieked.
            Blythe sighed. “I have to say, you are definitely the most hysterical of them yet. Some were even glad and excited to be brought here.” She frowned, her golden eye blinking several times. “But you, you’re terrified. You want nothing more than to return to your boring, stagnant world. There, you’re free to escape from all your troubles by getting lost in your books.”
            Cecilia shrunk at the scornful tone Blythe now used. It made her feel like a cornered cockroach, unable to crawl back to its filthy corner.
            “It baffles me. Nothing awaits you back in your world, so why would you so adamantly reject me and my wondrous proposal?” she said, now starting to descend the white steps. “You call yourself ‘strong,’ and say you can ‘endure,’ but at the end of the day, you’re just as weak and pathetic as the next fool.”
            Her heels slammed down on another step. She had almost descended the stairway now. Cecilia could only shiver in abject horror, crying like a lost child.
            “Are you so lost you honestly think your struggle makes you stronger than those around you? Do you think being isolated and cut off from the world hardens your resolve?” She clicked her tongue in disgust.
            Blythe slammed her heel down one last time as she reached the same level as Cecilia, making her jump in surprise. Nothing could make her to look up from the floor.
            “I was going to be reasonable this time. With the others I focused too much on my own amusement, and didn’t think about being practical.” She spoke in an even tone, but a heavy aura of loathing was layered on top of her words as she looked at her black nails.
            She now stared down at Cecilia. “Answer insect. Have you ever wished to leave your world?” she asked again in a calm, but venomous tone.
            Cecilia couldn’t lift her head as she sat on the cold floor in tears. Her whole body twitched and shuddered before the terrifying creature above her. She wasn’t a gothic princess anymore, she was a monster.
            Impatient, Blythe slammed her heel down again. “Answer me brat!”
            “Now who’s scaring her?”
            “Silence, Jasper!”
            Cecilia quivered as the echoes bombarded her. She felt like her head was going to split from all the pressure that was being pushed upon her. It was unbearable. Her body felt like it was breaking.
            Something gave way, but it wasn’t death that found Cecilia.
            There was a change, and Cecilia knew Blythe noticed it too.
            “Y-yes,” she uttered, gaining strength with each breath.
            A toxic smile crept along Blythe’s black lips as she took a single step closer to Cecilia.
            “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
            Cecilia shot her head up and glared at Blythe. Fresh tears were falling down her face, but there was no terror anymore. She was filled with rage.
            “Yes! I’ve always wanted to leave my world! I hate it! I hate everything in it and everyone on it! There, are you happy?!”
            Blythe let out a shrill laugh, a laugh capable of making the dead squirm.
            That’s when Cecilia saw them.
            Four, long fangs of varying length were paired atop Blythe’s mouth where her canine teeth should be. Each set of the paired fangs gleamed as her smile grew with her laughter. This sight made Cecilia lose the nerve she had mustered in her outburst.
            “Finally! You’re finally being honest with me,” she said as her eye began to shine.
            Cecilia couldn’t hide her fear. Nothing changed the fact she was still petrified. Even in her outburst, she couldn’t stop shaking.
            “Now, we can proceed.”
            Blythe held out a hand. Cecilia watched in surprise as a swirling nexus of black plasma began to dance atop Blythe’s open palm. The shifting energy pulsed and contorted, taking shape like some curved serpent.
            “I’ve decided that you will be my masterpiece.”
            She clasped down onto the plasma and from the bursting nexus appeared a curved dagger of black steel. The blade’s serrated edge looked like mutated shark’s teeth. Its cross guard was covered in silver, and its black grip fit snuggly in Blythe’s hand. A golden eye was etched at the bottom of the pommel; it stared at Cecilia with menace. The most dazzling feature of the dagger was a solitary, brilliant jade emerald at the center of the cross guard.
            Cecilia quivered as Blythe swung the dagger, before lowering it to her hip.
            “W-what are you going to do to me?” she asked trying to collect any courage—if any was left.
            Blythe sneered, flashing her fangs. “Stand up,” she commanded.
            Instinct took over. Somewhere deep down, Cecilia knew if she didn’t do as she was told, she would die. With what little strength, she pulled herself off the floor, and wobbled to her feet once again.
            “Now, do you wish for any alterations?” Blythe asked with an eerie smile.
            Cecilia didn’t understand. “A-alterations?”
            Blythe nodded. “Yes. Would you like to be taller? Bigger bust? More curves? Longer hair? Better bone structure? You name it.”
            Cecilia didn’t follow. More to the point, she couldn’t follow. Nothing made sense, and the girl before her just kept talking like she was asking for Cecilia’s favorite color.
            “A-are you asking about alterations…to me?”
            Blythe licked her bottom lip as she flashed her white fangs again. “Exactly.”
            Cecilia was dumbstruck. The request sounded ridiculous. Altering her appearance sounded so foreign, and her brain rejected the idea on reflex.
            Truth be told, she had never considered herself “pretty.” Being thin was a plus, but Cecilia knew she lacked the “curves” Blythe had gone out of her way to mention.
            She was also short. Her hair was about the only thing she liked. It was long and black, and she enjoyed maintaining it. Recalling the feeling of her hands running through her soft, silky hair almost brought a smile to her face.
            The image of her hair faded. She didn’t think she possessed any particular characteristic that drew the attention of others, much less being attractive. She didn’t use designer makeup and she hated dressing up.
            Blythe drummed her fingers along the dagger in her hand. Her smile was fading, replaced with an expression of impatience.
            “Well, anything?” Her sneer returned. “Or would you prefer I do it for you?”
            Cecilia’s head shot up again. “W-wait! I-I don’t know what you exactly mean. I mean, h-how are you going to even do it?” she stuttered, rattled by Blythe’s insistence.
            She snickered. “Well child, that is quite simple. With this.” She gestured to the dagger in her hand.
            Cecilia stared, concerned. “H-how is that going to change anything?”
            Blythe’s eye brightened as her grin reappeared, showing her fangs.
            “Like this.”
            Without warning, Blythe flipped the dagger in her hand, held it above her head, and slammed it down into Cecilia’s chest. Thick, warm blood burst from the fresh wound as Cecilia tried to scream, but no sound came. In horror, she could only watch as Blythe pushed the dagger deeper into her chest, pain rushed over her in waves of hot jolts like a thousand bolts of lightning. Her body twitched and convulsed under the strain, but still, not a single cry exited her mouth as she gaped, transfixed.
            Eyes bulging; blood gushing, she tried to claw at the hand pushing the blade further into her chest. Everything was starting to go blank as her eyes began to roll back into her head.
            Blythe sneered. She leaned in close and whispered into Cecilia’s ear. Blythe’s hot breath hitting Cecilia’s earlobe made her entire body go rigid.
            “And now…Awaken.”
            A torrent of green flame burst from beneath Cecilia as she was consumed by the roaring inferno of jade. Her whole body was numb. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move. She could only just…float?!
            In terror, she realized she was rising into the air as Blythe watched, looking pleased. The flames burned her clothes away, revealing everything to the fiend below her. She was trapped, forced to watch this nightmare play itself out.
            She heard the sound of bones cracking and a terrible sizzling noise, like her hair was on fire.
            Wait…
            Cecilia blinked. Her hair. It was black. However, what she saw within the torrent of flames was indeed her hair whipping around, but of a different color.
            Green?!
            It wasn’t a pleasant shade, but a mossy green. A full and vibrant green might have looked okay with proper treatment. Several girls at her school dyed their hair pink and blue before, and she always thought she could have made it look much better, but this, this, was disgusting.
            All she wanted to do was scream. Tears started to form again, as she shut her eyes. Everything was just horrible and unfair. What did she do to deserve this? There were hundreds of questions Cecilia asked herself as the green inferno continued to swirl and dance around her.
            “It is complete. My masterpiece.”
            Cecilia heard Blythe, and before she could open her eyes, her body fell and crashed onto the floor with a resounding thud.
            She winced, not realizing the dagger used to stab her now laid in front of her.
            “I took some liberties with the alterations, but I’m sure you will find them quite satisfying,” Blythe mused.
            Cecilia’s eyes shot open and she scrambled to cover her privates. Her face burned so hot that she feared it would melt off. When she paused long enough to see past her shame, she noticed something odd. Gazing down at her chest, Cecilia’s mouth dropped in shock.
            “I was going to give you what you mortals call a ‘D cup,’ but I felt a ‘C’ was more fitting, considering the balance and all,” Blythe chimed in again with a light giggle.
            Cecilia’s face still burned. Her breast had grown, and the rest of her body was so…voluptuous.
            What did she do to me?
            Cecilia now noticed her hair. Besides its ugly green color, her hair was now much longer. It reached down her back all the way to the floor, coiling around her legs and feet. She crossed her legs to cover her crotch as she reached out with her free hand and touched her hair.
            It’s so soft.
            Though an unsightly color, it was finer and thicker than her hair had ever been. Any richer, and she would have thought it was artificial. Not only that, it smelled like fresh flowers—lilies and daffodils. Cecilia couldn’t help but feel ridiculous.
            Blythe coughed. “Well, how long are you just going to stay curled up on the cold floor?”
            The brittle reverie Cecilia had shattered. The flow of the terrible and embarrassing scene before her, continued.
            “H-how can you say that when you just tried to kill me and burned off all my clothes?!”
            Blythe let out another shrill laugh. “Oh, of course. My deepest apologies. Allow me to fix that.”
            She snapped her finger. Without any warning, several sections of Cecilia’s body were covered in the black plasma from before. It was like being groped by eels. She wanted to vomit.
            Moments later, the sick feeling along her body ceased and she soon found she had been at least given something to wear. What disturbed her upon taking in the outfit Blythe gave her was just how much skin was still showing.
            “What is this?! I might as well be naked!” she exclaimed as she tried to get to her feet, but stumbled and fell.
            “Easy there, sweetheart. I gave you seven inches to supplement that pitiful five-foot-nothing of a height you had before. Your balance is going to be a bit off till you get used to it,” she teased.
            Cecilia pulled her legs under her and managed to get to her feet. Her knees bobbled and bowed as if she were just learning to walk in heels for the first time. As she stood though, she got an even better look at her new figure.
            Just like Blythe said, she was taller. She had such long and sublime limbs that were neither scrawny nor pudgy. On the contrary; she was toned and had hips. She couldn’t resist running her hands up along her sides and along her butt as she took in the sight that was her new body. She couldn’t believe it. Her stomach was also flat, and her skin was a pearly white that almost glittered in the light. It was so smooth to the touch she thought her fingers would disappear into her own body as she poked and probed her sides and stomach.
            I look, amazing.
            Her gaping mouth must have been amusing to Blythe because she started to snicker.
            “See, you do like it.”
            Cecilia shot her a violent glare, but as if waking up from a trance, she covered herself with her arms, still feeling embarrassed. After all, all she was given to wear was a pair of tiny shorts and a frilly tang top so short that she felt a chill from under her breasts.
            “W-what is your game? I thought you stabbed me or was that just a trick—”
            Her eyes fell and saw the dagger at her feet. It was still covered in fresh blood. A sharp, cold feeling spread out from her chest. The image of Blythe stabbing her was easily recalled in her mind, but yet, there was no wound. Not even a scar.
            Cecilia looked back up at Blythe. “W-what have you done to me?” she asked almost pleadingly.
            Blythe smiled as she turned on her heel. “You could say that I’ve freed you from your earthly shackles, but that isn’t quite true.” She turned her head to glance back at Cecilia. “After all, I brought you here with a purpose in mind.”
            Cecilia shook off a chill. “And what is that?”
            Blythe spun around as she leaped up several steps toward the throne above. She carried the same, sweet, aura when Cecilia had first seen her. At the very least, she wasn’t being aggressive—for now.
            “You’re going to take part in a little experiment, or was it more a game…?” she said as she held a finger to her chin. “Well, it doesn’t matter either way,” she soon concluded, dismissing her own words as if it was too much effort to bother with.
            She cleared her throat. “Simply put, Cecilia Mara, you have been cursed.”
            Cecilia starred confused. “What?”
            Blythe groaned. “None of you have ever been good at this part.” She let out a sigh as she took a breath.
            “Like the others that came before you, you have been given a certain ‘gift’ if you will. A unique talent that is exclusive to you. With this newfound power, you are to take part in a large-scale—” She smiled as her eye glowed brighter, looking quite pleased with herself. “—‘behavioral study,’ on a little world I have designated. With me so far?” she asked with a wink from her golden eye.
            Cecilia shook her head feeling numb all over. How could she even begin to figure out where to start asking questions?
            Blythe let out a loud groan again.
            “Perhaps it isn’t the girl’s lack of understanding, but your needlessly cryptic explanation that is the problem, Blythe.”
            Cecilia was jolted back to her senses upon hearing the dark voice that echo from all corners of the walls. It had slipped her mind that there was another presence lurking in the shadows.
            Blythe scowled. “If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it, Jasper.”
            The ominous voice chuckled with a deep echo. “You know you get it anyway, one way or another.”
            Cecilia could have sworn she saw Blythe’s golden eye roll around in her blindfold.
            “Fine, then I will be more direct.”
            Cecilia found herself bracing her body in fear of what Blythe might do next. After all, she had already been stabbed, stripped naked, and transformed before her very eyes. At this point, anything was possible.
            “You read a lot books, right? So you’ve heard the tale of King Midas, yes?”
            Cecilia nodded but worried where this was leading. “Yes…the cursed king that turned everything he touched to gold.”
            Blythe clapped her hands in excitement. “Wonderful! Then this makes the explanation that much easier.”
            Cecilia didn’t like Blythe’s ecstatic expression. The witch was enjoying this—a lot. It all felt too much like she was a caged animal forced to be on display for children.
            More like one very sadistic child, she thought as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck going erect with warning.
            Blythe continued her whimsical explanation, arms held out for effect.
            “Like King Midas’ touch that turned everything to gold, you have been given a similar power.” Her smile curled into a sneer as she ran her tongue along her fangs.
            Cecilia stood rooted, forgetting her embarrassment of the outfit she was in. Now, all she felt was the prickling feeling of dread running up along her body as if her very bones were being chilled.
            She looked down at her own hand. Her palms were wet with sweat from the thought of what terrible fate Blythe had cursed her with. She knew how the story of King Midas went, but did Midas get his curse through a creature known as the Golden-Eyed Witch? No. Whatever the curse was, Cecilia knew it was going to be worse than whatever she was imagining. To make things even more problematic, she had a very active imagination.
            Blythe then snapped both her fingers as the seven flickering flames of light above grew in size and intensity.
            “You’ve been given the power of decay. Anything you physically touch will wither, and die.”
            Her words gave rise to a penetrating echo that struck Cecilia over and over again. She could only stare like a statue, wishing she had misheard the creature before her.
