"I knew that movie was bullshit. Hell, everybody knows that movie is bullshit, but that angsty brunette is cute. Well. Shit, I guess that mopey dope with the perfect hair is a good looking guy, too. Surprisingly, he actually made a decent young Batman."

He works deftly, hands a blur while he rambles a mile a minute.

"Of course, the hero of the story really got shit on. That's the way of it, I guess. The heroes don't get the girls, they get discharge papers, a purple heart, and a partial pension for the rest of their miserable lives. At least Jacob didn't get shuffled off and forgotten by his country and comrades."

He pauses, looks down at his handiwork, and resumes his stream of consciousness.

"Come to think of it, I can't really remember what happened to old Jake. I just know he didn't get the girl, she picked the zombie over the real boy, that much I do know. And my pension aint half bad, honestly. It's not like I'm unable to work side jobs, like this one, yknow? Who woulda thought a nobody Eleven-Bravo like me would have marketable job skills?"

He stops talking long enough to wrap a heavy, rusted chain around the bare metal gurney that sits in the back of the parked ambulance. He makes several passes over his passenger, through the metalwork of the collapsible bed, and back again. He secures it with several padlocks. Everything has the patina of age, wear, and use, but the gear is less than a year old.

"Oh, that's infantry, in case you didn't know. I thought maybe I'd find work with a defense contractor, right? I mean, I did, sorta, but this aint exactly providing security for diplomats or oil executives. Hell, did you even know some of the big boys actually run ops stateside?"

He pauses, checks his passenger, and notices there are still no signs of consciousness.

"Well. Now you do, I guess." He slaps the secured "patient" none-too-gently. "Hey. Wake up, Chocula. Rise and shine."

There is a gasp, a roar, and a tremendous shaking. The man on the gurney comes to consciousness, fully aware and enraged. He flexes, he screams, he hurls curses mixed with wordless fury, but he is bound tightly by thick rope and thicker chains.

"Yeah, I don't know why I bothered with the rope. Practicing for a weekend with the girl, I guess. She said she might be into the whole shibari thing, so I figure, fuck it? Why not, right? What's the worst than can happen? She gets pissed at me for sticking it in the no-no or spinning her around a few times too many? I mean, that's what rope dudes do, amiright?"

The person in chains realizes he can't see. He's wearing a sleeping mask over his eyes, and he tries to rub his face on his shoulders to dislodge it.

"Oh, hey, no. Stop that." There's a sharp pop and continuous crackle of a Taser, cartridge removed, as it is applied to a restrained thigh. The almost-a-man howls in pain. "Yeah, shit hurts, huh? I get it. Hell, you should try riding the lightning with the probes in you. Man, that sucks. But you need to leave the blindfold in place. I'm not down for that glamour trick you fucks do, and, if you see me I can't exactly let you go, right?"

This has an immediate calming effect on the supine detainee.

Rage abated, breathing under control, pain subsiding, the restrained person finally speaks in coherent words. "What is this?"

"My job, slick."

"Work for me, I'll pay you double."

"Yeah? Tell me about your benefits package."

"Good pay, excellent health plan."

"You don't say? Vacation time?"

"Life will be a vacation."

"Now that's a funny word, right there."

"Vacation?"

"Life."

The chatty former soldier opens up the double doors of the ambulance, and with a grunt, he shoves the gurney out onto the pavement. This early in the morning, there's no one else on the open-air top floor of the parking deck. Dawn sunshine bathes both men in the warmth of a new day.

The stainless steel gurney has no mattress because it was burned away dozens of jobs ago; the shibari ropework acts as tinder for the instant bonfire that fills the air with the smell of pork roast and burning hair. The vampire's scream lasts only seconds before vocal chords blister, burst, bloom in flame, and scatter on the wind as ash.

The whole spectacle lasts less than a minute, and rusty, charcoal-covered chains sag and clang to the rolling metal frame and concrete.

He sits on the floor of the ambulance, watching the sun continue its rise while he waits for the metal pieces to cool. A light breeze lifts his spirits and carries away the trash from another day's work.

"God, that movie is such bullshit. Fuckin sparkly vampires and idiots who want to fuck a corpse. Jacob dodged a bullet, that's for sure. Sullen corpse-humpin emo trashchick, goddamn."

Five little fingers laid out on a table

Two are for you, three are for me. Maybe the other hand could do us some good,

Sprinkle on pepper and sesame.

You can have one, but you must save the other

Earth’s hungriest men are known only for hunger.

—

Mealtime with my family; my grandparents have gotten older, so they tend to eat dinner earlier and earlier. This night, dinner’s at five o’clock sharp, and though I’d rather wait a while longer for dinner, I decide I can’t object to their desired schedule. I have to be courteous while I’m around them, mother told me, and I’ve done well understanding and keeping with that rule.

