°

Roused by the pleading and the distinct sound of a man’s bawling, Fritz came to his senses. He had been hugging his legs in a fetal position on a checkered linoleum floor with small crystals embedded in it that briefly caught his curiosity, and reflected on the glass that was surrounding Fritz in his odd spot that he was still trying to understand. Suddenly, a light switched on, along with the loud sound of heavy electricity, and he could see that he was in the center of Ethel’s Mirror Maze. Not too far from his squatting form, Fritz gazed upon a discarded leather jacket sprawled out on the left side of the room.  At first the jacket had resembled a very scared black cat that lay paralyzed beneath a tall mirror.  The tall mirror was actually a succession of many mirrors, and escaped around a narrow hallway that exited his room. The hallway was also sheathed with mirrors, and it radiated a foreboding evil from it’s entrance that reflected back to Fritz, and sent a chill down his already chilled spine. To the right of him, Fritz could see a network of mirrors that seemed to go infinitely into darkness. The first layer of mirrors appeared to be clear, and allowed the viewer to see different sections of the maze that weren’t visible in any of the jerkier, funhouse mirrors that either stretched one’s height ridiculously tall, or squished one into a bloated midget. As Fritz peered into the one glass segment that allowed him to investigate beyond his limited vicinity, he realized that he could see, albeit in a rather fractured way, a veiled figure who appeared to be struggling beyond the many seeing glass plates in the dark. To Fritz he appeared like a beetle caught in amber; hopelessly lost to a undesired fate. Helplessly, Fritz watched as the tormented figure collapsed to his knees, and then toppled over on his face. This was all the nightmare Fritz needed to see to be petrified with an expectation of heart-pounding doom. Throwing himself to his feet, Fritz flew like lightening through the hallway lined with mirrors that led out of these small confines.  The mirrors repeated themselves over and over again as he ran.  When the hall finally changed, it forked into a multitude of options.  Fritz chose to turn right, and noticed in his flight that sandwiched between the rows of mirrors were planks of wood that had holes burrowed into them. Each hole appeared to be the exact size, and at the right level of a human eyeball. As Fritz came up again at a point where he had to make a decision in his path, he heard cackling laughter, and the gurgle of a throat that sounded as if it were overflowing with vital fluids.  Fritz chose the left direction, and hurried towards what appeared to be a definite outlet.  Slamming his face into a deceptive mirror, he cursed to himself, and spat blood at the glass wall.  Whoever was out there would get him soon, and here he was making the world’s dumbest mistakes. He hastened back from where he came, and took the right path instead, intent on at least solving the brief puzzle that he was now presented with. Thinking back to his past couple times frequenting this attraction in the past, Fritz chastised himself for never trying to get further in the maze then he did.  He would only drift here, and there, and then when his mind started to crawl back towards the bottle hid in his hotel, he’d give up, and walk home without any sense of revelation.  Fritz clawed at the glass walls, and bucked against them, but they were held firmly in place.  He rounded another corner in a huff, and glimpsed a slot in the wall that slid off into blackness.  Sucking in his gut, he slipped into the small fissure, and found himself in the shadowy backroom of the Mirror Maze.  Relieved to be somewhere different where he face wasn’t scowling back at him in desperation, but still anxious at every odd shape in the darkness, Fritz kept his back to the wall as he scanned the room as best he could for an exit that would lead him outside.  Someone’s breathing was quite audible now and almost seemed echoed similarly like the mirrors reflected his image.  The breathing sound increased his anxiety, as it seemed to resonate through the entire building.  As Fritz tip-toed towards what looked like a steel door in the unlit gloom, he pushed against it, and as the door cracked open, Fritz stared down at a woman bent, and writhing over a man who’s bare toes were pointed up at Fritz. She gaped up at him with eyes as black as midnight, and a face completely drenched in gore. She was chewing on something rubbery, and the man on the floor was still fluttering in a pool of his blood.  His legs and arms continued to flutter like a dying butterfly as the life left his mauled body.  His stomach was scissored open, and his intestines were exposed to the open air. Fritz sprung from his shock, and slammed the door behind him just as the deadly woman dragged herself to her feet.  The whole time her eyes were continuously locked with Fritz, and held his gaze.  Her face tightened into an ugly snarl that spoke the promise of his death.  Fritz finally shut out the face with the steel door of the cooler that the woman had been crouched in.  He attempted to lock the door, as he had backed up from in horror, but found no latch to the door. Changing tactics, Fritz desperately felt all along the walls for a light switch. A low growling sound could be heard from the room where he had witnessed the murder of the man that he imagined owned the motorcycle jacket. At long last, Fritz felt a draft of cold air on one of his hands that was probing the dark for an on/off button. He was able to pop his head through the opening, which might have at one time been a window to the outside. Fritz heard the steel door behind him swing open as he recklessly raked half of his body over the broken shards that lay scattered on the ledge of this opening. He tumbled outside on some wet sod, and immediately scrambled towards the nearest hill, and let his body roll and roll, with his hands catching clumps of dirt along the way, until he had put a vast distance between himself, and that ill-fated Mirror Maze.

Fritz laid still for quite awhile, staring up at the legion of stars in the night sky. When he finally felt like he was safe in the silent darkness of the night, he took a roundabout way to exit the fairgrounds.  He had discovered this route one night, in search of a place to throw up his lunch, from a day drunk, out of sight of busy patrons. He was drifting towards the spicate fence that led out of the park just as a grubby hand shot out of the dark, and pressed his palm into it's vise-like grip.  Fritz gasped, and then recognized the fortune teller, an ancient gypsy with a crinkled complexion. The old man was fondling Fritz's silver wristwatch, that flickered like a diamond in the moonlight.

“Where you get such a fancy clock, fella? I never seen anything this fancy in all my years. No never seen nothing this fancy...No, nothing ever like this...”

Fritz gazed at the man in vague amusement. It was really only a knock-off of a much more luxurious timepiece, but he thought that if he gave the fortune teller his shiny watch that maybe he could get out of this dangerous atmosphere that he still remained on the periphery of.  He had no way of knowing how far off that psycho bitch was.

“You want it, it’s yours, I don’t really use the fucking thing anyway,” Fritz said as he let the watch spill into the gypsy’s hand of leather.  Fritz shivered from the cold, and looked off into the distance, distracted by his fate.

“No, no, you cannot go until you let me read you your scalp! I must repay you for this most generous act of kindness!”

The short, old man drew Fritz to the ground with his hand, and then darted behind him playfully. He started muttering an odd limerick of some kind as the reluctant Fritz waited to feel the aged fingers of the old coot on his thinning patch of hair.  Fritz bowed to get it over with, sighing because of this inconvenience.  Instead the gypsy grabbed him by the wrist and swiftly cinched both hands behind his back just as the blood-thirsty woman from the Mirror Maze burst out of the bramble in a mad rage.  As her eyes flashed, she advanced upon Fritz in his state of helpless captivity.  The old man laughed out loud, and Fritz knew that this was...