            It was a lie, she told herself. It can’t be true. She refused to think that such a curse would be put on her. Why would anyone be so cruel?
            “Having trouble over there? Stunned speechless aren’t you?” Blythe asked as she placed her hands on her hips, making her jewelry clatter and sing.
            Cecilia looked up at her. Her eyes quivered as her mouth hung agape. She tried to speak, but it took several tries before any sound came out. Her throat felt so dry.
            “Y-you’re lying…” she barely managed.
            Blythe bared her fangs in a horrible smile. “Am I? Am I really?”
            Cecilia’s heart stopped as her legs gave out once more. She sat hunched over the tiled floor, staring at her altered reflection. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore. Even her bone structure had been changed, and her eyes were a deep, shade of green. No one would even know it was her who now possessed a body which would be the envy of both men and women. Even with her mossy hair, she couldn’t refute it.
            It wasn’t worth it. Not in the least.
            Her eyes welled with tears. She cursed herself for being such a wimp, but who would blame her? As if anyone would be able to remain calm while standing here and not feel terrified to the point of tears. None of this made sense, but this was now her reality.
            She balled her hands into fists as her fear shifted, and boiled into fury. Keeping her head down, she brought herself to her feet once more and lifted up her head. Fresh tears still fell down her cheeks, but her emerald eyes didn’t quiver. They burned.
            Blythe stood her ground, giggling. “My, now that is a look I have yet to see.”
            “Change me back.”
            Blythe almost looked surprised, but more out of intrigue than shock.
            “I don’t want this. I don’t want anything to do with you and your twisted game. Change me back, now!” she roared as she took a step forward.
            Even Cecilia was impressed in how much her voice carried. Maybe it was her fear coming full circle, or maybe she felt she had nothing to lose at this point. Either way, she was done crying and whimpering. She knew what it was like to endure and hold back; to live life bombarded with stares and whispers. She did her best to remain quiet, bowed her head, and tried to ignore it all.
            Not anymore. To hell with it.
            “Did you hear me, you vile snake?!”
            Blythe’s intrigued smile vanished. A sudden calm rushed over her that Cecilia didn’t expect. She didn’t display an aura of hostility, nor one of pleasure. She just stood there, looking down on her.
            She spoke moments later.
            “I heard you, and I will do no such thing. You have only one choice before you, and that is to be part of this ‘twisted game,’ as you so eloquently put it,” she said with a half smile.
            Cecilia gritted her teeth. “Fine then. You said you gave me the power of decay right?” Her eyes blazed as she stared up at Blythe.
            Blythe threw her head back and laughed, as if divining Cecilia’s intentions. The laugh was so shrill and powerful Cecilia almost lost her nerve.
            Wasting no time, she lunged forward with her arms outstretched, aiming for the horrid girl’s throat.
            Cecilia didn’t get two steps before her face smashed to the floor. An intense pressure pressed hard all around her body as everything around her vibrated and shook. She felt like her bones were being turned to dust as the pressure continued to climb, causing her to vomit.
            What! What is--
            The force coming down on her intensified and crushed out all the air in her lungs. She heard and felt her bones breaking as she cried out in pain. Every joint, every disc in her spine snapped. She could feel all her bones break like brittle china.
            Blood gushed from her mangled body, the pain causing her to vomit more. As her eyes began to roll back into her head, she knew she was about to die. She could have never known death would hurt this much.
            Then it all stopped. The pressure ceased, and just like that, she felt her body reform as if rewinding. Not even blood stains on the floor remained.
            She gasped for air and coughed upon her windpipe opening at last. Sweat poured down her face. She heaved in breath after breath as she stared at her petrified expression through the tiles beneath her. Her eyes were so wide and sunken she thought they would burst out of her skull.
            “While unexpected, this at least makes it easier to explain the laws and rules that govern your new body and power,” Blythe said in her usual, sweet tone, laced with poison.
            Cecilia looked up, but couldn’t muster a response. Her body felt so heavy and beaten. Not to mention, she was still trying to catch her breath.
            “Now,” Blythe said while clapping her hands together. Upon pulling her hands apart, a golden scroll appeared. It glistened and glittered as it hovered before Blythe.
            “For starters, if you haven’t already realized, your body is now immortal. While your pain sensors have been dulled, it will only make you not feel scrapes and sprains. Anything more, like for example, being crushed by gravity till you are a bloody pulp, will still be painful,” she added with a wink of her eye that might have been cute if she didn’t look so demonic at that moment.
            Blythe recalling the event Cecilia had just endured must have amused her because she began to giggle.
            Using her irritation as a fuel source, she found her footing once again and moved to speak, but Blythe cut her off as she continued.
            “Nothing of the designated world you are to be sent to will be able to kill you. That includes, but is not limited to man, any instrument created by man, nature, the elements, disease, wildlife, environment, forces of the given world, and so on.”
            She glanced over her floating scroll. “With me so far, my little pup?”
            Cecilia’s eye twitched. “Why are you even bothering? You’re listing everything like some contract as if I need to know these things. Why are you—”
            “Shut up and pay attention,” Blythe shot. She now appeared reproachful and threatening.
            Cecilia’s mouth clamped shut without warning. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t budge her jaw. Her body then stood in attention as if strings were attached to her body and Blythe was the commanding puppeteer.
            She stared for several seconds before continuing.
            “Now that I have your full attention, I will continue.”
            Cecilia wanted to scream with all her might, but her body refused to listen to her. Again, she was trapped and forced to stand in place and listen to Blythe like a modeled student.
            Despite her rage, and her willingness to break free from the hold forced upon her, she was still trying to process what little Blythe had told her. Having been told she had an immortal body and nothing would be able to kill her was proving very hard to digest.
            Why? Why would she give me something like that?
            Most people would jump for joy at such a gift, but Cecilia knew better. Standing before her was a devil. Whatever she was to be given came at some kind of price. What Blythe was planning by giving her such strange powers, Cecilia didn’t know, and that worried her the most.
            Blythe’s calm voice broke her from her thoughts.
            “Now, allow me to speak briefly regarding the rules to your power. Anything you touch directly with any part of your body will be subjected to decay. In other words, direct skin contact will activate the ability and be administered to whatever has come in contact with you be it living or non-living.”
            She pulled up on the golden scroll as she continued to read down its contents.
            “And lastly, my personal favorite, the rules regarding your death, but first…” She snapped her finger.
            Cecilia felt the phantom coils around her release and she was able to stand unrestricted once more.
            “Provided you are productive in your questions, you are free to ask me anything at this time,” she said with a light snicker.
            Cecilia wanted to gag. Still, she did have questions. If she was going to be stuck playing this sick game with such a villain, she might as well try to get as much information as she could.
            “What is this about my death? I thought you said I couldn’t be killed.”
            Blythe waved her hand and the scroll disappeared, positively giddy.
            “Oh my, well that question is quite convenient. Not wasting any time beating around the bush I see.”
            “Shut up and answer the question,” Cecilia found herself spitting with surprising force.
            Blythe ticked her finger back as she clicked her tongue. “Careful now. There is no need to be rude, or would you prefer to become intimate with the floor again?”
            Cecilia felt her blood go cold as she began to perspire under the widening grin that flashed those horrid fangs at her.
            Appearing smug, and quite pleased by Cecilia’s reaction, Blythe answered her question.
            “I didn’t lie. Where you will be going, nothing will be able to kill you. The only thing that can hurt you, is that,” she said as she pointed to the dagger with Cecilia’s blood smeared all over it.
            Confusion gripped Cecilia. “That dagger is the only thing that can hurt me you mean?”
            Blythe laughed. “Yes, and no.”
            Glowering, she yelled, “Stop toying with me! Just come out and say it!”
            Blythe’s eye widened as her grin grew. “The only way you can be killed is if you take your own life with that dagger, and that dagger alone.”
            Cecilia felt a crashing wave of fear rush over her as she now stared at the bloody weapon on the floor. She recoiled as she stared, now unable to take her eyes off it. She shook her head.
            No…No…Stop…
            “I guess you could always ‘check out’ early if you want. No harm really, though it would be a shame after I went through the trouble of making look divine,” she said, now looking disappointed.
            No words could reach Cecilia. She was lost in her own head, replaying one scene from her childhood over and over.
            The girl she saw was older than her. Cecilia might have been fourteen or fifteen then, and the girl in her memory was at least eighteen. She couldn’t see her face. She wasn’t smiling. Her mouth moved, speaking words softly.
            “I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.”
            The girl repeated the words as if a mantra. There was something horrid and dull about her tone.
            Stop it…No more…
            Tears had already begun to fall down her cheeks as the image of the girl changed. The scenery now was a tiled, white bathroom. But something was wrong. Very wrong.
            It was stained red.
            Cecilia screamed. The shriek was so high pitched that even Blythe winced. All Cecilia could do was hold her head as she fell to her knees. The sheer wail of her scream didn’t waver until her voice cracked and became too hoarse to continue.
            Why…Even here…
            She held her face in her hands, just wishing this would all be over.
            “Then what are you waiting for, Cecilia Mara?” came the toxic words of Blythe.
            With a flick of her wrist, the dagger sprang from the floor and twirled in the air, before stabbing through the floor, right before Cecilia.
            Cecilia jumped back as she staggered and fell on her rear. She kept looking up at Blythe and then at the dagger. Every breath was ragged. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest like a maddened drummer. Even her vision was starting to blur.
            “Well? What are you going to do? I told you how you could end this all right now,” echoed Blythe’s voice as she touched her lips that were breaking into a wide grin.
            Cecilia almost lost consciousness, but the next few words of Blythe brought her back, like a slingshot.
            “If this is all you can endure, I guess it would be for the best to just end it here. What a waste,” she said sounding defeated, but very sarcastic.
            Cecilia’s pulse slowed and her eyes darkened. The new expression she wore made Blythe’s grin grow as she showed her fangs.
            “No…I won’t let you beat me like this!” Cecilia declared. She then reached down and pulled the dagger out from the floor and hurled it at Blythe with all her strength.
            Pleased beyond all belief, Blythe held up a hand and stopped the blade dead in midair. Her whole body began to shake as she laughed.
            “You really are going to be my masterpiece.” She took hold of the dagger and began to descend the stairs once more.
            “I have to give you credit. I thought for sure you would break. But you see, this was necessary to see if you were ready to handle the weight,” she concluded as if she was apologizing. She leaped off the last stair and landed with poise and elegance before Cecilia.
            She held out her hand with the dagger. “You see, Cecilia, there is one last thing I haven’t told you.”
            Cecilia stared with worried eyes as if readying for a sudden strike from Blythe.
            What is she talking about now? This was a test?
            “My dear child, your life isn’t your own anymore. It is tied to all the lives that inhabit the world of Veneficia—all 2.2 billion of them.”
            Cecilia’s mouth dropped. “W-what? Are you saying that if I die…”
            Blythe nodded. “Yes, everyone will die with you.”
            She reeled. “Th-that’s crazy! You’re crazy! Why would you do such a thing?!”
            Blythe’s smile crept along her lips. “What’s important is that you never lose this.” She extended her arm further. “You see, only held by you, can this dagger hurt you.” Her expression then turned serious. Her look alone stilled Cecilia’s heart as Blythe’s eye brightened.
            “Do you understand now? This dagger holds the power to end your life.” She grinned. “That, however, doesn’t mean someone else can’t ‘assist’ you.”
            Cecilia’s blood ran cold as her eyes widened.
            “It looks like your mind is catching up,” she purred, looking quite pleased with herself.
            Cecilia hesitated at first but reached out to take the dagger. It was still coated in her blood. Her entire hand shook as she leaned in and took hold of the grip. The weapon appeared almost hypnotic as she stared at it. Blythe wasn’t exaggerating. Now, the dagger felt so much heavier.
            With all the grace of a live concert held in a library, Blythe clapped her hands and the flickering flames above burst out of existence, plunging the throne room into darkness.
            Cecilia, startled, shifted all around, as she tried to calm her rapid pulse.
            “Wait! Please! At least give me—”
            A burst of green light erupted from beneath her as she began to hover in the air like before.
            “Don’t worry, not even I am that cruel—Well, maybe a little,” came the echoing words of Blythe, far off in the distance.
            Once again, the dark plasma formed around Cecilia. She winced as she tried to hold back the cold, slimy sensation tightening around her body.
            The plasma kept on spreading, hugging every part before stopping just below her neck. The plasma then burst to reveal a very constricted outfit of black leather, fitted with several belts along her legs, waist, arms, and chest.
            She thought it would be hard to move in, but it was surprisingly light and flexible. Though a bit tight, and making her butt and breasts stand out more than she would have wanted, it did cover up her skin. Even her hands were fully encased while still allowing full range of motion to her fingers and wrists.
            As she stared, a ring of purple fire engulfed her right wrist as a silver bracelet took form. The bracelet had a violet gem at its center. Its light pulses made the gem glow like a beating organ.
            “I’d explain how these work, but where’s the fun in that?” Blythe said within the darkness, her playful tone grating on Cecilia’s ears.
            “Hold on! Wait just a minute—”
            Another ring of purple fire appeared, this time around her neck. Mimicking her bracelet, a silver ornament appeared with the same violet gemstone at its core. A burst of plasma then emitted from the necklace and Cecilia was wrapped in a long, black cloak that fluttered in the blazing pillar of green light. The plasma then dispersed for the last time while leaving a matching hood draped over her head. She also saw that she was fitted with tall boots that rode up to her knees, completing her black outfit.
            Cecilia stared in bewilderment as she continued to float in place.
            “This is farewell, Cecilia Mara. I trust you will prove to be more successful than the others that came before you.”
            Those were Blythe’s final words.
            “Stop! You haven’t explained that yet! What about those who came before me? How many were there? Are they still alive? Tell me!” Cecilia cried out as she twisted and turned in place, trying to catch a glimpse of anything moving in the infinite darkness.
            “Answer me!” she bellowed. Hysteria had taken over as she flailed in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of the witch that had done all of this to her.
            A voice broke through the darkness.
            “You are her masterpiece. Don’t disappoint her.”
            Cecilia whirled her head behind her but saw nothing. It was the dark, booming voice. Never once did she ever see who it belonged to. But their words were finite and clear.
            Don’t fail.
            The pillar of light than flashed as the circle beneath her began to open up, revealing a clear and grand ocean.
            Seconds later, Cecilia was falling, and everything turned to white. 
 