Grandma’s been fine through the past week. I saw her out in the garden when I arrived, and she showed me the new flowers and plants she’d gotten around to growing all along the property. She told me she had gotten into a bit of a tulip craze (mentioning more than once that her being Dutch must have something to do with it) and had gone wild for squash and tomato plants, of which she had multiples. The garden had been laid out sprawling across the entire perimeter of their lawn, and mixed into those top interests of hers were other flowers she had gotten into caring for. She toured me around the lawn in a proud manner that lead me to only be able to congratulate her accomplishments and tell her that I was proud of all she had done. She seemed overjoyed to show it all off to me.

Grandpa, sadly, remained rather worse for wear. From the moment I walked inside up until now, he’s been in bed. He’ll get up occasionally but only really for the bathroom, for a meal, and then back to bed. Grandma told me that he moved around much more than usual last Friday when he walked to the shed and fixed up its busted doorknob. I couldn’t help but realize that even an activity such as that required almost minimal effort; grandpa’s scaring me, and I know he doesn’t mean to but his condition’s gotten much worse than assumed. I hope he’ll be okay. I miss when he would take me fishing and out about the town to gas stations and to lots where he’d make money for tree branches he’d send in. He’s got that heart still, I know that much, but his physicality, that’s where it hurts most.

Every time I visit their house, it seems to grow smaller. I’m sure this has to do with the fact that I’ve gotten older and taller, but it’s still so strange being here and seeing all the furniture. The space is so limited in comparison to how I remembered the place. When I could run around and climb up these metal poles they have in the basement and wander up to the attic without even having to duck my head down. I truly must have grown, must’ve grown a lot. Of course, that’s what grandma told me when she saw me, before showing me around the garden. The second thing she asked, of course, was about my left arm.

“My, my, what happened to your arm?”

For the past four months, my left arm’s been placed in a sort of cast, a cast specifically tailored to me. Of course, it’s embarrassing to talk about and even to think about, so I had them get me a cast I could wear so I wouldn’t have to be seen out in public without a hand, even after healing. And obviously, I hadn’t thought to tell my grandparents. I couldn’t have them know about it; grandma would probably make fun of me or something.

“I fractured my hand playing a game at school,” I lied to her. “I have to be in this cast for a couple of months while it heals.”

“Oh my, that’s awful,” she responded with some tone of disgust. “How long ago did it break?”

“A few weeks ago; it hasn’t been very long.”

“I see,” she said. And then suddenly, “May I see it?”

A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, most thought-provoking of all, what do hospitals do with amputated limbs like that? Do they just throw them away immediately, or..? But I was also completely confused about her wanting to see and told her that my hand would be that much better kept in the cast and not moved around too much. She seemed content with the answer and didn’t bring it up anymore. Instead, she turned to plants and said:

“Look what I’ve done!”

There was the sensation of blood pooling up in his lips before he vomited it out onto the floor, the black pooling under him mixed in between the red as he dug his hand into his side and stomach while the other scraped across the hardwood laminate floor till the gloss chipped off under his fingernails.

"What did you do to me?" he asked, turning his gaze up to stare at the woman standing before him.

"My sweet, I've made you better," she told him, leaning down to touch his cheek, smearing the weird mixture across his lips and onto his face. She leaned in, pressing her lips harshly against his mouth as he was forced to stay with her there, the thorny binds snaking up around him, latching on till red bled from his bright skin and he tried to push her off, a terrible moan aching from his lips.

He could hear her laughing, forcing something into his mouth that wasn't her tongue and he tried to yank back again fruitlessly before whatever it was snaked down his throat. The moment she pulled herself back, he was on his knees, scrapping at his throat in terror at what she had dropped within him. What dark seed had to planted now?

"God!" he breathed, screaming up to the air, wanting reprieve and some sort of being to be his salvation, but nothing came. No one came. He couldn't recall what was happening, what was going on next, but he swore he saw the image of her just barely out of his peripherals before he fell to the floor, choking as the black started to come up. It was so dark, like the thing that had been forced within him was boiling his own blood to the surface and he was screaming, gurgling and gasping till black spilled over his fingertips and streaked down from his eyes.

Spidery veins of black pulsed beneath his skin, his nails begin to bleed black as he heard the sound of the door shut and suddenly the agony felt like it went from uncomfortable to unbearable and a long, hollow scream echoed from his throat, so much so that it startled him and rang out from the cabin into the pitch black of the night.

How could he be so naïve?

Hours later, Giselle was mixing her foundation in with another, patting her face with the liquid makeup before dabbing it on her face with a wet sponge carefully. She was turning her cheek one way into the mirror and another to get a good glimpse of the other side of her face.

"Have you seen Dillan?" Chise asked, poking her head into the bathroom at her friend. "He was supposed to meet us up here hours ago and he still hasn't shown."

"No, I haven't seen my brother," Giselle told her calmly, squinting into the mirror as she scrutinized her work then pulled back to drop the sponge into the sink and fish into her makeup bag for her eyeliner. "I thought he told me last night he was wanting everything to be perfect between the two of you, so he came up here one night earlier than us so he could set up the cabin for us."

"Well, we're here and he's not," Chise told her, a chill working its way over her. "If this is another one of his pranks, I'm dumping him."

"Your choice, not mine. I didn't tell you to date my brother."