...THE END

©

2017

Bunny Villaire 

It’s interesting how time slows when you pay attention to it. A hum of applause radiates in the background as I make my way to the stage. Glancing down at my Ralph Lauren silk dress, a deep royal blue to match the hue of my eyes, I count the seconds as I walk up the stairs. One, two, three, four. I look up and stare into the eyes of the presenter, who greets me with one of the most genuine smiles I’ve ever been blessed to see and a cheerful, “Congratulations! You deserve this award more than anyone I know.” She doesn’t know what I’m about to do. I treasure the look on her face, so contagious you can’t help but feel a warmth inside your soul. It’s probably the last time I will see that genuine smile again.

My assistant, God bless her, catches me at the stage’s curtain before I make my way to the podium, and hands me what I need. She has no idea how thankful I am to have her at that very moment. She will be my crutch. I almost feel sorry for what I’m about to put her through. God knows she is going to be working even more hours than she already puts in for me.

I take the package and make my way to the stage. Rachel looks at my side and her glance questions the light blue box, but she ignores her suspicions and gives me a reassuring smile before letting me pass with the award.

I don’t realize how much my hand trembles until I try to place the award on the podium. It takes two hands working together to accomplish the task. I fold apart my neatly prepared speech that I wrote a month ago, long before everything happened, and begin.

“Thank you, Rachel, and everyone here tonight who thought I was deserving of such a prestigious, honorable award.” Applause ensues. If only they knew.

“I can’t begin to tell you how humbled I am standing at this podium today. I was told the reason I am given the award this evening is because of how courageous and brave I have been throughout my work trying to bring awareness to the poverty in Haiti.”

For the first time since beginning my speech, I look up. I don’t see much as the spotlights are trained on my every moment; however, something, or someone, catches my eye. I see him. Not HIM, mind you, but his attorney. He is watching my every move, and I know that this speech I so carefully constructed a month ago is about to be torn to shreds by him in court next week.

“You know, I used to think the bravest thing I ever did was get on a plane to Haiti for the first time by myself. Everyone asked me, ‘Are you sure you want to go there alone?’ ‘Do you know how bad it is there?’ I did realize the potential dangers, but I was also asked those questions when I traveled to Los Angeles. I figured that many times, people are usually afraid of what they do not know; what they do not understand.”

I take a deep breath and hold up the light blue package. “Some of you may have noticed that I brought this little package onstage with me. I must thank Leslie, my dear assistant and friend, for taking this last-minute request from me. Unfortunately, she will probably regret that after this evening is through. I came here tonight thinking this was a night I could escape, but if I have learned anything, it is that you don’t escape from domestic violence gracefully. You never can. If it was that easy, more wives, girlfriends, daughters, and mothers would leave. I thought this evening would be focused on this award, not the restraining order. But alas, the questions I received before taking this stand were regarding my face, my mannerisms, and the impending trial. You see, there is a man standing in this room who is watching this speech. He has seen me answer all the questions I received from the reporters while on the red carpet. He will take every answer I have given and will break them apart to be used against me in court next week. Every question asked of me will be mentioned in court. I know this because this is what I have learned throughout the course of this ordeal. So, if everything I am going to say is going to be torn apart anyways, I might as well say exactly what I want to say.”

I open the tab of the blue package and take a white, wet cloth. “For those of you who do not know, I began getting ready for this ceremony at 10:00 a.m. this morning. You may be thinking, ‘But the event didn’t begin until 8:00 p.m.’ I am fully aware of this; however, there were reasons. As you know from the police report that was released earlier this week, I sustained significant injuries from my soon-to-be ex-husband and was photographed to show the proof of the bruising. I thought to myself, ‘There, I did it. I showed the world what happened to me. Now, I can cover it up and enjoy an evening that is not about my relationship and abuse.’ Unfortunately, as many of you also know because I was asked these questions this evening, tonight was no longer about bringing attention to a cause near and dear to my heart. It was about my face, about my restraining order, and about my integrity and honesty. My integrity has never been in question to my face before; however, it is ironic that the physical abuse to my face is what caused my integrity to become in question. So, since my face is such a hot topic of discussion and cause for questioning my integrity, I would like to apologize to Angelica Simpson. For those of you who do not know her, she is my makeup artist, who came to my house at 10:00 a.m. and worked on my makeup for four hours figuring out a way to cover the hideous bruises the world has already seen because, apparently, since the world can no longer see them this evening, that means this must be a false claim I am making.”

I take the first cloth and wipe it across my brow. I rub it in full, wide circles, folding it to find a clean side and finish taking off the makeup to my brow. I hold it up to the audience and say, “Angelica, I thank you for the time and effort you put into to try and make me feel pretty again, to help try to make this evening more about my achievements than about my face. Unfortunately, we failed on that front.”

I take a second cloth. “The second person I would like to thank is Leslie. I know I thanked you before, but I want to thank you again for not blinking an eye when I told you to run to the pharmacy across the street and buy these cloths. You did it, knowing what I would do with them, and knowing how it would affect your job, and you still did it because you knew it was important to me. I cannot thank you enough for how much you have been my rock through this journey.” I rub the cloth across my right eye and right cheek. One swipe, fold, then swipe again. I know when the audience can begin to see the bruising on my right cheek because the murmuring and slow gasps start to seep through the white noise.

I take a third cloth. “The third and last person I would like to thank is my mother. Gwen, my dear mother, thank you for telling me I was making a mistake for coming forward. Thank you for telling me that the world would never believe me. Thank you for telling me I was destroying my career. Thank you for telling me that I would never work in this town again. Thank you for telling me I deserved the fallout from coming forward because it would mean you would not be able to have the monthly allowance I’ve given you. Thank you for telling me this was my fault, and that if I had just listened to him, this wouldn’t have happened.” With that, I run the cloth over one last time over my left eye. “I’ll need two cloths on this side since Lance’s fist made contact with both my eye and my cheek, so Angelica had to add more concealer to this side. Excuse me for a moment while I get another cloth.”

The murmurs continue as I wipe the cloth across my cheek. A huge gasp comes from someone in the front row, and many people begin talking as my bruises become more noticeable. I figure once the voices become louder that another cloth is not needed.

“I am receiving an award for bravery this evening. What better way to show bravery than to stand in front of my peers, my critics, my rivals and confidants, and the attorney for my soon-to-be-ex-husband, than to take away the concealer, the makeup, and actually accept this award as I am: a battered wife who is trying to seek justice in an unforgiving, judgmental society. Thank you.”

For the first time since I began wiping my makeup off, silence combs through the audience. I bow my head briefly in another silent node of thanks, and I hear applause to my left. The presenter is applauding me, with tears in her eyes and that genuine smile brighter than ever.