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ANNE GOODWIN - HEROES

8/7/2019

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Anne Goodwin’s debut novel, Sugar and Snails, about a woman who has kept her past identity a secret for thirty years, was shortlisted for the 2016 Polari First Book Prize. Her second novel, Underneath, about a man who keeps a woman captive in his cellar, was published in May 2017. Her short story collection, Becoming Someone, on the theme of identity, was published in November 2018. A former clinical psychologist, Anne is also a book blogger with a special interest in fictional therapists.
Website: annegoodwin.weebly.com
Twitter @Annecdotist.

​Heroes

​After their passing-out parade, they had a couple of days to say their goodbyes and ready themselves for the adventures ahead. Bertie told his sister to start knitting socks when he discovered he was being sent to the fields of Flanders. Arthur stocked up on baccy and German swear words, while Steve took a crash course in cursing en Español. Meanwhile, Gavin loaded more tracks onto his iPod and scrolled through miles of desert on Google Earth. Of the five, only Sam had no idea how to prepare for his posting. He was scheduled to stay behind in Catterick to play five-a-side football.
At first he thought it was a joke. But ten hours of footie day after day soon loses its funny side. He wondered if he’d been kept back with the wheezers and dickheads, the kind of lad you’d prefer to have fielding for the enemy, but no. Some of these stay-behinders were medal-winning athletes. Some of them had university degrees.
Sam used to enjoy kicking a ball around, but this was no game. The officers set up the tournaments as if the men’s lives depended on the outcome. Yet there was never any pride in winning, only the shame of losing and the gut-curdling punishment of cleaning out the latrines.
The squaddies felt their dejection all the more keenly whenever they heard from a former colleague: an ink-blotted letter from Bertie with half the words blacked out or a YouTube clip of Gavin with a towel round his head, pretending to be Lawrence of Arabia. Their mothers were grateful that no-one was pointing a gun at them on the playing fields of Catterick, but that was no consolation. Sam and the rest had joined up in a spirit of bravado and self-sacrifice. Soccer stars weren’t heroes to them.
Tension rippled through the camp when they were shown a copy of The Times with a eulogy for Bertie, describing him scrambling out of his trench and plodding through a muddy no man’s land, heedless of the enemy fire. They hurled their popcorn at the cinema screen as Pathe News sombrely announced Arthur’s final mission over Dresden. Their cursing drowned out the voice of the newscaster accompanying the footage of Steve in his dugout at Goose Green. Finally, after Gavin was paraded through the streets of Wootton Bassett draped in the Union Jack, Sam and the rest of his team could stomach no more. They refused to spend another minute dribbling a ball across a field. 
The lads were terrified they’d be shot for insubordination. Lucky for them, the politicos had recently instituted a modernisation programme for the armed services. It might have been due to the shrinking public purse, or lawyers shouting about human rights, but, underneath it all, was the fact that computerised weaponry had rendered warfare less labour intensive. Bodies like Sam’s were surplus to requirements.
A team of management consultants were sent to Catterick. These suits proposed an away day to analyse the problem from different points of view. All ranks were encouraged to have their say.
Sam was rather chuffed when the facilitator scrawled his words in capital letters on the flipchart. “You want to be a hero?” she beamed. “I want you to be a hero, but how are we going to achieve it when we’re running out of wars?”
Her smile, her confidence in his abilities, soon took his thoughts away from soldiering. Indeed, the long rambling speeches of the bigwigs were sending him to sleep. Sam spent the rest of the workshop dreaming of persuading the facilitator out of her chalk-striped skirt-suit and into his bunk.
If the mechanics of the solution were ever articulated, he was unaware of it. All Sam knew was that they were to pack their kit bags and prepare for an overnight flight.
Strapped into his seat, banter criss-crossing the plane, Sam was too excited to think about the woman in the chalk-striped skirt-suit. Bertie and Arthur, Steve and Gavin had all done their patriotic duty. At last he’d have the chance to do the same.
Dawn was breaking as they landed, a pale light picking out a cluster of Nissen huts beyond the runway. Bleary eyed, they disembarked and shouldered their packs.
Across the yards of asphalt, Sam could make out some men milling about near the huts. Despite their uniforms, they looked too undisciplined to constitute a welcome party.
As the squadron marched towards them, he realised why the men appeared so unsoldierly. They couldn’t possibly stand to attention with bodies so deformed. Some were missing limbs, some disfigured by burns; one looked as if he’d had half his face blown off and another wore a tin mask over his, like some alien from Doctor Who. Sam shuddered to think what grotesquery lay behind it.
Stumbling over his disgust and disappointment, Sam found himself momentarily out of step. They hadn’t even given him twenty-four hours to feel like a proper soldier. Now, it seemed, he was to be an orderly at a military field hospital. He’d do anything to reboard the plane and fly back to Catterick. To parachute down to the football pitch and start kicking the ball from end to end.
He wished he could get his hands on that bitch in the chalk-striped skirt-suit. He’d give her some words for her flipchart all right. Words with four letters starting with f and c. Yeah, and as soon as they were up on the chart he’d teach her what they meant. He’d rip off her business suit and bayonet her f-ing c right up to her throat.
“Get a grip,” hissed the guy behind him.
Sam reddened, wondering if his mouth had betrayed his thoughts. He composed his features as the troop processed past the casualties towards the barracks.
They came to a halt at a large dormitory. Instead of the wooden bunks with rough grey blankets he’d been expecting, they were each assigned an iron bed with starched white sheets. The order came to put down their packs and change into pyjamas. Sam was surprised, but the prospect of mopping up shit and puke would be a lot more bearable after a kip.
A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. Rubbing his eyes, he propped himself up on the pillows. A figure in a white apron and pleated headdress, like a matron from a black-and-white movie, shoved a thermometer under his tongue.
Sam glanced down the line of identical narrow beds, each with a bemused-looking lad in khaki pyjamas muted by a thermometer. Yet he could see the sense in giving them all a check-up before foisting them on the patients. A common cold that a healthy guy would take in his stride could flatten one of those crips.
A group of white-coats progressed from bed to bed, checking their notes at each station. Sam couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw the revulsion pass across each soldier’s face as the contingent moved on. He felt reassured not to be the only one disturbed by their assignment. It helped him resign himself somehow. Mucking out in an infirmary wasn’t exactly seeing action, but he could get a whiff of it through proximity to men who’d drawn the short straw under enemy fire.
He straightened his back as the doctors neared his bed. He wondered if he ought to salute, but no-one else had done. He wished the nurse would come and relieve him of the thermometer. He wanted to give a good impression of himself.
The white-coats paused at the bed next to his, muttering between themselves about double amputees. Wide-eyed, the soldier watched them. Sam turned his head aside when the guy began to cry.
By the time the doctors reached him, Sam was resolved. He’d wanted to be a nurse even less than he’d wanted to be a footballer but, if that was what the army required of him, he’d rise to the challenge. He’d mop floors, empty bedpans, learn to dress suppurating wounds if need be. He’d do it cheerfully. He’d do it well.
The head honcho barked at him from the end of the bed. “Ah, so you’re the chap who wants to be a hero?” He didn’t wait for an answer before dissolving into a huddle of white coats.
Sam grinned as widely as the thermometer in his mouth would allow. He wasn’t alarmed by their mutterings about grenades, mustard gas and incendiary bombs. Their voices formed the backing track to his reverie: he’d earn his stripes for his bravery in caring for the guys who’d crawled through all that shit and come out the other end.
The doctor cocked his head towards him. “Great job you’re doing.” His dad had said exactly the same on the day of the passing-out parade.
The team moved to the next bed, apart from one woman who lingered behind. She looked almost too young to be a doctor, too good-looking. Sam imagined peeling off her white coat to find her pink and naked underneath. In reality he knew he’d have to take his time getting to know her, but that was okay. He assumed they’d both be here for the duration.
Her smile made his dick tingle as she passed him a clipboard and pen. “Consent form,” she said. “Sign and date it beside the cross at the bottom.”
Sam tongued the thermometer to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not in the army then?”
She inclined her head flirtatiously. “What makes you say that?”
Sam stole a cursory glance at the printed form. Third-degree burns to torso, amputation above right knee, removal of left shoulder and lower jaw. “The army issues orders. It never asks permission.”
She gazed uneasily at her colleagues as they shuffled to the next bed. “I suppose this is kind of special,” she said.
Sam would’ve liked to have chatted longer, but it wouldn’t be a great start to their relationship if he got her into trouble for dawdling. He scratched his name in the space provided. “When can I see you again?”
She seemed to recoil. He hadn’t shaved and he knew he’d have bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he’d always thought he had the type of face that pleased the girls. Then she giggled, “Well, I’ll see you in theatre but of course you won’t see me.”
So they were putting him to work in the operating theatre, right in the middle of the action. He’d never wanted to be a butcher’s assistant, but if it meant being closer to her …  “Why won’t I see you?”
She looked confused, as if they weren’t speaking the same language. “You’ll be unconscious. We’re not so barbaric as to operate without anaesthetic.”
The lad in the next bed had stopped crying and was gawping at him and shaking his head. Sam crossed his legs under the bed clothes, petrified he’d piss himself. “What exactly have I signed up for?”
“Oh don’t worry about it,” said the doctor. “Everybody gets the jitters just before surgery.”
The shambling reception party when they stepped off the plane: heroism displayed in scars, in burns, in sacrificed limbs. One battle was as good as another in manufacturing heroes. The public didn’t care how their injuries were acquired.
Sam’s voice was nothing more than a whimper. “What is this place?”
His neighbour leaned across from the next bed. He could hardly stifle his laughter. “It’s where they turn you into a hero, cretin. Isn’t that what you want?”
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JERRY GUARINO - THE DREAM DETECTIVE