There was a resounding scoff at the remark before she was running her hand over her bobbed black hair and flopping onto the master bedroom's California King size bed. "You're so mean anymore. What happened to us being best friends, you being my biggest supporter?"

"Mm!" she paused on her make up to speak up. "I am! I just think you could do better. Dillan is... He's nice, but my brother is unwittingly annoying. Not the brightest either."

"Oh come on, Giselle. You're my best friend, he's also..." my best friend. "Why can't I be with you both?"

"Okay, one. Ew. You and I used to drink from the same cup. Never again. Two... It's Dillan. Need I say more?" she told her, running her hand over her lips to smudge the makeup there to make sure it wasn't caking.

Chise was quiet, the long silence was less eerie as it seemed to bring on a long sense of dread that she wasn't responding till Giselle's voice floated up again as she stepped out of the bathroom.

"Cheese, don't," she started, looking at her best friend on the bed. "I- Chise?" Giselle was staring at the empty bed in shock, then looking around for her. "Chise?" Her hand was pressing against the frame of the doorway as she stepped out to glance around the empty room and she was wandering into the hallway. "Cheese? I swear, if you're trying to spook me, I'm going to be so mad at you! Where the hell did you go?" She hadn't even heard her get off the bed.

"Mm, mm-ah!"

The shuffle of a muffled cry made Giselle laugh, rolling her eyes. "God, if you found Dillan, then you should have said something instead of letting me just keep blabbering. Get a room you two!" she hollered, snorting to herself before turning around to gasp at Chise's sudden appearance.

She was standing before her, convulsing and gagging as her eyes rolled and then the black started. It poured from her eyes, down like ashy black tears over her face, bubbling up from her lips with small pops of transparency till Chise threw up and Giselle's scream answered her. She was flinging herself back before it hit her as Chise hit the floor, her hands on the floor, nails scraping as she started to moan Giselle's name, her head twisting and then turning to look up for her as her mouth opened, stretching wide as the black substance stretched, muffling the opening of her mouth with it's slick blackness.

"-elp!"

The words were nearly lost, but it was a cry that her mind seemed to recognize before Giselle froze up, watching it push itself seemingly down her friend's throat as she gagged and gasped, sputtering for a fight to push it back up, but the lump moved down her throat as she shrank back. Her hand touched the wall behind her, finally moving herself a step back into the hall before she heard the thick wet slop of something that seemed to peel itself up from the floor somewhere over the bed behind her friend, and then she was staring at the thing. The thing that resembled her brother with haunting black whites and hollowed out black eyes that replaced her brother's eye color. "D-Dillan, if this is your idea of a prank, it sucks! Knock it off! You guys are scaring me!"

His mouth opened, the crackle of his voice against the air seemed to echo as he grabbed the frame, stepping over Chise. "-aigh. Waigh!"

Giselle shrieked, turning to run for the door. She started to grab the handle, unlocking the deadbolt to fling the door open quickly into the dead of the night, crickets chirping when she heard a voice slowly filter up.

"Oh come on, Giselle, he's just asking you to wait. You don't have to run like it's some horror flick. He's just trying to tell you that I've been waiting to talk."

She whipped her head, hard, so much so that it hurt right after doing so as her heart leapt from her throat, but died with her voice, snuffing out any sound of alarm. "K-Karli?"

She smirked, muffling a laugh as she watched her. "Yeah," she sighed softly, her eyes rolling as they flicked over the quieted room, the sound of Dillan and Chise seemed to have been snuffed out the moment she stirred up. "Funny you say that, funny you call me that... It's been so long."

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Giselle gaped at her, tears beading up in her eyes.

"Well," Karli answered. "There- There's so of this beef we have, you know? The last time you brought me here, when you screamed and freaked out and abandoned me down at the lake six summers ago. God, what was it? I think we were juniors in school, weren't we?"

"Y-You were searched for! We searched for you!"

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know you did. I watched you."

"Is this some sort of fucking joke?! Six fucking years! What did you do to my brother? Chise even!"

She was nodding at her slowly, snorting as her eyes rolled and flicked back up to her. "Well, I wanted to stop being so lonely. You see... after the accident, I kind of laid there in a state of disbelief. You know? I laid there, thinking, you'd pull me out. You'd find me and there were these hands. God, they were cold. They were enveloping me in this... darkness and I slept for a while longer." Black seemed to slop off her fingertips and she tilted her head back, laughing, the green-black mucus-like thing started to pulse, bubbling up before it made it's own strange sharp cry as if the sound of a newborn baby mixed between the sound of a fawn.

"I came to bring you with me, you know... If it weren't for you I would have never found out my gift. I hated water, you know? Stuff just always gave me this dark sensation. I stayed away... but you kept being so insistent that I was just making things up."

"You said you had nightmares but you'd never been at the water! How the-"

"Sssh," she answered, her voice softening as she flicked yellow eyes up on her friend. "I know. I know... but you have to hear me out. I don't know this area well, Gigi, and I've been sooo very hungry." Her lips cracked at the seemed, peeling back wide to reveal sharp gleaming white teeth. "You have to understand, I- I wanted to see you again. I got so excited when I saw your brother. He was... God, I still have a crush on him I guess, but I guess it's short lived since he found something else to stick his tongue down, but you aren't like that. You're so much better than that."