Running through the forest her legs began to give out, Selene however had to continue. The sounds of horse hooves hitting the ground filled her ears along with the sound of her own heartbeat. It was as if they were one and the same, trying to catch something that had slipped through their fingers. For her it was freedom, and for the beasts coming for her it was the child growing within her. Coming to a brook she ran through hoping to not only get rid of her scent but to cross and find a place to hide. Tears began to fall down her face as she ran frantically hearing the horses coming to the water the shouts of men filling her ears. In the distance, she saw a cave but knew if she were to run into it they would search there for her first, instead she ran past it into a dense forest. The forest gave her an advantage as the night covered her, her dark skin almost undetectable through the tall trees and vines hanging from them. As she heard them coming closer she sank back into the trees finding one with a small hollow opening. Her fear had turned into adrenaline and she climbed into the tree, hoping there was no animals in here waiting to capture her. The dank smell of moss filled her nostrils and she fought the urge to gag as it wrapped itself around her shoulders. Holding her hand across her mouth she heard the horses and men approach. “She went that way I’m certain of it.” Spoke one of the guards, anger laced his voice. She knew it was due to the way she’d tricked him into freeing her. She flinched as one of the horses walked right up to where she crouched, her heartbeat louder than anything she’d ever heard. As they continued past her she let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. When she attempted to step out of the tree however the moss that had caught on to her held tight. Pushing against it, the moss behaved like a Boa Constrictor tightening itself against her skin making her feel as if she would die. Finally, she heard a crack and believing it to be her ribs she let out a low shriek afraid the guards would return if she were too loud. When she wriggled slowly however she felt no pain as she expected and she continued to hear cracking, not realizing it was the tree. The tree began to splinter, some of the wood prodding her in the side. To anyone looking at the scene it appeared as if the tree were attempting to invert itself and as it continued to change Selene’s screams began to increase. At this moment, she no longer cared if the guards came back she would gladly go with them if it meant she wouldn’t die this odd death. The sound of the tree turned into a sickening groan and it sounded as if it were too crying out in pain and it continued its transition swallowing her whole. Selene continued to scream hoping someone would come and free her from the clutches of the moss and branches that held her down. After what seemed like hours however it became apparent to her no one would be coming and she became quiet allowing the tree to do with her as it pleased. It cocooned her and she suddenly felt warmth fill her body. It gently began to sway her and she felt herself being lolled to sleep. Having given up fighting she gently heard what sounded like the sea in the distance and even only vaguely knowing the land she knew there was no water near the kingdom she had been brought too. The tree seemed to sway quicker and it began to fill with a liquid that Selene quickly recognized as ocean water. Her fear came back tenfold as she began to realize she would die. In the back part of her brain though she laughed, death by drowning… inside of a tree. When the water reached her neck, she took one more big gulp of the musty air before letting the water flow over her face and closing her eyes she let the water take her. Seconds passed… minutes…hours? Yet she felt no constricting if anything Selene breathed more easily than she had her entire life. Opening her eyes, she saw that the tree had disappeared and in its place, was a vast ocean, her body floated gracefully underneath the surface. The sun rays playing across her face and the small fish swimming in schools past her only turning to see her for a moment before continuing. In seconds, she felt her body being pulled and not knowing whether to fight or to let it take her. Thinking through the possibilities she concluded that nothing could be worse than the predicament she already found herself in and allowed it to take her away. As she was pulled she realized that she was going toward the surface and she felt inexplicable joy take over her body. When she breached the surface, she realized she was tangled within a net along with fish and as they wriggled around fighting to reenter the water she simply lay there not knowing what to do. The net landed with a loud “plop”, and her body hit the wood of an unknown surface roughly. Opening her eyes, she expected to see clear blue skies, however she was greeted with the faces of men, men she did not recognize. The fear she felt was mirrored in their eyes and no one spoke a word. They continued to speak in an unknown language and one man prodded her with a stick causing her to glare at him. He jumped back in fear and threw the stick to the ground. As the continued to mumble things to each other and stare at her a man appeared and pushed everyone to the side. The way he looked down at her in disgust scared her and he barked words at the men who quickly scrambled to various places. The only two who remained were the man and another one appeared who gave her a soft look before gently picking her up and cradling her in his arms. Selene felt her body jump as he held her closer to him and walked to a door that was locked. The man who clearly disliked her opened the door and pointed to a mat on the ground and the man laid her down on the mat before leaving. As the door closed she could hear them speaking to each other but what was being said remained a mystery. Selene’s fear once again reappeared and in that moment, she realized she was tired of being scared. Controlling her emotions, she pulled her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes awaiting whatever fate was before her. The door opened revealing a boy no older than twelve dressed in pants and a cotton shirt ripped in the sleeves. His feet were covered in shoes twice his size and his blonde hair was disheveled. He brought a bowl filled with what appeared to be broth, and a small brass cup of water. She smiled at the young boy and he kept his eyes down before giving her a small smile in return. As she ate the boy went around the room tidying up the best he knew how. The result was approximately what you’d expect from a toddler yet his effort was sweet in her eyes and she gestured for him to come and sit with her. He shook his head before leaving the room and Selene looked away sadly. Eating the rest of the warm broth she neatly put the bowl and cup by the door before lying down on the small mattress and covering herself with the thin sheet she’d been provided. Allowing sleep to consume her she hoped the following day would bring about clarity, yet the nagging feeling told her it would be no different. The sun of the new day shone brightly against Selene’s face and for a moment she didn’t feel so bad, yet the moment was over soon after it had started as the man who’d looked down on her appeared in the doorway. Anger brewing in his eyes, and he walked towards her grabbing her roughly by the arm. She felt tears fill her eyes as he squeezed tightly pulling her to her feet. “He pulled her behind him into what appeared to be a sitting room, she’ only been into one once before in her life as Dagrin forbade her to enter his at any time. He pushed her down into a chair and watched her through slits in his eyes. Malan had never been privy to folk lore, yet when the beautiful woman washed up in his nets he recalled the story of the Drius his mother would tell him as a boy. There was no other explanation as no human being would be able to survive being submerged in the water as she was. “Who are you and why have you come?” he spoke his voice laced with skepticism. She simply stared at him not speaking to him. Selene considered his face and began to speak frantically, attempting to tell him everything that had happened yet he shook his head. Malan did not understand what the woman was saying. They’d reached a dead end, but only for a moment as Malan rose and yelled out onto the deck. Moments passed before a man waddled into the room, he was stout and glasses perched on his nose threatening to fall off at any moment. Bowing slightly Malan instructed the man to translate what the woman was saying as he was gifted with the power of understanding. The man merely nodded before poking Selene hard in the side. “Why would you..?” The man’s eyes opened wide before making eye contact with his master and then looking back at Selene. He spoke to Selene, “How… How are you possible, the Liyats have been extinct for thousands of years? There are none of you left.” Selene stared at him incredulously before looking between him and the man, “That is impossible our people are alive and thriving I left my home not more than a fortnight ago.” The man shook his head incredulously before looking over at Master Malan who looked expectantly at him. “My lord, I’m not quite sure what is going on here. She claims to be of the Liyat people yet that is simply impossible.” Malan racked his brain for any mention of the Liyats in his education but could not recall any time he’d heard the name. “Who are they Uman? Why am I just now hearing of these people?” Uman looked at Master Malan in fear before looking down at his feet. “My lord I must not speak of it, it is forbidden amongst our people.” Malan’s questioning look soon turned into anger at being told no, “I wish to know everything of these people and you Uman, will tell me. Are we clear?” Uman nodded his head in the affirmative before stepping back. He gave a leveled gaze to Selene who looked skeptically between the two men, Malan grabbed her by the arm yet again before dragging her back to the room she’d been kept and locking the door behind him. Although she knew to expect the boy before sundown she felt her heart drop at the finality of the door being closed. Once again she found herself locked away and this time her child would be in the middle of it all.