8/7/2019

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Jerry Guarino is an author and screenwriter.  His nearly 100 short stories have been published by magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain.  He has published one novel, The Da Vinci Diamond, a detective story.  He is an editor for Flash Fiction Magazine. 

The Dream Detective
​

​Detective Beth Johansson nudged her partner Joe Rossi.  “Joe, wake up.  That’s the second time you’ve fallen asleep while sitting in the car.”
            “Sorry Beth.  I don’t know why.  I get eight hours a night.”
            “And you’ve been forgetting lately too.  Like when you were writing up the McKenzie murder.  You left out some details.”
            “Good thing you were there to remind me.  I’m going to the doctor tomorrow; he’s going to test me for sleep apnea.”
            “All right Joe, but in the meantime, I guess I’m your backup memory.” 
                                                                    ###
            Joseph set up his sleep apnea machine next to the bed.  He had no idea that this machine would be a key to solving crimes.
            Something in the setup manual caught Joe’s attention. 
The device has built-in WIFI, enabling it to send sleep data to your doctor.  It also allows the manufacturer to update your system with the latest software.
            “Everything is about technology now.  How did we ever get along without apps, cell phones and the internet?”  Joe settled into bed with his mask on, allowing air to flow into his lungs and breathe freely.  He fell asleep in minutes.
            The next day, Joe met Beth early to start their day.  “So Joe, how did you sleep?”
            “Great.  I really feel rested.  In fact, I even remembered some of my dreams.”
            “How so?”
            “You know the Williams murder?”
            “Yeah.”
            “I got a lead in my dream.”
            Beth was skeptical.  “Were you drinking before you went to sleep?”
            “No Beth.  I’m serious.  I saw a woman shooting Williams.  I couldn’t identify her with any detail, but she was white, tall and had dark hair.  That’s not all.  A name occurred to me in the dream, Maria or Marla.”
            “No last name, no address?”
            “Stop messing with me, I’m serious.”
            “All right, I’ll go over the case and see if I can find a link to a woman named Maria or Marla.”  Beth did some work on her tablet as Joe drove them to the sister of the victim, Linda Washington.
            “Ms. Washington.  Did your brother ever have a relationship with a Maria or Marla?”
            Linda was shaken by the question.  “You don’t think?”
            “Think what ma’am?”
            “His college girlfriend, Marla Green.  They haven’t seen each other in ten years.  Why?  Do you think she was involved?”
            Beth took notes while Joe continued the questioning.  “Nothing we can go into at this time, just investigating.  What was their relationship like?”
            “Tony and Marla were engaged, but they broke up when she was caught with drugs.  She told police that she was framed, but Joe ended it when she was convicted.”  Beth tapped on her police tablet, looking up Marla Green.  She showed it to Joe.
            “It says here that Marla was released from prison three months ago, just before your brother was murdered.”
            “Oh my God.  Then she did it.”
            “Hold on now.  That’s not proof, just a lead.  Has Marla contacted you or anyone else?  Do you have any idea where she is?”
            “I’m sorry detective.  I don’t.”
            “Well, just make sure you let us know if you do.  Don’t try to confront her.  She probably doesn’t have anything to do with your brother’s murder.”
            “All right, but I’ll do some searching and let you know.”
            “Just make some calls.  Don’t try to meet with her.”
            “All right detective.  I understand.”
            Beth and Joe headed back to the station.  “Joe, that was freaky.  Your dream was on target.”
            “Yes Beth.  Track down Marla Green so we can pay her a visit.”
            By the end of the day, Beth had some information about Marla Green.  “Joe.  I couldn’t find a home address for Marla, but she works at a clothing company on the peninsula, San Mateo.  We can go there tomorrow and question her.”
            “Sounds good Beth.  Maybe I’ll dream up more info tonight.”
            “See if you can get her cell phone number.”  They laugh.
            That night, Joe was anxious as he went to bed.  How was it possible that this name came to him in a dream?  Would it ever happen again?
            The next morning Joe woke up, refreshed and ready to interview Marla Green.  When he got to the station, Beth was waiting for him.  “Well Joe?  Spill it.”
            “Sorry Beth, nothing as specific as a name, but I did see another image of the woman after she shot the man.  She dropped something as she was running away, a small item, size of a pack of cards.”
            “Hmm.  Let’s stop by the crime scene again before we visit Marla.”
            Joe and Beth went to the alley in Chinatown, San Francisco, where Tony Williams was shot.  It was dirty, with dumpsters, broken glass and garbage from local restaurants.  They each took a side of the alley, turning over anything that might hide the mysterious item Joe dreamed about.
            “Joe, I found something, behind the dumpster.”  Using her glove to protect any evidence Beth held up a small metal container, like a band-aid box.  It was dirty and bent.  Beth could tell by its weight that something was inside.  She photographed the item with her cell phone, and then flipped open the lid. 
            “OMG Joe.  Do you see what I see?”  She handed it to him.
            “Four bullets, still in their jacket.  Get these to ballistics Beth.  See if they match the one that killed Tony Williams.  We’ll wait for the analysis before seeing Marla Green.”
 
            “Right away Joe.  By the way, see if you can dream me up a husband tonight.”
            “If only I could dear Beth.  You deserve it.”
            Joe and Beth met for breakfast before their shift the next day. 
            “Well, any more clues?”  Beth spread butter on her blueberry muffin and looked at Joe with admiration.
            “Yes.  More than clues.  I think providence may be rewarding me for patient service.  You know, I could have become a criminal, seeking vengeance for the death of my father.”
            Beth’s mood turned.  “I’m sorry Joe.  I didn’t know you were thinking about your father.  Maybe he’s looking down on you and smiling.”
            “Maybe Beth.  I do feel relieved.  The nightmares have stopped.  You really think I’m getting help from above?” 
            “I’d like to think so.”  Beth smiled.  “Oh, and ballistics confirmed that the bullets we found do match the one that killed Tony Williams.  Guess that makes Marla Green our primary suspect.”
            “Maybe not Beth.  In my dream last night, the woman who shot Tony spoke to another woman.  She said ‘It’s done Marla, you can pay me later’.”
            “That makes Marla the one who hired the killer.  Guess it’s time to pay her a visit.”   They drove to San Mateo to confront her.
            “My name is Detective Rossi, this is my partner, Detective Johansson.  We need to see Marla Green.”  The receptionist called for Marla over the intercom.  She came to the front office right away.
            “I’m Marla Green.  What is this about?”
            “You’re going to have to come with us to the station.”
            Marla knew she was caught.  She didn’t resist as Beth led her to their car.
            At the station, Joe continued the interview.  “Ms. Green, who killed Tony Williams?”
            “Right to the point.  How did you know I was involved?”
            “Old fashioned police work Ms. Green.  You were engaged to him before you were caught dealing drugs.”
            “I was framed.  I never sold drugs.”
            “That’s not what the jury thought.”
            “I know.  Tony set me up.  He was the drug dealer.”
            “We have evidence that you paid someone to kill Williams.  Are we wrong?”
            “No.  But the person who killed him is dead.  Avenged by his gang.  I was just the messenger.”
            “Beth, place Ms. Green under arrest.  We’ll let the district attorney sort out the details.”
                                                                ###
            Detectives Rossi and Johansson continued to solve crimes, relying on clues Joe had while dreaming.  Commendations and promotions were given to both detectives.  They were even transferred to special investigations, the unit that handled the most difficult cases.  Of course, they kept their methods and secret to themselves, not that anyone would believe they were solving crimes with the help of dreams.
            They maintained a routine of meeting for breakfast before the start of shift.  Beth was particularly superstitious about making any changes. 
            “What’s our next case Joe?”
            “A mob hit in the Marina district Beth.  Abby Palmer, an assistant district attorney, was found in her condo.  Major case just turned it over to us.”
            “When did they find the body?”
            “An hour ago.  The housekeeper called the police.”
            When they got to the condo, Joe walked the rooms while Beth opened the victim’s computer.  Her technical skills quickly paid off.
            “Joe, come here.”  Beth scrolled some documents on the screen.
            “She was getting death threats.  Apparently her investigation into the mob got a little too close.  I’ll need more time with this to put together a complete picture.”
            “All right.  Take the computer back to the station.  I didn’t see anything obvious that identifies the killer.  But the techs will get us forensics by tomorrow.  Maybe we’ll find some DNA or prints, but I doubt it.  Aside from our dead Ms. Palmer, the condo looks pristine.”
            Beth couldn’t determine who sent the death messages but was able to identify the domain server from which they were sent.  She printed out the messages and went to the company where the computers were kept. 
            “My name is Detective Beth Johansson.  Someone was sending death threats to an assistant district attorney and she was just found murdered.  Can you find out who sent these messages?”
            “Sorry detective.  These were sent through our server from another server; this IP address isn’t even in the United States.  I think this one is in South America.”
            “How did they use your server to deliver the emails?”
            “Hacking detective.  Even we get attacked.  But I’ll follow up to see how far we can trace this.”
            Beth handed him her card, just as Joe was coming in to join her.  “Let me know if you find anything.”
            “Hey Joe.  The death threats were not sent by anyone who has an account on this server.  It was passed through here from another country.”
            “Not surprising.  No one doing this would want to be identified.  So it’s someone with tech skills.”
            “Yes.  Any word from forensics?”
            “No prints.  DNA testing will take another day.  Let’s look at the cases Abby Palmer was prosecuting.”
            Joe and Beth went to the district attorney’s office.  They met with one of Palmer’s colleagues, Larry Jessup.
            “Mr. Jessup, I’m Detective Rossi.  This is my partner Detective Johansson.  We’re investigating the murder of Abby Palmer.  Can you tell us who she was investigating?”
            “Sure detective.  I anticipated your visit.  Here is a list of cases Abby was working on, with legal briefs and details.  I would look at the mob cases first.”
            “Thank you Mr. Jessup.  Anyone in particular?”
            “The Langone Construction Company was strong-arming competitors to drop out of bidding on the new basketball arena.”
            “Very good.  We’ll return these copies for your files after we scan them.”
            “No rush, just realize these are confidential documents.  Either return them or destroy them.”
            “Beth.  Run down everything you can find on Langone Construction.  See if we have any informants with contacts there.”
            “Will do Joe.  Or should I just wait for tomorrow’s dream report?”
            “Very funny.”
 