"G-ge- get away from me!" Giselle screamed, tears flowing down her face as she stepped back.

"Agh, I was afraid you'd say that. That you would reject me," she answered, feigning sadness for a moment. "Oh well. We can be together again in other ways, because I just... this nagging hunger," she moaned, her voice low. "Ugh, it won't stop. Eat. That's all I keep hearing. Eat, eat eat! It's so fucking annoying!" she screamed, stomping her foot on the ground as another mass of black and green slopped down off her back onto the floor, the squelching sound starting to become louder as she flicked her eyes back up to her and then to the floor. "So I just. I'm sorry. I know you didn't kill me or anything. I know I just... stopped being there. It wasn't your fault. Honestly, whatever it was, was mine, but I just want you to know..." She flicked her gazing eyes up at her. "I love you. You're still my best friend, I'm just- Hungry." And the walls were starting to ooze with black, the lights flickering in and out as she twisted her head to the side, nearly touching her shoulder as her mouth opened wide, the black peeling up through from inside her throat, the human skin shedding and the dark, pale enigma of what nearly looked like a whispering dark horse came before her friend. There was a scream and the answered neigh before the lights flicked out in the small cabin, all voices coming to a literal halt and silence overtook the forests.

Xavion felt beads of sweat drip along his curly salt and pepper hair near his temples. He used the back of his hand to wipe the signs of his labor...which he did not mind to do, for it was one done out of love.

He waved at his beloved, and she smiled from where she sat...with her feet swinging only a few inches off the fertile ground. She still looked like a child, and even their neighbors all felt open to sharing anything that they had on their mind to her. Sometimes she did not have to say a word, just seeing her smile made them feel like all their heavy weighing troubles/worries were taken off their shoulders.

Xavion continued to work, moving at a steady, and slow pace. His nose twitched. He stopped to look back at his darling, and all that he spotted was only the movement of the wooden seat attached to one branch of the Baobab tree with silver chains.

His heart skipped a beat. He dropped his farming tools and ran toward the ancient baum. The sun was just passing overhead, and his mind raced wondering where his wife could be.

He bent down near the swing, and his nose twitched again. Then just as he was about to rub it, he noticed a trail of golden diamonds that he decided to follow.

Xavion first started walking, and soon moved at a jogging pace. He had no clue where the diamond trail would lead him.

He came to a jolting halt. His body began to tremble from a sudden burst of a frigid gale.

The trail of diamonds had reached a dead end. Xavion was at the edge of a cliff. He leaned a bit forward and stared at the pile of rocks, as well as dunes, at the bottom of the incline.

He took one step forward, and jumped without a second's thought. The trail of diamonds clumped together forming a young female.

**********************************************************************************************

She felt her mind begin to wander. Her heartbeat moved faster, and faster. She was not sure how long she had before it tried to take control.

This part of the much more bearable planet, Earth, reminded her of Mars, with the harsh/extreme temperatures, and current weather, she could hardly remain in her humanoid form for too long.

When she looked at her feet, the tell-tale signs of her Martian form were already taking place. Her feet started to become slowly translucent. She thought to herself, "This will not end well...for me, or Xavion."

In a silent gasp, she began trying to delay the transformation. Then the sharp ringing pain pulsed through her body, right before she felt her body shake with the magnitude of a volcano erupting, and an earthquake.

Meanwhile as this activity inside her took place, her beloved was busy with getting the ground ready for the first phase of a five-year plant rotation. The next time that he had turned to see her...she was already gone, and no one could tell when, or if she would even be able to switch back into her humanoid form after the metamorphosis.

#METAMORPHIC (c)

March 20, 2023.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qgYWWRpnD8

I have a fear of taking elevators alone. Something about being swallowed into a strong metal cage and either lifted or lowered with nothing but empty space beneath, putting all trust in the cables above puts me on edge. I do alright if I have company. Someone to distract me from the fear building up in the back of my head. But when I am the only one, when all I hear is the clang and rumble of unsure lifting equipment muffled poorly by the tunes inside, I can’t stand it.

I was in Korea last week and my roommate wanted me to grab something for her from downstairs before the evening curfew.

“You want what?” I called back uncertainly as I crossed the threshold of our room.

“Just some chromium oxide,” she trilled back, “for my health.”

Suzanne was a weak little thing. Poor dear. Turned up at a street corner in Tokyo claiming to have discovered the key to “marked existence”, whatever that was. Probably just the result of trauma from tabooed childhood experiences. A few days in the psychiatric ward of the city hospital and unworldly doses of complicated medicines brought her back to herself. Yet there was no undoing the mischievous dreamy gleam in her eyes, like she knew far more than she let loose. I shook my head as I shut the door to our hotel room and walked away.