I put my book down on the tray table and looked out the window. It was no use. I had read the same page at least three times and still had no idea what it said. The plane would be landing in Atlanta soon anyway. Why not go ahead and give into the temptation to obsess?

I’m an idiot. All of Magnolia Flats will be gossipping about this before dinner. Claudette is going to be so pissed. I should have been the one to tell her. I’m the worst friend ever.

Forty-five minutes later the plane had circled the airport twice before getting clearance to land, my connecting flight was late, and I was still beating myself up.

There were only a few things that would make me feel better about my current predicament: shopping, chocolate, calling Fisher to clear up any misunderstandings, and calling Claudette to come clean.

Shopping it is.

Hartsfield-Jackson is not a small airport by any stretch of the imagination, but it is still an airport. That means the shops are filled with overpriced items nobody needs anyway. I wandered through several of them before giving up and buying expensive chocolate and coffee at one of the cafes.

My flight wasn’t any closer to boarding than when I started. The weather had turned ugly fast, and I watched the nearest status screen as my flight, along with so many others, go from “late” to “delayed”.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone. Not quite having the courage to face the situation head on just yet, I called Fiona.

“Hey, friend!” Fi’s chipper voice exclaimed upon answering. “Are you home already?”

“No, the weather in Atlanta has turned to crap and my flight is delayed. I’m passing the time and thought I’d see how bad the aftermath is.”

“The staff did a pretty good job without me last night. Which is good, since that’s what I pay them for,” Fi responded. Fi owned and ran a rather successful bar and grill in our hometown. It was adorable and cozy, and it probably didn’t hurt that it was one of the only places in town open past nine o’clock. Magnolia Flats was that kind of town. Actually, all of Riverside County was like that.

“Have you heard any crazy rumors?” I tentatively asked my friend. That was the best part of about Fi owning the local watering hole - she was privy to every rumor or piece of news that blew through that town as soon as the first blabbermouth breathed the words.

“Not since I saw you last night,” she half laughed. A quick pause told me she was already catching on. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar. Spill.”

I closed my eyes tight as if to hide from what I was about to say. “I... might have...sort of…”

“Oh, for the love, spit it out.”

“I kissed Fisher.”

The sharp intake of breath was followed by a squealing giggle. “Seriously? Fisher? The Fisher? As in Caspian Fisher Beauregard?”

“That’s the one. Our best friend’s older brother. On the night of her engagement party,” I was somewhat less enthusiastic.

“Well, yeah, there’s that. Have you told her?”

“No.”

“Coward.” The amusement in Fi’s voice brought me out of my self-berating state and straight into one of ire.

“What am I supposed to say? Hey, congratulations, again, on getting engaged! Thanks for making me a bridesmaid! Oh, by the way, I made out with your brother last night, and there is a solid chance that the whole town will be talking about us instead of your wedding. So even though you have been waiting for this since we were barely old enough to put your mom’s lace table runner on our heads like a veil, you’re officially yesterday’s news.” I huffed a breath. “That would go over well.”

“It’s not like you did it to purposely undermine her.”

“It doesn’t matter, if it gets around town, all anybody will be talking about is how her brother and one of her best friends hooked up the night of her party. That’s not the kind of attention she wants.”

“Well, nobody is talking about it. So either nobody knows and Fisher’s not talking, or nobody cares.”

“We know the latter isn’t true. On a slow news day, you run the risk of someone making something up just to have something to say.”

Fi laughed. “True. So tell me what happened.”

I took a deep breath and forced it out. “Well, since my parents left the party early and I didn’t have a car in town, Fisher offered to give me a ride home. So when we all finally dispersed, he took me back to my grandmother’s house.”

“You mean your house.”

“Yeah.” The house had technically been mine for about six months now, ever since Nana’s will was settled. The house was at the edge of town, and she had no doubt been hoping her prodigal granddaughter would finally move back home and “settle down” like she always thought I should. I couldn’t just sell it, so for now, it was where I stayed whenever I blew through town. “Anyway, he walked me to the door, and while I was unlocking it he put a hand on the door frame and got a massive splinter.

“I invited him in so I could help him with it and then give him a bandage. I found a first aid kid and was helping cover the cut when I looked up at him and he just kissed me.”

“Wait, you said you kissed him.”

“He started it, but...I definitely kissed him back,” I admitted.

“Then what?” she asked with far too much interest.

“I’m not even sure exactly. There was a lot more kissing, and somehow I ended up sitting on the countertop next to my grandmother’s antique teapot.” I shook my head as if it would somehow erase the awkwardness of the memory. “His phone went off and it just...broke the spell, thankfully. He answered it and backed away from me. After that, he waved and let himself out while he was still on the phone. I’m pretty sure it was Gunther saying he needed a place to sleep because his wife kicked him out again.”

“It probably was. I did hear a little something about that today. So he just walked out with not another word?”

“Yep. And then my dad picked me up before the crack of dawn this morning to drive me to all the way to Memphis in time for my flight home. I didn’t really sleep so I’m surviving on caffeine and shame. What was I thinking?”

“That Fisher is super hot and you’re a single woman? Come on, if this had happened on any other night you might be a little reluctant to face Claudette, but you wouldn’t really be ashamed of doing it. Right?”

“I don’t know,” my hand found its way to my face and my fingers massaged my temples. “It would still be awkward and she might still be mad, but she wouldn’t flip her lid like I know she’s going to about it happening right now. Either way, I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t get caught up in Hurricane Fisher.”

“You didn’t just promise yourself. You and I both promised Claudette when we were fourteen. Right after Victoria got spurned by him and dropped Claudette as a friend. But that was a million years ago. I really don’t think she’s going to hold it against you.”

“Fi, this is Claudette we’re talking about.”

“Okay, before we go any further, I really need to know one thing,” Fi said sounding serious. “Was he a good kisser?”

“Fi!”

“What? I’ve always wondered.”

“Goodbye, Fi.”

“Spoilsport. Text me when you land in New York.”

I put down the phone and stared at it for a minute. Or an hour. I should tell Claudette. Shouldn’t I? If Fisher wasn’t talking, all I needed to do was keep my mouth shut and nobody would know. And then telling Claudette would be pointless. Right? There was no need to cause strife. Of course, keeping a secret in Magnolia Flats was a little like trying to nail Jello to a tree, pointless and impossible.