            Beth researched the company.  Several of the managers had criminal backgrounds.  The owner, Ronald Langone, was indicted but never convicted of racketeering.  But in mob cases that wasn’t unusual.  The boss never gets too close to the crime.  One name stuck out, Vito Carlese.  He was acquitted of murder in 2011, on a technicality.  Beth decided to seek a judge’s warrant to search Carlese’s records and computer, but decided to wait until she met Joe tomorrow.
            “Good morning Beth.”
            “I’m going to think of a name” as she closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead.  “What do you think?”
            Joe played along.  “I’m seeing an Italian person, five foot eight inches tall, name is Vito.”
            “OMG Joe.  Vito Carlese.  Are you messing with me?”
            “No.  That’s the dream I had.  What made you think of him?”
            “He was acquitted of murder in 2011, but most figured he did it.  Did you background him?”
            “No, I was going to wait for your report.”
            “Warrant for his computer?”
            “Go ahead.  You did the work.”
            “Maybe we should just wait a week to get all the clues.”  Beth laughs.
            “One doesn’t want to get too cocky Beth.  You never know when these visions will stop.”
            Joe gets a text message.  “Beth, the lab has some DNA info back.  Let’s go.”
            “If it’s Vito Carlese, I’m going to ask you for lottery picks.”
            Sure enough, the lab tech gave Joe and Beth the news.
            “There was a trace amount of blood mixed in with Abby Palmer.  It came back to Vito Carlese, who was in our criminal database from a trial in 2011.”  They smiled.
            “You don’t seem surprised.”
            “We had a feeling.  Thanks.  Place that in the evidence file and lock it up.  Send us the report and copy it to the district attorney’s office.”
            “Will do detectives.  Good luck.”
            “I’ll get the warrant Joe.  Judge Robinson is a friend of mine.”
            “How good a friend?”
            “Joe.  He’s married.”
            “I didn’t mean to imply.”
            “And old enough to be my father; although his son David is a doctor at San Francisco General.”
            “All right, now I understand.”
            While Beth did research on Vito Carlese and his associates, Joe talked to the San Francisco gang task force.  They added names and pictures of connected individuals on the white board.  A new connection became apparent.  Vito Carlese is related to a councilman on the San Francisco Utilities Commission, Robert Bonomo; it was only a third cousin so no one saw it at first. 
            “Beth, Robert Bonomo is influential in awarding the contract for the new basketball arena.  Abby Palmer was investigating corruption in the arena bidding process.  Now Palmer is killed by a cousin of a politician reviewing the contract.”
            “Joe, we need to get a warrant to look into Robert Bonomo’s finances.”
            “Yes, that may be the key to solving this murder.”
            “Back to Judge Robinson.”
            “Yes.  Meanwhile, we’ll set up surveillance on Bonomo.  By tomorrow, we should be able to get his phone records.”
            In his dream that night, Joe saw someone pointing a gun at his partner Beth.  She was hit in the back.  Then an ambulance took her away.  He saw Beth on the operating table.  Then he woke up.  From a temporary panic to a relative calm, Joe called Beth.
            “Beth, are you there?”
            “Joe, it’s 3:00am.  What’s wrong?”
            “Are you home?”
            “Yes.  I was asleep until a minute ago.  I had a bad dream.”
            “What happened in the dream?”
            “Someone shot me.”
            “Beth, I just had the same dream.  You were taken to the hospital and undergoing surgery.”
            “Sorry Joe.  In my dream, I died in the street.”
            Joe did not respond.
            “Joe, are you there?”
            “Yes Beth.  I just didn’t know how to react.  I can’t imagine anything happening to you.”
            “Well, it was only a dream.  It’s not real.”
            “Beth, my dreams have some connection to reality.”
            “I think it’s just our unconscious pushing out a fear we both have.”
            “Maybe.  But you don’t leave my side from now on.”
            “That’s sweet Joe.  A little 1950s, but sweet.”
            “I was born in the 80s, just like you Beth.  My father was 1950s.”
            Beth smiled.  “I still think it’s cute.”
            The next day, Beth and Joe served a search warrant on Robert Bonomo’s home, to search his computer.  They had already received his phone records.
            “Mr. Bonomo.  My name is Detective Rossi and this is my partner Detective Johansson.  We have a warrant to search your home and computer.”
            “For what?”
            “Conspiracy to murder district attorney Abby Palmer.”
            Bonomo started to tense up.  “Why would I have anything to do with that?  I don’t even know her.”
            “I’m sure your lawyer can fill you in.”  Joe and Beth searched for any records that might be relevant.  The forensic tech packed up Bonomo’s computer.  After about an hour, they left.  Bonomo was on the phone with his lawyer.
            “See you in court.”
            As they got back to their car, Joe chided Beth.  “Getting a little cocky dear?”
            “Sorry Joe.  The thought of killing Abby Palmer just gets me so angry.  I’d love to put away Bonomo and anyone else involved.”
            “Let’s wait for the verdict to celebrate.”
            “I can’t wait to go through his computer and records.  I’ll find something to connect him to the murder.”
            “I know you will Beth.”
            “Yes Joe.  Most crimes leave tech clues, like fingerprints leading back to the guilty.  How did we ever solve crimes before?”
            “Fingerprints, DNA, technology.  What’s next?”
            “I don’t know Joe.  Maybe we can put a chip in every criminal to track their locations, or base it on their retina?”
            “I think that might be pushing the constitution a bit.”
            “I don’t know.  Once someone has been convicted, they forfeit some rights.  Imagine if we had a database of all criminals based on their retina scan and could access them anywhere in the world.”
            “Beth, I think that would be the ultimate invasion of privacy.”
            “I would trade some privacy for safety Joe.”
            The next day, Beth had found financial files and messages connecting Bonomo with Vito Carlese, in particular a payoff from Bonomo to Carlese.
            Another case solved for the dream detectives.
###
            Joe went to bed that night worried about the dream where Beth was shot.  Although it seemed to be a false signal, he had no control over the dreams or their consequences.  It wasn’t long before he was shaken out of his bed, literally.  It’s San Francisco, and a 5.2 magnitude earthquake flipped Joe onto his bedroom floor.  Joe immediately called Beth.
            “Are you all right Beth?”
            Beth answered, half asleep.  “Joe, yes.  I guess so.  What time is it?”
            “Half past five.  Why?”
            “Are you reading the time from your CPAP machine?”
            “Yes, why?”
            “Joe, it’s only 4:00am.  Your machine clock is 90 minutes fast.  There was no earthquake.  But I think there might be one at 5:30.”
            “What do you mean Beth?”
            “Didn’t you say your CPAP is connected to the Internet?”
            “Yes.”
            “Joe, I think you’ve been hacked.”
            “OMG!  That means…”
            “Yes, it means that someone is controlling your dreams.”
            “What about the earthquake?”
            “I’ll tell you at 5:30.  I’m more concerned that we both had a dream about me being shot.”
            Neither Joe nor Beth could get back to sleep, so they got ready for work and met in the diner between their homes.  5:30am came and went.  No earthquake.
            “Beth, why do you think we both had the same dream..about you being shot?  And why did you die in your dream, but not in mine?”
            Beth held Joe’s hand.  “If someone really planted that dream through your CPAP machine, I’m glad you didn’t see me die.  But how did I sense it?  Are we experiencing something metaphysical?  Am I that close to you?”
            “Beth, do you plug your iPhone next to your bed while sleeping?”
            “Yes, why?”
            “If someone could hack my CPAP machine, couldn’t they have sent the bad dream to you through your phone?”
            “Joe, that’s pretty out there, even for 2018.”
            “But not impossible.  Tonight, leave your phone at the precinct and see if your dream matches mine tomorrow.”
            On her way home that night, a robber hit Beth over the head and took her phone.  Beth managed to get home and went to sleep early.
***
            Joe woke up again at 4:00am, this time with the same dream that Beth was shot, only this time being killed.  He quickly called Beth.
            “Hello.”  Joe heard a gunshot. 
            “Beth, Beth, answer me.”
            The robber was found dead in an alley the next day.
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TAMARA NICOLE CANTY - THE WOMAN IN THE GOLDEN CAGE

8/7/2019

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Tamara Nicole Canty has been creating stories since she was in rompers, and still continues today. She finds her home and solace in the bosom of her characters’ worlds, and if she had her choice she would stay in one of those worlds rather than the mundane, colorless, and realistic world around her. While she enjoys writing novels, her heart is also with her screenplays and her poems. She resides in Riegelwood, North Carolina with her widowed father and young sister.