There were no stairs in the building, so I plodded slowly to the elevator. Though every inch of me was screaming to turn around, I walked into the horrible empty box and doors clanged shut. Six floors had never felt so long. I scrambled out as soon as the cage set me free, gulping for fresh open air, at least air that was not stuffed inside that horrifying elevator. I had some trouble finding the chromium oxide Suzanne requested. After a fruitless scan of the aisles and a rather awkward conversation with the man behind the counter, I purchased a small vial containing a lime green powder. How could this help with health? Oh well, Suzanne is Suzanne and there is nothing anyone could do about that. I cautiously stepped in the elevator again and focused on an extremely interesting gnat as the doors closed, locking me inside.

My anxiety once more mounted through the roof. But I was only going up six floors.

Elevator music was so stress-relieving! Of course, soap operas were never interesting on TV or the radio, but this particularly boring one soothed my nerves for the first four floors. I closed my eyes and let myself drift back and forth to the sway of the drowsy tune. Then suddenly it clicked off. At the same time, there was a screeching, then a jolt. I lost both my footing and my presence of mind. I had stopped moving.

The doors remained shut. I was trapped. I was alone. Alone. Trapped. Trapped in an elevator. Alone. My breathing quickened. All was silent now but for my anxious breaths and racking heartbeat. I waited for years. Maybe it was only a few seconds. Either way, the suspense rapidly increased my terror. I could not bear this! This waiting! This impending doom! The cable would snap and I would plummet! But the nothing, the waiting, it was just too much! Something, ANYTHING, had to happen and had to happen now!! NOW, before I completely lost my sanity! It could NOT have been worse.

I was wrong.

A slow creaking—I jerked around, searching frantically for the source. It stopped. I felt helpless, like some wild animal caught in a trap, already given in to the fact that it was already dead.

A clang—I gripped the handrail and tried in vain to slow my breathing. I was in fight or flight and neither could work right then, so I was stuck with the unending anxiety for what was to come.

A smashing crash—I lost myself completely. Eyes blacked over with fear, brain swathed in terror, I heard myself screaming from far away. Again, and again, and again I heard my screams. I was completely unaware of anything else that was happening, the single sound of crash imprinted firmly in my mind’s eye.

“Stop,” I heard myself say, and, miraculously, I obeyed. Something about hearing my own voice, calm and unconcerned, brought me slamming back from horror into reality. The silence had returned. The source of the crash became evident immediately: a ceiling panel had fallen in, leaving a cloud of dust around where it had landed.

But that wasn’t the only unwelcome guest.

There was a figure clothed all in shiny black, face covered in a mask of the same color, standing to its feet and brushing the dust off its clothes. A black utility belt, fully stocked, was strung around its hips. But I only had eyes for one thing—the thing that rattled slowly and gleamed in the eerie light: the gun slung in its holster.

It was like living a nightmare. I lost myself again. Never before had anything frightened me to this level. I would not have dreamed it possible that I would lose myself to insanity in the face of such monstrous terror. I was entirely unaware of anything, everything, except the thoughts that vainly chased the visions of my poor mangled bloody body out of my head. From out of the dark fog, I heard my voice again. It brought me back to myself. I gulped and stared. My mind cleared and I saw the elevator button panel in front of me, and my hands were frantically pounding the floor numbers in the vain hope that the shaft would continue moving or the doors would open.

“Quit slamming buttons,” the mask snarled patiently, “You know it’s not going to work.”

Funny enough, I did know. I stopped, still sobbing, still shivering, my eyes rooted to the floor. I was never going to use the elevator again.

“Hand it over,” and I felt the figure extend its arm in my direction.

I looked up past the outstretched hand and stared past it as if into the face through the mask. I was stunned. I felt my fingers fumbling mechanically for the flask of chromium oxide tucked in my jacket pocket. I felt my arm trembling as it reached the figure’s ringent gloved hand and dumped the vial into it. My mind was elsewhere. I knew that voice. But no, it couldn’t be….

“I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it can be—because it is.”

I shut my eyes and turned away with my hands over my ears. I could not bear the presence of this mind-reading psychopath. I must be hallucinating out of sheer terror. This wasn’t real. I could not believe it. Yet a small voice in my head told me there was no denying it.

A big voice outside my head told me too:

“I am not a hallucination, nor am I something to deny. No matter how much you dislike it, this is how it is. I would tell you everything here and now, but time is short. Ready?”

All of a sudden, I knew what was coming. I couldn’t pretend any longer. I desperately wanted to say no, but by then I realized I had no choice. I nodded, eyes still glued shut. I shifted my hands and peered through my fingers as the figure removed its mask. Though I had already known, the shock of seeing it in reality reconfirmed my horror. It also somehow added to it. The figure was me.

A dead me, a demented me, a changed me, a me that did not exist in my memory, but still me.

A horrible me. Her expressionless face shone pale and waxy, dark circles under her baggy eyes. There were minimal lashes and her eyebrows were scant. Her staring eyes shown glassy cold, like a demon’s, but devoid of all fiery zeal. Her lips were the same pale as her skin, but maybe touched with blue—lips like those of a corpse. Her mangy hair ran thick and wild, but grayed and sparse. She looked altogether like a cadaver in a black jumpsuit, dead for years, somehow untouched, and fresh out of the coffin.