And why wasn’t Fisher telling anyone? Was he embarrassed too? Surely not. Fisher has grown up a lot since we were teenagers, sure, but once a player always a player. He’s the king of kiss and tell. So why is mum the word with me? And why does that make me feel weird? I should be grateful.

Ugh. Fisher. Why am I even stressing out over this? He lives in Magnolia Flats, I live in Brooklyn. It’s a long way to Mississippi from New York. This was just a mistake and it didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t like I’d had a secret crush on him since I was fifteen or anything.

The phone vibrated on the table. Claudette’s name lit up on the screen. With a deep breath and a swipe of the green icon, I braced myself. “Hey, Claud.”

“Olivia Cecily Montgomery!”

I winced. Fi wouldn’t have betrayed me by telling Claudette so quickly. Fisher blabbed after all.

“What?” Playing dumb seemed like the best of all possible options at the moment.

“You left town without saying goodbye to me!”

Oh is that all? My shoulders slumped in relief. “I told you last night before you left the party that I had to leave town early this morning.”

“Last night was such a whirlwind, I can hardly remember most of it.” Background noise told me Claudette was also on the way home. She and Trevor were driving all the way back to Nashville because she had a shift at the hospital tomorrow. “Oh, by the way, my brother was looking for you.”

“Why?” I stiffened and was glad she couldn’t see me.

“Beats me. Fi came over just before we left to say bye one last time. When she told him that you’d already left he was almost irritated. Did y’all get into it last night or something?”

“Something like that. He gave me a ride home after the party.”

“Oh. Maybe you left something in his car. You might want to touch base with him and find out. I gave him your number in case it was something important.”

My eyes rounded, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Good.” I glanced at the flight status board and started moving toward the gate.

“Listen, I’m probably going to email you tonight or tomorrow so we can start figuring out when we can get together again to do fun stuff like shopping for your bridesmaid dresses, wedding showers, and bachelorette party details.”

“Isn’t Fi supposed to plan those last two? You asked her to be maid of honor last night,” I reminded her, not at all surprised that Claudette was skirting tradition. Her mother certainly wouldn’t allow her to do so regarding the ceremony or reception, so this was her only chance.

“Yes, but she’s running her own business. She has a lot on her plate. It’ll be easier if she has a little help.” Which was Claudette code for I’ve been planning this since I was five. Don’t ruin this for me.

I smiled. Claud would never change. “I’ll be on the lookout for the email. I have to go, but y’all have a safe trip.”

“You too! Thanks for making the trip for me.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” I should have skipped the after party, though.

Hanging up, I saw I actually had a missed call and a new voicemail. My plane was boarding, so I ignored it for a moment while I dug out my ticket from my oversized travel purse. When I was safely seated on the plane, and the other passengers were still getting settled, I turned my attention to the message.

“Livi, it’s Fisher.” There was a pause. Is that it? “I didn’t realize you were leaving quite so early this morning.” Another pause. “Call me when you get this.”

Well, that was vague. Maybe I really did leave something in his car. Or what if...no. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t have. We don’t even live on the same side of the Mason-Dixon anymore.

“Ma’am?” A flight attendant got my attention. “Please switch your device to airplane mode.”

“Of course,” I smiled at him.

I’d be in New York in a couple of hours. The whole situation could wait at least that long…

The air is still, the forest quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your ears ring, makes every hair on your body stand on end. The slightest of sounds makes my ears feel hot, and effectively "perk up" -- a reminder of our more primal origins. My breath is ragged, difficult... and visible. <em>This isn't right, this isn't right, this isn't right</em>, is all I&nbsp;can think. Otherwise, for once in my chaotic life, my mind is blank. Those three words keep echoing, bouncing around, mocking my plight with their repetitiveness.

"Okay... relax," I admonish myself, trying to see through the darkness that I can feel pressing up against my eyeballs. The sensory deprivation is overwhelming. My body is attempting to go into sensory overdrive to compensate, but it's having the opposite of the intended effect, making more skittish than focused.

A twig snaps over my left shoulder, and I whirl around recklessly, bringing my bow to the ready. There's nothing there.

At least nothing that I can see.

Keeping my arrow nocked, I turn around more slowly this time, wishing with all my heart the moon would miraculously show, and aid my vision.

Nothing.

Just me and my lonely self, making a lonely trek through a lonely forest. I finally allow myself to relax some, bringing my bow down to my side, but not daring to sling it over my back, or quiver my arrow.

The night remains unusually cold as I continue my journey, along the path, but not on it -- I need to be as difficult to track as possible. I make sure to double back every now and then, and to stray as far as a mile or so away from the main path.

Even whilst taking these precautions, being as careful and as alert as I need to be, I can't help but get lost in thought. I find myself thinking about the most arbitrary of things: how many steps I may have taken by now, how many weeks must have passed since I left home, how many years may still pass before I return... if there will be anything left to return to....

Suddenly I am confronted with a familiar smell, and a slight haze. I look up to see a small camp ahead, occupied by at most four people. I rush to the nearest tree and peer out from behind it, hoping that I haven't made enough noise to betray myself.

There is a particularly tall woman, dressed in blue and pale yellow robes, dirtied by what must be months, if not years, of traveling along paths, but not on them. She's looking at another woman -- this one petite, like me -- and laughing, her long, thick mane of green hair fluttering and shining in the firelight with every movement of her head. Even sitting and laughing, her grace and poise are evident. Her eyes, though, surrounded by beautiful markings, betray a deep sadness. The kind of sadness that becomes a part of you. Not in a consuming fashion, but in that it is so deeply engrained, it has been with you for so long, that it has become a constant partner -- a friend, even. It's absolutely breath-taking.

The petite woman is telling what seems to be a humorous anecdote, or perhaps a joke. Her own laughter is such that she can hardly get the words out, and tears are starting to break free from her eyes' waterlines. The tears glisten in the light of the fire, little diamonds on her knuckles and fingertips as she wipes them away.

They don't seem to be cooking, or even preparing to do so... and they seem oddly comfortable with being as exposed as they are and having a fire so openly burning. <em>Where are the other two people?</em> I ponder, turning so my back is against the large tree.

Thanks to the firelight, I can just make out the outline of a huge wayward pine. I decide to make camp there for the night. At least if I'm close to what seem to be friendly people, I may be within help's reach if I get into any trouble... or if trouble finds its way into my tree while I sleep. If I sleep....

Not five minutes into my finally lying down and staring at my roof of bark and branches, contemplating the difficult journey ahead, I am brought back from the abyss of my thoughts, and sitting bolt upright in my bed of leaves. I frantically reach for the knife at my hip, staring pointlessly into the absolute darkness. No more firelight.

"See? Did you hear that? Somebody is in there!" A male voice, with an accent that I've never heard.

"Oh, Rolf, it's probably just some poor animal you've scared half to death." Even not seeing her face, I can tell that's the tall woman I saw earlier. Her voice is as graceful and smooth as the way she carries herself -- no... just the way she <em>is</em>. Looking at her, it's clear there is no intention behind it, it's just her nature.