The Woman in the Golden Cage ​

​I had finally drifted off to sleep. It was getting harder and harder these days to find peace in rest. I didn’t know why exactly, except that every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. The mysterious girl in the golden cage, with those dark smoldering eyes beckoning me, always beckoning me. But what was she calling me to? I always woke up before I got the chance to figure that out. It never failed, I was back in a throne room of some sort and the golden cage was right in the middle of the room with her inside. This time I was determined to get to her, this time I was determined to get answers. I was almost there and then came the banging at my front door. 
     When I squinted over at the clock it was 3:00 A.M., the knocking didn’t stop until I shouted. 
     “I’m coming!” 
     I got up from my bed, leaving a pool of sweat behind and I opened the door. But the delivery person had gone, leaving a giant box right at my doorstep. What courier service could possibly be working at this hour? And how could they just leave without helping me get this giant box inside? After much exerting effort I finally got it inside, and closed the door behind me. I had to go and retrieve a towel from my bedroom, so that I could towel off all the sweat. Sure, my trainer kicked my butt every week, but he had nothing on the box. I hung the towel around my neck, and just stared at the thing for awhile with my arms crossed. 
     A sudden uneasiness gripped me when I realized that, once the thing was opened there was no going back. It was funny how opening a huge cardboard box, could possibly change the trajectory of my entire life. But here I was walking toward it, anxious to see what was inside. I didn’t waste another minute tearing the tape from the seams and when I had stole a peek inside, my blood froze cold because, my eyes refused to move from the golden bars of a cage. Instead of stopping I tore into the box like a wild man and when I had finished, there she was the beauty with the smoldering eyes that haunted my dreams.  
     I knew that my mouth was opened because, I could feel the air going in and out, but I just couldn’t close it. I mean, here she was looking right at me with a smile on her lips. I had to be still dreaming. And when she spoke her first words to me, they seemed to weave around my heart. 
     “Only you can set me free, Sire.” 
     Her words were completely insane, there was no doubt about that, but how she made them sound so sensual I would never know. Maybe it was her accent.
     “You have the wrong man.” I was finally able to muster when my mouth started working again. 
     “No, Great King, you are the one that I seek.” 
     Gosh. I had to shut my eyes and grit my teeth against her exotic beauty. It would be so easy to take advantage at a time like this and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. 
     “You have the wrong man,” I was far more insistent this time when I repeated myself. 
     “Come to me, my king, and I will prove to you that I am right,” her words were a tender plea. 
     What could I do, but approach her? She was a damsel in distress and I always did have a nagging knight in shining armor complex. But when she let her soft caramel colored hand caress my cheek, I saw many wondrous things, things that could not be of this world. And when she removed her hand, I could barely breathe. 
     “What was that?” 
     “Your home, my lord.” 
     She let her fingers linger about my cheek. Suddenly, I felt the electric connection between us. Who was she to me? I had to know. 
     “If that was my home, then who are we to each other?” 
     She lowered her eyes from mine, as her smile melted to sadness. 
     “I am your Queen, my lord. So, you have forgotten me?” 
     I could feel her breaking heart and it cut me. 
     “Not completely,” I brought her eyes back up to mine. “You haunt my dreams, Lady,” I admitted. 
     This made her smile. 
     “Tell me how to release you.” 
     “A joining of our lips will set us both free.” 


     And when my lips fell softly on hers, I was able to open the golden cage’s door and with the opening of that door came the opening of my mind.
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JORDAN DANIELLE - REBIRTH

8/7/2019

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Jordan Danielle attends Full Sail University and will graduate in 2021 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing for Entertainment. Jordan’s latest novel, Watched, was published in January 2019. She has also written and directed several live productions. Jordan enjoys teaching Latin to high school students and listening to 1940s Big Band records. She lives in Washington State.



Rebirth

​Jamie Nicholson was dead. At least, she was until the doorbell rang.
Christine jumped at the sound. There was no reason for the doorbell to ring. The neighbors had given up on trying to deliver welcome wishes and cookies months ago. The magazine sales-people and missionaries had learned to change their route. Mailmen, girl scouts, and dog walkers alike knew that no answer would come from the little, blue house. So, why was it ringing, now?
Christine tiptoed through the hallway. Leaning over the washing machine, she pushed aside the box of diapers and retrieved her slim pistol. 
After peering through her thick curtains at the street, the sidewalk, and the backdoor, the only proof of the visitor was a small, cardboard box on the front porch. But that box was far more terrifying than any visitor. For that box was addressed to a dead woman: Jamie Nicholson.
Christine opened the door as little as she could, quickly snatched the box from her porch, dead bolted and chained the door, and hurried it into the kitchen. Jamie Nicholson. It wasn’t possible. She practically dropped the box on the island, as if the package could hurt her. The bruises had only just begun to heal. Even though the cuts had become scars, she could feel them sting at the sight of the name she left behind.
She knew that handwriting. It had been on her car lease, in her checkbook, and on her wedding certificate. That handwriting was on the paperwork filled out each time she went to the ER. It invented a different excuse each time. She fell down the stairs. The pan was too hot. Her bike crashed. Christine’s eyes fluttered from the label to the windows and doors. How had he found her?
Something must have gone wrong. Maybe the funeral wasn’t convincing enough. Maybe the police made themselves too obvious. Maybe her husband had found the pregnancy test she had tried so hard to hide. Whatever it was, something went awry.  
Her breath shuddered with every heartbeat as she ducked beneath the counter. Pushing aside the baby formula and stacks of Tupperware, she grabbed hold of the burner phone. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely type the letters. Help.
It wouldn’t be enough. Her husband would stop at nothing to find her. He would only play his mind games so long before he broke in. This package was just the appetizer. He’d wait until dark, then strike.
Closing the phone seemed to signal her daughter, and her cries filled the small home. Christine tiptoed into the pastel nursery, onto the plush rug, and scooped up her crying baby girl. She slowly swayed back and forth in the light pink rocking chair and tried to hum a lullaby. Soon, the girl's tears melted into sleep, but not for the mother.
For Christine, the night had only begun. She retrieved her pistol and kept guard in the hallway. She knew only one thing for sure. No matter what, no one was going to hurt her daughter. Dusk quickly turned to night. Soon, only the slivers of moonlight that snuck between the curtains lit the small, blue house. 
She had often thought about this night. No matter how many promises the police made, she knew she wasn’t safe. He would find her, but he would never touch her, again. Her pistol switched hands as Christine wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans. Never.
Christine’s courage shattered with her window. The wind furled the curtains as moonlight illuminated the trail of glass through her kitchen. Quickly, she ducked into the laundry room and pressed her back against the wall. But then she heard it. A sound far more terrifying than shattering glass: the sound of glass being crushed underfoot, ringing out like boots on fresh snow.
The crackling turned to creaking, only a few glass shards hanging on as he made his way into the dining room. Each creak seemed to race up Christine’s spine, arms, and legs, forcing her to the floor. Her fingernails tried to break through her palm as she attempted to keep her pistol from shaking.
“Jamie.”
Christine quickly muffled her own scream. 
“Jamie, I know you are in here,” he taunted, each footstep nearing closer. “C’mon, it’s not like you are going to fight m—”
He screeched to a stop just outside the laundry room. Christine froze. 
He was cut off by a baby’s cry.
That cry flipped a switch within Christine, as she rose up from the ground. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. Christine could still see the shock on his face as he fell to the floor.
He had it all backward.
Her scars were not a sign of weakness.
They only showed her strength.
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RANDI WITHROW - FLASH FICTION

8/7/2019

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Randi Withrow was raised in Cincinnati, Ohio where you can experience all the seasons in one week. She is a sophomore Creative Writing Student attending Full Sail University working towards her bachelor’s degree. Her dream is to work as a writer for Bethesda Studios to create games that help others find a community to be a part of like the Elder Scrolls community did for her. She also loves to read, play video games and take long walks. 

FLASH FICTION

​Detective Thomas bent down to the body of a dead cow. Taking his pen from his front shirt pocket, he used it to lift the cow’s jaw.
“Third farm this week.” He said.
               His assistant stood behind him writing down any information that could be useful.
“Do you think there are more creatures like the one that old farmer shot?” His assistant asked.
               Thomas stood and turned. He walked past the boy to his car to grab his walkie. He radioed for any other cops to come to his location, telling them the situation. As he walked back to the corpse, he patted the boy on the shoulder.
“Don’t be a fool. There is no such thing as a mystery creature. Someone knows what it is, we just have to find them.” He said.
               The cops arrived. They spread out around the dead cow. Mary tapped Thomas on the shoulder, holding out her hands.
“It’s a tooth, sir, and it doesn’t belong to the cow.” She said.
Thomas held it, before he placed it into a plastic bag. He handed the bag to Mary, walked to the Captain who just pulled up, and shook his hand.
“What’s going on, Detective? You’ve taken my cops from the streets to come out here in the ass end of nowhere.” The Captain said.
“Another animal, sir. Marcus Locus called it in. He was driving by the area when he saw it by the road.” Thomas said.
The Captain rubbed his nose. He walked towards the scene with Thomas hot on his heels. The Captain took out a handkerchief and plugged his nose.
“What in the name of God is doing this to these animals? It didn’t even eat the cow, it just maimed it.” The Captain said.
He turned to Thomas’s assistant and held out his hand. The assistant struggled to get the folder that the Captain was waiting for. The Captain slapped the folder shut and turned away from the cow. He made no noise, only walked back to his car. Thomas followed him, until the Captain turned, causing Thomas to jump back.
“I want every person on this case. I want to know what that thing is. You’re in charge of this case now, Thomas, don’t let me down.” The Captain said.
He got into his car and pulled out onto the road. Mary was standing behind Thomas when he turned around. Her fingers clenched the folder she held out.
“What is this?” He asked.
“I’ve been doing research, sir, and I think I’ve find something interesting about the creatures that kill the farm animals.” She said.
“Creatures?” He said.
               Mary reached into her pocket and opened a small book she took out.
“Yes, sir, I believe there are more creatures out there. Look, these patterns are across the state not just here. I think there is a pack of them, maybe more hiding somewhere.” She said.
               Thomas rubbed his forehead. He closed the book, put it back into her hand and took out a cigarette. Slipping the lighter back into pants, he moved past her.
“That’s nice, Mary, but we still need to know what the hell the damn things are.” He said.
 
 
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CHARITY STEPHENS - FINDING HOME

8/7/2019

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Charity Stephens is a versatile content creator, writing everything from screenplays to short fiction and even poetry. Her whole life, she’s always strived to find the beauty in everything, even the tragic parts. Due to this, her specialty tends to be in dramatic yet realistic situations that unfortunately occur to numerous victims. Her focus is to create content for episodic television for the future generations to come as an escape from their own reality while also informing of other tragic situations.   
She is currently enrolled at Full Sail University, graduating with a Creative Writing BFA degree in 2021.
Her work has appeared in Futures: 2018 Poetry Collection and she has multiple pending publications.
Follow her on Instagram and Twitter: @ChxrityStephens