“Now I’m really sorry about this,” she said cooly, “but it will all be over soon and you will be on my side of it.”

What did she mean? I asked myself in a frenzy, I mean, what did I mean? I was horrified, shocked, and confused, and desperately wishing that I had refused Suzanne her cursed chromium oxide. But a part of me was curious as to how this had happened.

Almost in response to my thoughts—something told me it was—,“Let me tell you briefly,” she said in icy tones that were probably meant to be kind.

“I know you. I know what it’s like to be you. Heck, I WAS you. Until that fateful day when I met my future self in the elevator. I was on your side of this, and now I’m on mine. You are young, you are afraid. Afraid of what you did, what you became, what you are. I am not a trick, or a hoax, or a failed science experiment. I am a creation born of your essence. I have your history, your physical traits, your likes and dislikes, but I do not have your weakness. Instead, I am instilled with invulnerable strength. I am the you you have always dreamed of becoming.”

She raised her head slightly as she said this, as if proud of her dilapidated, lifeless body. A cold shiver tingled down my spine. I broke down and cried tears of pain, horror, and longing. I never dreamed of becoming the monster standing so proudly across from me. I almost felt sorry for her—I mean me…then what particles of color remained in my face disappeared.

“Thanks to a nameless woman you will soon have the pleasure” (she scoffed) “of working with, that dream is now a reality. She will change you to unlock your full potential. She will gift you with her trust and benevolence. Or so you must believe,” the future me spat bitterly. “She is not what she appears to be. She is not a congenial scientist interested in you for your own good. What she is, you will discover for yourself in due time. I cannot explain it here. But it is important that as soon as you ascertain her secret, you flee for your life. You must leave the…place where she has you stay and come straight here. Come here to this elevator. Stop it, break in, then tell this story to the past you standing on the other side. Do you understand me?”

Still shivering, still moaning and heaving, I slowly, slowly lowered my head, then raised it again ever so slightly. I understood nothing of what she said, but I did understand that our engagement was coming to an end. I thought if I just kept nodding in agreement, she would leave.

I had never been so mistaken in my life.

She looked at me intently, expressionless as usual but with a trace of sadness etched in her brow. She continued speaking, slowly this time. Every word fell like a blow. “Then you will arrive at the most difficult part of all,” and she suddenly drew and raised the gleaming gun from her holster. “Shooting yourself.”

And her voice broke.

I screamed. I would have swooned clean away if I had the time. My future self seemed to know that, so she shot me then and there. I felt the pain, felt the blood. It hurt, and I was frightened beyond anything I had ever dreamed. I crumpled to the ground, my own blood pooling around me, trapping me in a sticky red mass. I felt myself dying…slipping away. I looked up at my murderer helplessly, terrified for what was to come. I fell unconscious.

_____________________________________________________________

The elevator dinged and the number 7 gleamed brightly in the poorly lit halls. The doors to the shaft opened to admit the horrendous sound of the music, continuing to play its dreamy melody. I stepped out onto the carpeted floor, completely fearless: completely knowing. I proceeded calmly to room 718, where Suzanne lay expecting me to walk in with her chromium oxide. I flicked the key card across the locking monitor, which flashed green and clicked open. My hand closed on the handle. I opened the door silently and strode calmly in.

There she lay, lounging unconcernedly on the closer of the two beds. She had been writing in her “diary” when I entered. Her sparkly little-girl journal rested open on the bed in front of her and she was sucking the end of a pink pen strung with feathers and bits of fluff. She was unaware of my presence.

My deranged dead eyes wandered for only a couple seconds, then fixed upon hers, which were turned downwards at her journal. I shot a message through the sky, just as she had taught me, and “Suzanne” looked up and met my eyes.

They locked for several long moments. For a split second, there was nonchalance. Then uncertainty. Then a look of utmost terror. She knew I knew. She tumbled from her bed, streaked like a demon to the window and was just ready to spring through it, glass and all, when a loud and smoky bang issued from just in front of me. Before she had the chance to slip through my fingers yet again, I pulled my gun, still hot, and shot her.

She collapsed on the sill.

I walked slowly over to where she lay dying, hatred burning from her fiery eyes so quickly losing their vivacity. Killing was my job. I was used to it by now, but I had never dreamed my targets would swing full circle. I peered down at my victim. Our eyes locked yet again. She attempted to say something but it came only a gargle, for a flood of clotted blood came pouring from her mouth. She was choking, drifting fast. If only I could make her pain last longer…

Her life ebbed away all too quickly, her eyes turned glassy and cold. Quid pro quo. The blood issuing from her mouth lapsed to a trickle. She had a few seconds at most.

“You will ruin no more lives, no more helpless souls,” I said in a cold voice barely above a whisper, “Your selfish cruel career is ended. If only I could change the past.”

I first noticed it when my friend died.

I don't really remember much of that day. Just that we were walking, crossing the road while laughing, then in a blurry moment, I was pushed a few feet away as she lay in a bloody heap right under a car.