Despite my trying my best to quiet my breathing, I fail to hold in a startled gasp when there's a sudden sniff behind me. A different, gruff male voice says "It's no animal. I smell elf."

"Oh, thanks, Brophy. You'll just have to deal with it until we get to Silvermoon." A dry, sarcastic tone to this one. I can practically hear her crossed arms. There's a light slap against leather, and the sound clothe makes when it's whipped through the air.

"Shh!" The graceful one starts whispering, now. "Well whoever they are, they're probably sleeping! Let's leave them alone!"

The gruff voice comes back, closer and louder this time, "I don't trust elves...."

"You trust us, don't you?"

There is a long silence while Brophy considers. "I can't trust someone I don't see." It's like he's speaking directly to me.

I'm sweating, and my heart is racing. I don't know what to do. <em>Can I trust these people? I just wanted to be close to other people... I didn't want them to </em>find <em>me....

</em>"I know you hear us, elf," Brophy says in an almost sing-song tone. "I can hear your heart beating in your chest!"

Before I can process what's happening, I'm being picked up by my collar, like a lynx cub being picked up by its mother. I flail and yelp and reach again for my knife, regretting not having taken it out when I had the chance.

The huge beast turns me to face him, and I scream in horror, flailing more than ever. He is half again taller than the tallest man I have ever seen, and at least ten times as hairy -- no, furry. He has <em>actual fur</em>. That, and ears and a snout and hind legs like a wolf. <em>How is this possible?</em> His breath is hot and humid as he sniffs at my face, and I scrunch my nose and turn away in involuntary protest to the smell. "Hmph. You don't smell so pretty yourself, blood elf." And like that, he drops me. It feels like I've dropped from an upstairs window. I get up as quickly as I can and finally free my knife from its sheath, brandishing it wildly about.

"Come now, little one," says the voice with the strange accent. I back into the source's barrel of a chest as my eyes frantically dart around, looking for him. "We are not going to hurt you," he says in what I imagine is his sweetest voice. I snap around to face him, holding my knife more like a wand than a knife, pointing it toward his face.

"What are you?" I yell, taking in the mass of this... man? Demon? Where a normal male might have facial hair, this... person... has what appear to be tentacles -- no, tendrils. The hair on his head is... odd, and his forehead has a large, rough-looking protrusion that juts out from his hairline. His frame is hulking and imposing, and his legs are... <em>they're hooves?</em> I think incredulously. <em>What in Azeroth...?</em>

"Calm down, child," comes the graceful voice. I shift my posture to face it, lowering my knife, but keeping it out and poised to strike. "I am Eluna," she says, making sure to make eye contact with me. The effect is as desired -- calming and comforting. Now that we're closer, I can see that she is a full head taller than I am.

"Eluna." I'm almost whispering. She nods. I lower my knife a bit more, but jump when I remember there is a fourth person among them. "Hey!" I spot her rummaging through my pack and rush toward her, raising my knife.

"Relax, sunshine, I'm just making sure you don't have anything else that can hurt us." Her dry, sarcastic tone is apparently not reserved for those she's close with. She whips her wild, brown hair off of her face with a single flick of her head as she hoists my pack onto her shoulder and thrusts my bow and quiver into my chest. She uses another quick movement of her head to indicate that she wants me to follow her.

"Wh...? And I'm just supposed to go with you?" I ask, completely taken aback by the entire encounter. I turn to Eluna, slinging my bow and quiver over my back, but keeping my knife in hand.

"I suggest you follow Sita. She's not one to lead friends astray." She winks as she walks passed me to follow her small companion. The one called Rolf offers a small smile as he turns to follow his friends, and Brophy bumps my shoulder roughly, knocking me forward a bit, as he does the same.

I have half a mind to run, to get away from these strange people and continue along my way without my pack, but something tells me to stick with Eluna. I finally free myself from my state of shocked paralysis and trot up to Eluna's side. "What are you all doing out here?"

The one called Sita turns around and stops in her tracks, looking me dead in the eye with an intensity like no other and a crooked smile, like someone in on a mischievous plot. "Saving the world, sunshine."

If you've ever witnessed death, it means you've also witnessed life. 

It could be the first chirps of a small baby bird, only later to find out it had fallen from it's nest onto the quiet, cold ground below where it's heart no longer beat.

Or maybe it was your father's contagious laugh that later turned into a chronic cough. 

We've all seen the light in creatures before they have parted into the unknown darkness that is death.

 We all crave the simplicity of hearing their voice and seeing their face just one last time. 

As we begin the process of living without them, our mind drifts into a warmer past and reflects on the happiest of memories, longing to go back in time, if only to say goodbye.

Tears drip down our cheeks onto the flesh of the earth where our loved ones once roamed.  We claim that there must have been something we could've done. 

Death is inevitable, as it will eventually claim all our lives whether we'd like it to or not. It's not something to escape or run away from. It's something to accept.

 There is no doubt that we'd like to be in the same place with our loved ones forever. Unfortunately, death is almost never in our favor. It can come at anytime, in any place. 

But I will ask you this: What if there was something better, beyond this life? What if this world is just the first step? What if we are reconnected with our loved ones in the afterlife and there IS a forever with them?

Life may be a mystery, but don't forget that death is too.

Reginald Columbus smiled at the gloomy autumn mist, a forgotten friend reappearing in the cool weather.

There was always something to be hopeful for.

Reginald slowly made his way to work. A quick glance at the timepiece on his wrist confirmed his contentment. There was plenty of time.

Fall was his favourite time of the year. Red and orange decorated the pavement, confetti symbolising the end of summer. Light rain blanketed the streets, creating a comfortable presence.

Breathing in the brisk morning air, he let a smile escape. He was free.

There was so much opportunity in a city as big as Oklahoma. The future burned brighter.

His smile lit up the street ahead as he filled himself with optimism.

Closed eyes saw a future full of freedom, a motionless body stopped to feel the fast moving world.

Looking at his watch, the needle thin hands pointed accusingly.

He was late for work.

There was no time for dreams in a city as big as this.

Shifting gears, he started to jog to his workplace, three blocks away. He would be pressed for time.

His steps slowed as they sung a rhythm with his watch. Reginald glanced around indecisively. He was at a crossroads, two paths lay before him.

He could take a shortcut through the back alleys, but it was not a good place to be in Oklahoma City. However, the main streets would take a while to maneuver, and he needed the extra time that the back streets would give him. The watch ticked louder.

Decision made, he slipped sideways into the risky territory of vicious gang wars and unquestioned deaths. Here, power decided whose time was up.

Dark, damp walls closed him in, towering and ominous. Newspapers were scattered carelessly, remnants of a past long since discarded. He dodged stray puddles and cautiously peeked around the corner of Keith Drive.

Seemingly clear, he prepared himself to venture onwards. The gang turf appeared unmonitored.

Reginald slipped around the corner unhindered.