​Finding Home

​“She died last year,” the boy said.
“Who?” I asked. Gosh this kid is morbid.
“Our mom,” he replied. “I thought I’d save your breath having you ask yourself.”
I glance at the boy. There’s a lack of emotion in his voice as he stares out the window. I look forward and pretend to not be uncomfortable. If that little girl weren’t here, I would’ve just kept driving.
“Gonna pay your respects?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Probably off somewhere getting shit-faced..”
Definitely should’ve kept driving.
“Well I’m sorry for your loss.” I say, awkwardly. “You shouldn’t be out here all by yourselves, especially hitchhiking. It’s dangerous.”
“We were just exhausted from walking everywhere, besides I’m 18. I can take care of the both of us.”
“A kid shouldn’t be taking care of a kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
I check my GPS for the hundredth time, wishing time would pass quicker. “We’re about 15 minutes away.”
He turns his head to the backseat where the sleeping girl is. Looking in my rear-view mirror, I see him caress the discoloration on her cheek with his thumb, causing her eyes to slowly flutter open.
“Wakey wakey, Sarah,” the boy says to her.
That’s the first name I’ve heard this whole trip. He picks her up and pulls her onto his lap, kissing her on the forehead. Seeing her more up close, I notice more marks on her face. I try to focus my thoughts elsewhere and look at the pink and orange sky. After dropping these two off, it’s straight to another rest stop. I feel a sudden emptiness on my head. When I glance over, I see the little girl attempting to fit my cap on her tiny head.
“Where are your kids?” She asks, tugging on my jacket. “Do you have a lady friend? Or any friends?”
“Do you always ask a stranger this many questions?” I yank my cap off her head.
“Do you always give strangers a ride in your car?”
“Sarah, hush,” the boy said.
Sarah pouted and stood quiet. I noticed her constantly stealing glances at me and I sighed.
“No kids. No lady friend. No friends at all. Just me.” I tell her.
She stares at me for a bit before answering. “Why?”
“It’s easier that way.”
“Why?”
“I don’t wanna have to worry about anyone else.”
“Why?”
“Sarah, hush,” the boy says again.
She stays quiet.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say to the boy. “you tell me about your situation and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about me.”
The boy rolls his eyes. “And who says I want to know anything about you?”
“I do,” Sarah tells him.
“Your name would be nice,” I add.
He looks out the window, probably hoping to get there soon so he won’t have to deal with me. He looks back at me and begins to speak.
“My name, if you must know, is Matthew. We’re going to the cemetery to see our mom because it’s been a year since she died and I promised Sarah we’d go. Is that enough info for you?”
“What happened to her face?”
Matthew looks down at his lap. Sarah looks at him then back to me.
“Our daddy gets mad.”
I look at Matthew, but he avoids eye contact. I try my best to ignore the pit in my stomach. “Well, you can call me Mike,” I say to her. “I’ve been living on the road for about 20 years now. I don’t have friends and I don’t keep in touch with my family because of some drama I won’t get into right now.”
“Oh c’mon,” Matthew interrupted.
“Fine.” I stay silent for a second before continuing. “I’m the product of an affair my mother had. After knowing the truth, my father and sister treated me like something you scrape off your shoe. As soon as I turned 18, I got the hell out and never looked back.”
Matthew had an unreadable expression on his face while Sarah just looked confused.
“What’s an affair?” she asked.
“Hush, Sarah.”
“We’re here,” I say pulling into the cemetery.
As soon as I park, they hop out the car. Against my better judgment, I decide to follow. I feel the blood rush to my face as the chilly air hits me. Matthew notices me and stops walking.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I continue to walk, ignoring him, and Sarah follows. She grabs my arm and tugs in the direction she wants to go. Not too long after, she stops and kneels down. Matthew kneels beside her and holds her hand. They both stay silent as I walk a little closer. I look at what’s engraved in the tombstone and I become frozen, partially due to the cold and partially from seeing my sister’s name.
“I wish we had flowers,” Sarah said.
I kneel beside her and grab her other hand, icy to the touch. “Trust me, she wouldn’t have cared about some flowers.”
“How would you know?” Matthew asks.
I stay silent. A half hour passes before we get off the ground. Matthew holds onto Sarah, who’s obviously freezing.
“Thanks for taking us, Mike,” he says to me. “I guess this is goodbye.”
Sarah frowns.
I look at the darkening sky. “Well, I was gonna grab something to eat. I wouldn’t mind some company. Then I can take you back home or wherever you wanna go. Hell, you can even stay with me for a bit if you want. I mean, what else are you guys planning on doing?”
Matthew almost objects before receiving a harsh look from Sarah. He sighs. “I guess that’d be alright.”
Sarah’s face lights up.
“I thought you said you don’t wanna have to worry about anyone else?” Matthew speaks again.
I start walking back to the car, both of them following, before answering.
“Special exception.”
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JAMES WRIGHT - HEMATOCRIT

8/7/2019

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James Wright lives in Malibu California. He is a veterinarian and received two degrees from Cornell University. He has two grown children, Heather and Jim that reside in California. Writing, gourmet cooking and sailing are his passions. He is presently putting the finishing touches on his first novel, "A Horse to Kill For".

​Hematocrit  

​    An early morning mist rolled across the damp turf of the racetrack. Partially obscured by the veil of dawn; behemoth earth moving machines, the color of a jaundiced alcoholic, lurked menacingly at the edges of the property. Restrained only by a temporary chain- link fence they awaited a signal from the lawyers to begin their work. The end of horse racing at this track was only a matter of time. To Heather Owens that was the future; her concern today, the here and now.  She leaned against the rail and focused on the far turn.
   Her filly suddenly burst through the fog, grey- on- grey like a thundering shadow. The ground reverberated under her feet as the horse swept by at a full gallop. Heather clicked the stop-watch and squinted at its face. She let out a low whistle, ducked under the rail and ran toward the horse and rider.  Grey Fire pranced and snorted. With her head and tail held high, she circled back toward Heather.
    “She is quick! “ Heather panted. “I think we have a chance.”
    The filly had a legitimate shot, to win the San Lucia Derby next month and Heather held on to that glimmer of hope, wishing that her run of bad luck was coming to an end. Three months ago her horse training husband had split to parts unknown. Heather was not surprised by his departure. Their marriage had been rocky from the start. His love affair with the bottle had become stronger with each passing year. When their daughter was diagnosed with cancer he really fell apart. Heather remembered the night.  He just walked out the door with a gin bottle clasped in his right hand. He staggered into their rusted Toyota sedan, turned the key and the engine coughed and sputtered to life. As the car left the driveway, a cloud of blue smoke billowed from the exhaust. He yelled out the window something undecipherable.  Heather pulled the front screen door open and watched the plume disappear into the night   At that moment; she knew that he would be gone forever.
       Since that fateful night, Heather had been religiously taking Annie to the hospital for her chemotherapy and appointments. After months of treatment, the doctors were cautiously optimistic about the leukemia’s remission. Her stack of unpaid medical bills grew taller and taller.  A win with her grey filly would be the answer to her prayers.
     
      Heather glanced at her watch. She would be a little late to Annie’s appointment even if the early morning traffic was light.  The morning sun peeped through the clouds and she flipped on her sunglasses and trotted towards the back stables. The small aluminum trailer leaned slightly to the left giving the appearance it might topple at any moment. She carefully pried open the flimsy screen door lest she pull it off its last hinge. The early morning light gently illuminated her daughters’ angelic face as she slept peacefully on the sofa.
        “Annie, Annie, wake up, you’ll be late for your appointment.”
     The sofa creaked and the child folded a quilt, embroidered with a pattern of running thoroughbreds, away from her face.
     “Hi Mom, I’m awake.” Annie murmured and rubbed her eyes.
     “I’ve been waiting for you. How did ‘Grey Fire’ do?”
    “Great. She did five furlongs in her fastest time ever!”
    Heather gathered her daughter’s backpack.
     “Now let’s get going. Get dressed and brush your hair and teeth.”
      Annie rolled out of the sofa and trudged slowly toward the bathroom. She turned to her Mom.
    “Do we have to go? I’m tired of being hurt and poked with needles.”
      Heather gently touched her shoulder.
     “I know this sucks. If I could do it differently I would, but we have no choice. We have to do what the doctors tell us. Now, please go get ready.”
    
     After the appointment, Heather carried her gently sobbing child back to the truck.
 With a forced a note of gaiety in her voice she said,
    “Hey, how about we stop for an ice-cream?”
     Annie rubbed her bruised arm where they had taken the blood sample and quietly nodded and smiled.
                              
    Traffic slowed to a halt. Heather turned on the heater and felt an overwhelming desire just to let go and bawl her eyes out.   Her daughter had gone through total body radiation treatment and a subsequent bone marrow transplant, not to mention, countless visits to the hospital and her pediatrician. It had been a long and trying ordeal, and not without collateral damage to the entire family. With the back of her hand, Heather quickly brushed a tear away and mentally focused on the good news. The doctors were still hopeful that Annie was in remission and this last battery of blood tests would confirm their prognosis.                        
     Heather downshifted and turned into the back entrance of the race track; her truck rattled in protest. The rain streaked windshield blurred her vision and a white truck suddenly appeared, stopped directly in front of her. She slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt inches from its back bumper. Feeling even more drained and exhausted, she slowly climbed out of the truck. She walked over to the driver’s side of the vehicle and wearily said,
       “Why, for God’s sake are you parked in the middle of the road?”
       A large man with wavy black hair and steel grey eyes took up much of the space behind the steering-wheel; a crumpled map lay open on the dash board.
       “I’m sorry…I’m Dr. White, the new researcher and I’m looking for the university horses.”
     “The university horses?”
   “That’s right. The university has contracted with the track to stable a few horses here for a study that we are doing and they are supposed to be stabled in barn D.”
   “Oh, those horses. Why don’t you park over there …out of the middle of the road?” Despite her being dog tired she heard herself sarcastically say. 
    “I’ll be right back. It will be easier for me to show you than having you wander around the barns all afternoon.”
    “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.”
     “No bother at all, I’ll be back in a second.”
 Heather climbed back into the cab of her truck and said to Annie,
          “I’m going to drop you off at home and show this guy where those experimental horses are, it will only take me a few minutes.”   
      Annie nodded her head.
      Heather parked the truck at the trailer and quickly got Annie settled. As she jogged back to the waiting professor, she ran her fingers through her blonde hair and silently cursed herself for not washing it this morning.
       Dr. White rolled down the window and peered over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.
                 “That was quick. Hop in.”
                  “Actually, it is quicker if we walk.”
He stuffed some papers in his briefcase and got out of the car. Heather led them down a narrow mud-slick path toward an old grey wooden structure with a cupola on top of the roof. A small rust pocked weather vane, the silhouette of a race horse, teetered precariously unbalanced at the pinnacle of the cupola. One big gust and it would lose function as well as form.
              Heather turned to the big man following her and said,
              “We’re almost there. It’s the building straight ahead. I haven’t been by here in a while. It looks like they have made some improvements.”
             New doors stood in startling contrast with the rest of the building. Recently installed and made of stainless steel, they possessed a startling array of brass bolts and locks.
              “Wow, looks like your university is a little security conscious. What are you actually doing here?”
             
            Dr. White fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a large key ring with multiple keys dangling from the loop. He turned to Heather.
      “The research is really quite benign but, so-called ‘animal-activists’ have become more militant and can seriously disrupt years of work. Because of those misguided souls, we have had to beef up our security measures, thus the reason for the heavy doors and multiple locks.”
       After punching in a code at the doors’ keypad and unlocking three secured padlocks, the doors swung quietly inward.
        “Follow me.”
    Heather squinted from the bright fluorescent lights that illuminated the laboratory. The glare off of the stainless steel tables and white tile walls further magnified their intensity. From somewhere in the back of the building she heard a horse whinny. A door in the rear of the lab opened and a slight statured, balding man, with a fringe of grey hair entered the room. He wore dark green coveralls with the university seal emblazoned on the chest pocket.
     He boomed, in a deep voice that did not match his size.
                 “Welcome, I’ve been expecting you. Did you bring your notes from                               your prior research?”
                “Yes I did they are right here in my briefcase.”
                “Excellent and is this young lady your technician?”
                 “As a matter of fact she is.”
      Heather raised her right eyebrow and quickly looked at Dr. White. She offered the old professor her hand and he shook it with exuberance.
               “Now, let’s go look at our patients.”
 