Paramedics and police showed up, I screamed when they were taking her away, and yelled when my parents dragged me back home until I went into a restless sleep.

I woke up the next morning when my alarm went up with a text from her, asking about yesterday's English homework. I saw her at school too.

The thoughts that it was a horrible dream vanished with the second event about a week later. Mom and Dad when out to dinner, and I was left to my own devices well into the evening.

I fell asleep on the couch while watching T.V. when I woke up to a knock on the door. It was 11:48 p.m.

It took me a minute to get the courage to actually open the door, afraid of a possible axe murderer coming to chop me up.

It wasn't. It was a policeman.

Once again, the world faded in and out as he explained my parents were caught up in an armed robbery. I cried at one point. He stood there awkwardly before telling me to get some rest and that a relative would come for me tomorrow.

The door slammed shut and I buried myself in my couch, trying to make myself sleep to just try and get everything over with.

My parent woke me up the next morning, laughing at me for passing out on the couch.

That's when I realized something wasn't right. Of course, it kept happening. I would read about incidents on the news about the deaths of locals, then next see them the next day alive.

It was driving me insane. It got to the point I couldn't remember who was supposed to be dead, and I wondered why so many people were dying. I decided I needed to test it out.

I sat on a bench outside the supermarket, typing away casually on my phone, waiting for that one idiotic driver.

Finally, I caught a car speeding in from my right, getting closer too quickly. I set my phone on the bench next to me and readied myself for the moment.

It was almost passed when I jumped in front.

I was numb when it hit me, sending me crashing into the road with at least one bone getting out a sickening crack. Someone screamed.

People were worried but they shouldn't have been. I was finally going to find out why death wasn't permanent.

When the copper was a bold taste in my mouth, I had a thought. Why was I the only one remembering?

Out of the corner of my eye, a silhouette walked over me. They waved and grinned. I realized then I wouldn't be waking again tomorrow.

It was 1939, a bright moonlit night. So, bright you could read from it. That’s how my grandpappy began the story. He and his friend Sam went to the crossroads with Sam’s older brother Junior and his friend Willie. Junior and Willie loved the blues, but neither was any good. Junior was tone deaf sounded like skinned cat bakin in the sun. Willie had no dexterity in his hands. It looked like Nosferato’s deformed digits on his acoustic guitar. The sight was grotesque. They went down them crossroads the same one they tell Robert Johnson sold his soul. Well, these boys knew Robert’s story. Knew all 29 songs he wrote and believed the deal he made. But, they was smarter. They wouldn’t make his mistake.

See my grandpappy knows the story so well cause he was there. He saw the whole thing play out. Junior and Willie invited my grandpappy and Sam to meet a man they called the stranger at the crossroads. Junior was going to sing like Louis Armstrong and Willie would play like Lead Belly. That’s what they said all afternoon and evening while we waited. Maybe four cars drove past the entire time, but none stopped. It got dark and the sketters started eatin us like a full course meal. Me and Sam were tired and wanted to go home. Willie said if the stranger didn’t show by 11:00 we’d all go home.

Part of me thought they was playin me and Sam for fools. But, the darker it got the more Junior and Willie got angry. They was slappin sketters then each other over whose fault it was for draggin everyone there. Sam tried to break it up and got a whopping. I figured anyone mad enough to stay was serious or crazy. I ran off. Willie tried to stop me, but I was faster. Sam stayed. He didn’t believe them and wanted to prove his brother wrong.

I didn’t actually leave. I circled back and hid in the tall grass just down the way from the crossroads. That’s when it happened. Lord ol mighty. He came. I saw a man appear from nothing, he moved silent through the air then suddenly pebbles crunched under his shiny wing tips.

He was dressed in black from head to shoe. His clothes and hat were perfectly clean. Not a pinch of dust. I caught a glimpse of his handsome face in that bright moonlight. His black skin was creamy smooth and well featured like a movie star without a bead of sweat. How can that be travelin in the delta heat? And not once, not once did he have to chase away any damn sketters. He turned his head in my direction. That’s when I saw, lord, no eyelids no pupils neither. His eyes were brilliant eggshell white balls, solid and unreadable. He greeted them in a clear and friendly tone. Junior and Willie didn’t axe who he was. They were so excited they told him what they wanted. The man listened politely. All the time I knew those bright eyes were searching for me. When they finished their excited rant the man simply replied.

“You’ll get it, but it ain’t free.”

Willie quickly offered him $5.00 in jest. The man snickered.

“You boys ought to know how this work. You waited here all day.”

“You need a soul.”

The stranger nodded.

“Here you go,” Junior said as he pushed his little brother forward.

“What’s this?”

“My little brother Sam. Our daddy beats him cause he won’t do chores.”

“That true boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“You ain’t lyin are you?”

“No sir.”

“Well ok. Junior why don’t you hmm a few bars and Willie strum a few jazz chords.”

Junior suddenly had Louis’s gravelly voice and Willie’s once strained hands played smooth and silky. They glided up and down the fretboard with ease.