Until a hand grabbed his blue hoodie and roughly dragged him back.

With a shout of protest, Reggie found himself facing three predators. Eyes were as hard as flint and faces scarred grotesquely. Glares cut through his skin and turned his heart to shreds. There would be no mercy.

Sneering, the leader gripped his jersey tighter and spat menacingly, ‘What have we here? A little lamb, wandered into the lion's den.’

More like a wolf’s den, Reggie thought. A pack of wolves ready to tear him apart on a whim, just for the fun of it. A bored wolf was a dangerous one.

‘I feel like some roast lamb tonight. How about you boys?’

Snarls and cutting grins of agreement. Rough hands grabbed his wrist, devouring the sight of the expensive watch.

No! They couldn’t take his watch. He needed it. Needed the time.

They couldn’t take his time.

Fear rose up in Reginald, freezing his blood and quickening his heart. Like ice around his limbs and lungs, fear left him helpless and numb.

He prayed the wolves couldn’t hear his heartbeat. As loud as his watch, they tolled in synchrony, counting down the seconds.

Reggie’s hoodie still held tight, a deer caught in a trap. His terrified face reflected back at him in the gleaming metal that appeared.

‘I think I’ll play the role of butcher today.’

The pack leader delicately placed the knife in between his teeth and blew on his knuckles.

Those same knuckles came flying at his face a few seconds later, and contacted. Hard. Head ringing like a bell, the world spun around him. He spat out red liquid.

Trying to regain his balance and see clearly, Reggie held himself against the wall. His vision cleared long enough to see a flash of silver. A moment later his face burned. Blood dripped down his cheek, crimson tears that mourned his pain.

More cuts appeared, his hoodie had already turned that awful colour. Another knock to his head pushed him against the wall.

How dare they? What right did they have? Why was their territory worth more than his life? How dare th-

He was on the ground now. Vicious kicks landed on his back, his ribs, his face. Red gleamed on the ground. It was so bright, so essential, and yet these wolves were stealing it. His watch ticked. How many seconds did he have left? What power did he have left?

Power. He must take it back.

Reality returned in a dancing haze of light and shadows. Red ran through his veins, fire lit his mind and burnt his heart. It hurt. He needed more, an uncomparable drug.

He grabbed at the silver that came down, pulling it closer. He stared into the look of surprise on the alpha wolf’s face. Clearly, nobody had ever challenged his power before. Blood dripped down his fingers, the knife cutting to the bone. Reggie didn’t care. The fire in his soul burnt hotter.

The knife was his now. So was the power.

Rising up, the fire in Reginald’s eyes burnt away the ice in the gang leaders. He stepped forward and began painting. Slash, stab, cut, every move loosed more of that beautiful red, decorating him with what had been stolen only moments before.

Fire raced through him, clouded his thoughts and aided him strength. And yet the burns left scars on his soul.

The flames then died, leaving him cold and breathless.

Gaining clarity, he looked around. Soulless sockets stared back. The wolf was gone, leaving behind bloody ribbons and an empty shell. Sirens approached.

Followers scattered, fleeing the predatory lamb. Reginald slid down the wall, not hearing the clatter of the knife as it left his hand.

That’s how they found him, the police. Sitting against the wall, painted red, staring at the decimated corpse of the former thief. The wolf had paid for his crimes. Then again, so would the lamb. The lamb had adorned himself with the pelt of the wolf. The only thing he could hear was his watch.

Ticking. Shouting. Screaming.

It counted down the seconds. Like a bomb ready to blow, his entire life had been a fuse. Ticking down to this moment. And there were no seconds left.

Silence. What a falsity. Even on a hunt, it cannot ring true for each breath the brave hunter takes catches on the wind. Each step he takes is softened, but not silenced. As the dawn breaks across the sky, the song of the robin penetrates the air. The leaves rustle as the critters awaken to a new day. The hunter waits. His fur-covered feet sink deep into the snow. His shoulders shiver under his wolf-skin cloak at the bite of the harsh breeze. He grips his spears tightly between his numb, callous fingers. He steadies his breath as it pours from his nostrils as a vapor. His long, dark hair pools around his neck for warmth.

A large deer of glorious stature steps out of the bushes and into the clearing. He is eager to find food beneath the snow laden ground, but he is nervous. The presence of such a magnificent creature does not go unnoticed. The hunter shifts his weight causing a twig to snap. The buck holds his head high, scanning the tree-line for any threat. Silence. The robin continues to sing as her comrades busy themselves with scavenging. The hunter holds his breath, but that does not stop the sound of his pounding heart. Adrenaline rising, he is aware of nothing but the buck. Not the snow, the critters, nor the wind can distract him.

The deer reluctantly drops his head to the ground, his hunger taking the best of his judgement. He searches in vain. The hunter positions himself and looks to either side nodding to his party. The group swarms from the bushes, converging on their intended meal.

Silence. Such a thing cannot exist in this world. 

Kenya “call-me-Kenny” Williams was the whitest white girl I ever met. Born to two small-town parents, Kenny was oblivious to her surroundings, rash, and swore like a sailor. She was worse as a zombie.

Incidentally, Kenny Williams was also my employee and the first person I ever killed, to boot. Although, “person” could be argued; at least, that’s what the big wigs are doing up in D.C. nowadays, I guess.

They don’t like us to talk about all the killing we had to do during the apocalypse now that everyone is cured and all that.

“Move on,” the President advised solemnly after we first knew the virus had been completely eradicated. “Turn the page and close the book. This story is finished.”

Well, Mr. President, that’s all well and good, but I respectfully decline. The story might be comin’ to an end, but I’m not fuckin’ done reading.

Chapter One - Week One

No kid grows up wanting to be an insurance agent, myself included.

In fact, right up until my 25th birthday, I wanted to be an artist. Then my birthday passed, I got dropped from my parents’ insurance, and my student loans came a-callin’. Real Life stepped in and turned my dreams to dust.

12 months after my quarter-life crisis, I had charmed and sold my way into being the Agent of my very own insurance office. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside (or the inside, if we’re being honest), but I had a solid customer base, lots of plans, and years ahead of me.

Or so I thought.

“Boss, you wanna handle the Hanson case?” Kenny yelled from the front of the office.

I could distantly hear Art complaining about how often she raised her voice and her less-than-polite reply.

“Behave, children,” I said, striding into the open floor. For a minute, I probably looked real professional – shoulder-length dark hair styled cutely, attractive pantsuit, and killer heels – and then I tripped over my killer heels and nearly killed myself.

Kenny and Art snickered meanly.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I reminded them grumpily, catching my balance on the edge of my desk.

A small office space was all I could afford at the moment, so the three of us were practically on top of one another at all times. Our three desks were wedged as far into each corner as we could manage with two rickety folding chairs serving as a makeshift lobby in the spare corner.

“Right, boss,” Art said with a mocking salute.

“So, the Hanson file?” Kenny asked again. “You wanna handle that one?”