     The door in the back of the lab led to a dimly lit stable. The smell of alfalfa hay, horse sweat and the metallic odor of blood permeated the still air. When Heather’s eyes re-adjusted to the low wattage bulbs in the barn, she saw five thoroughbred horses standing quietly. Their eyes were half-closed with heads and necks arched lazily toward the floor. From the right jugular vein of each animal ran a clear plastic tube to a glass gallon jug. Coursing through the tubes and dripping slowly into the containers ran the ruby-red blood of the horses. So as not to startle the drugged horses Dr. White whispered to Heather.
                  “We have been working on ‘blood –packing’ horses to see if by increasing their red blood cell hematocrit or “packed cell volume”, they will have more endurance in the longer stakes races. Technically, it’s fairly easy. Under sterile conditions, we slowly take four quarts of blood from the horse one month prior to the race. We then inject the horses with an experimental drug that stimulates their own red cell production. Finally, one week before the race we transfuse their own blood back into the horse.”
                   He took a breath and continued,
                   Theoretically, that will increase their hematocrit and oxygen carrying capacity of their body. Simple enough?”
                    Heather answered hesitantly,
                   “Hmm, but have you put your theory into practice?”
                   “Only with ponies, not real race horses. That’s why we are here.”
                   “Well thanks for the tour, but I’ve got to go.”
                   “Wait before you leave would you like to meet for a drink this evening?”
          Heather paused and thought for a moment. What the hell. A drink with this rather handsome man would be a welcome break.
                    “Sure”
       She reached into her jeans pocket and scribbled her number on a scrap of paper.
                  “Call me.”                         
        The after-work crowd filled the local hangout. Pictures of past race triumphs graced the old mahogany walls and racing paraphernalia hung from the ceiling. Heather wedged her way through the sea of humanity that surrounded the bar. She acknowledged a few of her colleagues with congenial hellos and an occasional hug. She scanned the room and spotted Dr. White sitting alone at a small table in the far corner. Simultaneously, he stood up and gave her a quick wave.  He pulled out a chair for her and said,
                    “It’s a little quieter back here. I’m glad you could make it.”
                    “I don‘t get out much, but when I do, I like to come here, it’s close to home and friendly.”
     Heather flipped her blonde hair back off her shoulders and sat down.  Despite her worries and the fact that the jeans she wore felt a little too snug, she relaxed.  With a wry smile she said,
                  “Well, how about that drink you promised me Dr. White?”
                    “Of course, but you’ll have to call me Geoff.”
                    “It’s a deal. I think I’ll have a martini up with a twist.”
The drinks came quickly and they both took generous sips. Heather looked down and slowly twirled her glass.
                “So Geoff, about this “blood packing” thing. I understand that it is all natural and no drugs are involved and theoretically it would be an advantage to a race horse in the longer distance races. Are there any down side risks?”
              He took a drink and their eyes met.
                “Like I mentioned before we have never tried this on performance horses and I wouldn’t think that the racing association would be real happy if this practice became commonplace.   The only risk that I can imagine would be some sort of arterial rupture due to the increased volume of blood and thus higher blood pressure.”
          Heather lowered her gaze and leaned forward.
                 “I really need my horse to win the Stakes Derby next month but, I don’t want to risk her life.”
                   “Life is a risk. I would be willing to help you out…just for the sake of science mind you. You will have to make a decision ASAP. We need a full four weeks.”
She sighed and propped her chin on her hand.
                          “Desperate times call for desperate measures. We’ll start tomorrow.”
                           “O.K. remember, there is no guarantee.”
       Days sped to weeks and the required procedures were performed on Grey Fire. The filly improved both in speed and stamina. Heather and Dr. White spent long hours together at the track. As the big day approached, even a casual observer could tell that their relationship had become more than just business.
 
        Derby day dawned crisp and clear. San Lucia Race Track never looked better. Blue and white striped tents covered the grass infield. On the top of the grandstand, flags of all colors fluttered gaily in the breeze. The full capacity crowd chatted noisily as they watched the parade of horses. Women in huge straw hats and flowery dresses punctuated the crowd. Groups of men gathered and poured over the daily racing form.
A trumpet blared forth the familiar call to the starting gates. Heather pushed her way through the crowd. She ducked, scooted here and there, weaving like a running back trying to avoid tacklers. Finally, she arrived at the rail.
         A hush fell over the track. The main race was about to begin. One by one the horses entered the starting gates, all tense and glistening with the sweat of anticipation.  A bell rang and the gates clashed open. The horses rocketed forward and the crowd surged toward the rail. Heather tripped, lost her footing and stumbled to the ground. With the help of a neighboring spectator she clambered to an upright position. The horses were already a half mile into the race as she grabbed for her binoculars and focused on the near turn. Grey Fire ran easily in third place. The jockeys, with their whips flying, urged the horses around the far turn into the home stretch.
        As the horses neared the finish line Heather heard the excited announcer over the loudspeakers.
         “Grey Fire on the outside! Grey Fire passing Pea Vine! Grey Fire! Grey Fire! The Winner!”
 
      The post race party was winding down and the last stragglers were leaving the tent.        Dusk had settled over the track and Heather looked up at Geoff and gently kissed his lips. She was rich and happy. She sighed and whispered in his ear.
                            “Thanks for everything. Are you free tomorrow for dinner?”
        Geoff gave her a long hug and said.
                              “Absolutely.”
      A beep from Heather’s cell phone interrupted their conversation. The barn number appeared on the screen. The groom’s urgent voice sounded on the other end of the line.
                   “Come to the barn! Something horrible has happened to Grey Fire and the track vet is here!”
          Seconds later Heather arrived at her horses’ stall and flung open the double door.
The track veterinarian and groom knelt next to the still grey horse. Bloody froth like a strawberry milkshake leaked from her nostrils. She lay on her right side and her left eye gazed fixed and unseeing at the ceiling. Heather let out a gasp and fell to her knees next to the lifeless form. The attending vet put his arms around Heather’s shoulders.
                       “I’m sorry, it all happened so quickly there was nothing that we could do. I would guess that she must have had a weakness in her pulmonary artery and it ruptured into her lungs.”
          Feeling nothing but a numb emptiness, Heather walked slowly back to her trailer. She opened the cupboard above the sink and reached in the back and pulled out a bottle of gin; a legacy from her husband. Her daughter, Annie, thankfully was away visiting her grandma. She poured the warm gin into a plastic cup and took a gulp. The liquor burned her throat. No amount of alcohol would be an anodyne for the pain she felt yet, she poured herself another. She shut off the lights and slumped back onto the old sofa. A faint smell of Annie wafted from the comforter and she pulled the tattered edge up to her neck.  She took another drink and for the first time noticed the blinking red light of her answering machine. Compelled, slowly focusing through her haze, she punched the button.
          The recorded voice of Annie’s pediatrician jolted her back to the present.
                “I’ve got great news. Annie’s hematocrit and white blood cell count are all normal. I feel that she is in total remission and should live a long and happy life. Call me in the morning.”
       Heather lay back down on the couch and buried her head in the pillow trying to shut out any noise. A glimmer of light peaked through the window, hinting at the beginning of a new day. Now, in the stillness of the early dawn, she clamped the pillow harder over her ears. But try as she might, she could not stifle the distant sound of the rumble of heavy machinery beginning their work.
 
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CHINO NUNEZ - SHORT - STORY

8/7/2019

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​Chino Nunez is a college student roughly halfway to graduation. He aspires to be a novelist, but would like to get some worldly experience first, before he locks himself in.

SHORT-STORY

                  The old cantina we were in had the telltale signs of an interesting history, from the bullet holes behind the counter to the sawdust soaking up blood near the rear exit. This did not stop the usual clientele from going about their drinking, whoring and gambling. Some tables were hosting games like blackjack and 5-card Texas Hold’em. Others held games I couldn’t understand.They were likely from east of the Mississippi. 
 
                  My musings were cut short as my companion-a Cheyenne/Crow half breed named Monaco-laid a shot of whisky in front of me. 
 
“Drink up, it’s your turn next,” he said, prompting me to down the shot. 
 
“Agh, burns like hell. What’s in this?” I asked, scrunching my face.
 
“I do not know. Let us hope there are no snakeheads or horse droppings in it. Get ready,” he said.
 
Sure enough, the knife was passed my way. The other occupant of our table had just went seven rounds before stabbing himself. 
“To clarify, I have to go seven or more times around before I win the pot. Is that right?” I asked.
 
“That’s right. If you win, you get the 20. If you lose, I get it,” said the man.
 
“Alright, let’s do this,” I said, focusing on my open hand as it laid face down on the table. I picked up my old Bowie knife and started to stab the spaces between my fingers, starting with the space below my thumb before going to the space between my thumb and index, going back to the space behind my thumb and proceeding to the space between the index and the middle finger, repeating this process until I reached my pinky, restarting the process.
 
I did this six more times, almost stabbing myself twice before I reached my eighth round. By this time, the methodical sound of the knife sinking into the table had drawn a small crowd. “Eight!” I announced, sinking the knife into the table deep enough for it to stand on its own, the reflection of the afternoon sun causing it to glint a deep yellow. The man across from me let out a sigh before pushing the money to me. I grabbed it and offered my hand for a handshake. “Thank you, sir. I realized I never got your name,” I said.
 
“I’m Victor. Victor Bell. What’s yours, if you don’t mind me asking?” he said.
 
“The name’s Finnegan. Finnegan Wade,” I replied.
 
“Well, Finnegan, what would you say to another round?”
 
“I’m good. I needed this money to eat tonight before my friend and I head out tomorrow. We’re headed down to Texas for the winter to see my ma, maybe find some work to help her out down there.”
 
“We wouldn’t be playing for money this time. Well, you wouldn’t. I ‘acquired’ these from a man over in Nevada,” he said, revealing a deck of risqué cards. “If you win, you get this deck. If I win, I get the 20 back. What do you say?”
 
“Finn, we need the money.We haven’t eaten well in days. Say no,” whispered Monaco.
 
“Yeah, but we can sell those cards for a dollar each. How many dirty cards have you seen in your days? The cowboys we run across, especially the ones in their prime would be easy prey when selling these,” I said, a glint of greed in my eye. “Besides, the one with the velvet bodysuit that looks kinda mean I’ll keep. So we’re not in this entirely for the money.”
 
“Whatever. Just don’t come complaining to me when your stomach feels like it’s eating itself,” said Monaco.
 
I looked at Victor, “I’m game,” I said.“So,what’s the catch?”
 
Victor smirked at me before saying, “We do it with three shots in us, one eye blindfolded and we go past ten. If neither of us cannot do it, the money is split.”
 
I was shocked. He expects me to do all that? I wanted to quit, but my honor, pride and greed forbade me from backing down. “Alright, let’s go,” I said.
 
He started, reaching 10 and the middle/ring gap before stabbing his own hand. By this time, the crowd was bigger, as many had never seen such a high stakes game before. I swallowed the dryness in my mouth as he passed my knife back to me. 
 
“Pass me three shot glasses and your armband, Monaco,” I said, nervousness leaking into my voice.
 
“It’s a bad idea,Finn. We can still walk away better off than when we came,” he said, handing me the glasses and his armband anyway. 
 
“No, we can’t. I can’t,” I said, breathing deeply. “Not anymore.”
 
I downed the shots, tied the bandana and began the game. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky, back. Thumb, index, middle ring, pinky, back. I repeated this several times, getting faster each time but still taking minutes to reach each finger. Any noise that had been prevalent had been drowned out, the loud thunksof the knife ringing like church bells in my head. The only things currently in existence were me, my knife,and the table.
 
Before long, the ninth round had come and passed, leaving me on equal footing with Victor. I could finally see it, the light at the end. The knife plunged into the table between the index and middle finger, proceeding to the space that would make or break me. The knife sailed down, and I braced for the pain. None came. Instead, a thunk was heard. As I brought the knife back to continue, I felt a pain in my thumb and my stomach dropping. The crowd let out a collective gasp, and I knew I had failed. I turned to apologize to Monaco when I heard Victor swear and say “Well friend, the deck is yours. Hope you enjoy it more than I did.” 
 
I couldn’t believe it. I had won? What Monaco said next nailed the point home, “Won by just a knuckle. You really are something else, Finnegan Wade.”

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