Junior and Willie danced about and looked like their heads would explode.

“Alright boys. Make sure you’re at the Jazz house on Saturday night.”

“Why?” They asked together.

“Cause your little brother Sam will have an accident. Can’t have you two anywhere near.”

“Yes sir.”

It’s 2002, two weeks ago, Floyd and Harold Simmons invited George and me to the crossroads. They promised we be their new bandmates. George didn’t believe my grandpappy’s story.

It's a rainy day, and because it snowed, ice covers her part of the world with seclusion. She lays in her bed and glares out of the window while her cat stares in her face. Suddenly, her jumps back and runs under her computer desk. She calls for her and she meows back but never comes out.

Did her cat see a ghost? The lady laughs and continues to stare out of the window. All of a sudden everything turns dark, even outside of her window. The moment was brief but real. Was it an eclipse of the sun, or an evil one. As she gets up to check her home, her cat comes out from under the desk and runs his body on her leg. She runs him back, he scratches her leg. Blood ran down between her toes. Her cat ran off. She hurried to the bathroom to get a bandaid. As she grabbed the bathroom door, she felt a spark go through her arm. She noticed that her music had stopped playing and her cat was gone. What is going on? She reached for her cell phone to call someone and the rain stopped, the sun came out, her leg stopped bleeding, and the music started playing again. What just happened? She calls for her cat, and he meows and gets on the bed. It felt like she passed through a twilight zone. All was normal again.

“Finally, I can make a little money so we can do things together,” I tell my boyfriend Matt as he drives me to school on September 22, 2006. He reassures me that he doesn't mind paying for our activities and dates, but I’m not convinced. We drive up to Pocatello high school and split to go to our different classes. On my way to the fourth period, my long-time friend Brian holds a camcorder to me and told me to say hello to it. I followed through, roll my eyes and continue to rummage through my locker. Matt sneaks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waste. He tells me he’s excited for tonight on account that im housesitting and we’re going to be alone for a while before my friends Torey and Brian come over to watch a film.

The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly and before I know it im alone with Matt in my aunt Allison’s house. Matt and I have sex and watch part of a film before we hear the doorbell ring. I’m fully aware that it’s Brian and Torey so I let them in. I give them the “grand tour” and try to make them feel at home. We all argue for a good 15 minutes about what movie to watch and we finally land on Kill Bill Volume II. about halfway through the film Brian and Torey tell me that they want to watch a movie at the theatre. Matt smirks at me as they leave through the front door and drive away in Torey’s red car. At around 10:00 the power goes out. And gasp and Matt notices the dogs acting uneasy.

“Maybe I should check it out,” Matt says trying to sound tough but can hear his voice trembling. I tell him he shouldn’t and that we should just wait till the power comes back on. After around 15 minutes it does and not long after (around 10:30) Matt’s mother calls to take him home. I beg him to stay but his mother declines and offers to take me home with her. But I have a responsibility and you know, money. I stay alone. The room was only lit by the light of the kitchen and television. Abruptly, the power goes off again. I audibly curse and grip the blanket I’m using to cover myself up. The power comes on after another 15 minutes and I hear clattering. I decide that no matter what I hear. I’m. Staying. Upstairs. I turn up the volume on the television and continue watching Corpse Bride.

I hear footsteps. I turn around and see my friends. Brain and Torey. I sigh in relief and laugh at the fact they’re costume movie-goers. Torey laughs and says that they aren't. I laugh and tell them that their scare attempts nearly got them caught by Matt. “what. a. relief. Cassie.” Brian says in a monotone voice.

“Good prank guys, I’ll see you on Monday,” I say and sit back down. Brian and Torey pull out knives. Brian is trembling. I get serious and tell them the prank has gone too far and it’s not funny anymore. The last thing I remember is the light of excitement in Torey’s eyes. Everything else went black.

Light drains the dregs of colour from the world, like he drains the coffee dregs.

Sitting at the kitchen table in the present, so silent. Thinking back on the loud cheerful people. Quiet presses down on him, like hands out of the grey shadows.

Pressing and pressing, pushing and pushing, shoving him down and further and further—

The coffee is knocked across the table. He stood so quickly. Jerking back from the dark emotions. Clicks follow him through the house as he switches on all the lights. Trying to brighten up his soul.

Each breath ragged and uneven. The hands still pulling— never faulting. Never failing.

He stumbles into a wall, let's himself slide down. But that is as far as he will let himself fall. Eyes flick to the bare light bulb above the bare table.

"Stop." He speaks as if in an interview.

"Stop." Monotone and hollow.

The hands hesitate. Retract a little. Then burst forward. Hitting and tearing at his head. He screams— terrified and hurting and rattling. Blood sears red into his sight. The blinding sudden colour startling him. Startling the hands. They run back to the shadows like spiders. Pain pounds in his skull.

He lowers his bruised hands down to the cool floor.

"What have I..."

A woman with a friendly face kneels down infront of him.

"What have you done, darling?"

He blinks and the room is empty.

"I need a cup of coffee."