“No, I think you can manage that, can’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. Kenny was going on seven months with us and was still lagging behind in productivity. As small an office as we were, everyone had to be plodding along at top efficiency. Kenny was getting there, but she needed a nudge. Sadistic Mrs. Hanson would be a great nudge.

Kenny didn’t seem to think so.

“But Mrs. Hanson hates me,” she groaned. “Last time we were on the phone, she told me about her cat’s entire medical history. Like, from the time the thing was a baby.”

“What’s its name?” Art asked disinterestedly, poking at his keyboard.

“Charlie,” Kenny mumbled. Then she perked up, “Hey, I’ll trade you – “

“No,” I said firmly. “No trading.”

Kenny pouted in my direction, but I sat at my desk smoothly and made myself look busy with a couple files.

“Kenny, you’ll handle the Hansons. Arthur, you’re on that commercial building for the bar down the street, yeah?”

Kenny groaned aloud again and flounced off for a cup of coffee before digging into the Hanson file.

“No can do, boss,” Art said promptly. “Bar is ineligible.”

Damn.

“Right,” I huffed. “What about his cars? His house? There’s gotta be something.”

“Working on the cars,” Art agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man,” I said distractedly. A brilliant white envelope had fallen out of one of my files onto the cracked plastic of my desk, catching my attention only because of how pristine it was compared to all our other junk.

“The hell?” I muttered, opening the envelope in one quick tug and pulling out the letter smoothly. “’Dear Agent Porter, we are sorry to inform you’ – oh, Jesus Christ!”

“Abigail?” Art asked.

“Who the hell put a goddamn death benefit check on my desk and didn’t tell me about it,” I snapped.

Kenny crept guiltily around the corner, fresh coffee in hand and a wince already etched on her face.

“Ah,” she hedged. “I was meaning to mention that…”

“When?” I asked. “Next year? When did this come in?”

“Last Thursday?”

It was Tuesday now.

“Jesus, Kenny, that’s almost like a week!”

Kenny winced again apologetically, sipping quickly from her cup and skirting around the sharp corners of our desks to hide behind her computer monitor.

“Sorry, boss, I forgot. Won’t happen again.”

I huffed in agitation, but there wasn’t anything to be done for it.

“I gotta get on this right away,” I sighed. “Art, I’ll be busy for a bit.”

Art knew to field my calls from that point on, so I picked up the heavy packet of paperwork and started to read through it again.

“Dear Agent Porter, we are sorry to inform you of the passing of one of our esteemed customers. Enclosed you will find…”

I pulled his pants down and was momentarily terrified by what I saw. I remember seeing a documentary about this once before but never believed it existed for real. Now it was staring me in the face. I had three seconds to make a choice: put it in my mouth or get up and walk out of that hotel room.

Phuket was disappointingly touristy. So completely different from what I had imagined. My friends and I had finally made it to Thailand and we were staying at a Holiday Inn with hamburgers on the menu.

We were drinking TsingTao beers at yet another dimly lit and smoky bar, one of those touristy places full of English-speaking travelers. We started chatting with a group of English men that were sitting next to us, one of which was Dan. He was blonde with light eyes and hilarious. Not traditionally attractive, but the more he made me laugh the hotter he became, and the more I liked him. I laughed harder than I thought possible. Phuket was finally starting to look good.

Dan and his friends and me and my friends decided to go to another dark bar together. We ordered more TsingTaos and whiskey shots. Lots of Thai prostitutes. The soundtrack was one CD, playing the same ten songs on repeat. I was magnetized to Dan; he was one of those people that you instantly felt connected to, someone that made you feel at home.

After the club, we all decided to go to the beach. It was empty and dark, nothing but the stars and the moon lighting the beach. The waves crashed in methodically, rhythmically. The weather was perfect, warm with just a little bit of humidity. My friends and Dan’s friends, all sensing what was about to happen, said their goodbyes and headed back to their respective hotels to leave us alone together. Dan went to get a six-pack of beer, and I laid right down in the sand the way only a drunk woman would.

"Let’s go in the ocean!” I shrieked upon his return.

“What ya gonna wear, your knickers?” Oh shit that British accent.

“No… let’s just... just keep our clothes on. Come on! Swimming in the moonlight will be insane!” I jumped up and started dragging him out to the water.

“But I’ve still got my trousers on!”

“Who fucking cares! Let’s just jump in in our clothes, it’ll be sexy.” I slurred on.

I must have looked like one crazy bitch running into the water still wearing my Target dress. Surprisingly he came right after me into the warm water, and we finally kissed as the waves crashed over our fully dressed selves. We dove into the water with our lips locked. I grinded myself against his crotch, and was disappointed not to feel anything hard. We continued to make out, rolling in the sand, the moonlight bouncing off of us. We drank our beer on the beach, soaking wet and covered with sand.

We held hands as we walked back to his hotel room together. He threw me on the bed and kissed me, hard and deep. His warm tongue was so deep in my mouth it sent flutters down my spine. I was drunk, and too forward. I asked if he had condoms. He said yes, and pulled one out of his wallet.

"Oh, you guys have Durex in England too?" I asked.

"Of course, dummy," he charmingly smiled, "What do you think we use, Mars Bars wrappers?"

I laughed out loud and began to go down on him. I really wasn’t too sure what a Mars Bar was but I assumed it was a weird British candy of some sort. I kissed my way down, starting at his neck, then drunkenly kissed and licked his blond-haired chest. I made my way down further to what I was sure would be a hard penis, but I felt nothing. I was disappointed but determined to try harder. I ripped off his pants and boxers and found myself face to face with a real life motherfucking micro-penis.

I hesitated for three seconds and then put it in my mouth. It was so small. No bigger than my thumb and at first I couldn’t figure out if it was hard or not. It was like sucking a fleshy finger.

Why wouldn't he have told me? Wait, did he have to tell me? Life can be so unfair. I was so shocked by its small stature that I just continued to give him head, pretending like it was any old regular penis. He came so quickly and there was so much semen I was shocked.

I was relieved that it was over. This freaky sexual experience was done and I could go back to my Holiday Inn hotel room. I kissed him and started to put my wet dress back on.

"Wait, where ya off too?" he asked.

"I was…uh.. gonna go." I muttered.

"Oh, no. I'm not done with you yet."

I was scared to death and unsure of what that really meant. He pulled out the Durex and slid it right on that taut tater tot. He looked at me, and expected me to get on top. I apprehensively tried to slide down on his penis, but couldn't really feel anything. He moaned in ecstasy, and I figured I should too.

I rode that penis like it was the greatest sex of my life.

He came hard, (again!) moaning and jerking. For some reason we couldn't find the condom after it was over. We gave up looking for it and laid down, and he spooned me in the kindest way, like a boyfriend. In the morning he woke me up tenderly, kissing my forehead. We got dressed and he walked me back to my hotel room, holding my hand the entire way, my dress still damp. Two whole days later I was peeing when the used condom plopped out in the toilet. Whoops! A fond reminder of all that fun I had with that fleshy, fantastic finger.