A purple tentacle sprung out at my face from underneath Table 14. I jumped back, careful not to spill the pot of coffee in my left hand, nor the platter of pastries in my right. The one-eyed little girl whom the tentacle belonged to let out a cackle from behind the draped-down tablecloth. Her mother quickly scooped her up off of the carpet in her own tentacles and planted her firmly in her chair.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry!” cried the mother in Phlanomian. “I have no idea what’s gotten into her! She’s normally such a well-behaved child.”
“Oh…” I hesitated. “It… is… good.” Darn it. I reminded myself to review my interplanetary languages after my shift was over. I set down the platter in front of the two and scurried away to save myself any more conversation.
I sighed. My cafe was always crowded around this time. Every table was packed with customers from everywhere in the galaxy. The air was full of grating screeches, howls, and unfamiliar languages I couldn’t even begin to decipher. Children of all different species were smearing their faces against the floor-to-ceiling windows, peering out into the expanse of space and down at my bluish, smoggy home planet which my cafe orbited like a satellite.
My vision was suddenly blocked by a slimy yellow mitt reaching down from the ceiling, gripping an empty mug. I looked up and was met by half a dozen eyes, all sunk into the blobby yellow mass which the arm was attached to.
“Oh! So sorry, sir! I didn’t realize you were out!” I managed a smile as I refilled his mug to the brim. His flesh bubbled as he gurgled out what I hope was an expression of gratitude. He then oozed across the ceiling over to a bench, which I had bolted up there in between the hanging overhead lights. The trail of green slime he left in his wake was unsightly, but at least odorless. I could put off cleaning it for later.
I hurried back into my barista station before any more roadblocks could appear. I took a deep breath and forced another smile at the customer seated at the counter. He was an eight-foot tall Sarsualrean with bright blue fur, interrupted by streaks of gray. His four green eyes gave me a stone-cold stare from beneath his four bushy eyebrows. The dozens of military badges on his yellow coat gleamed in the light.
“‘Bout time I could expect some service ‘round ‘ere!” his gruff voice boomed.
“Yes, I’m so sorry si-!” I stopped short. I had understood his words perfectly. “Wait, you speak my language?”
The man let out a hearty guffaw and pounded his enormous paw on the counter. “What language DON’T I speak, sonny? I’ve been EVERYWHERE in this blasted galaxy!”
Almost none of my patrons had spoken my language to me before. For the first time, I didn’t have to fake my interest in a customer. “Oh my gosh! Thats-”
“Coffee,” he commanded.
“Oh, right! Sorry!” I hastily grabbed a mug from under the counter and filled it. A bit of the coffee splashed down onto the counter, the floor, and even my brand new work shoes, but I couldn’t have cared less. The second I was done pouring, the blue man snatched it from my hand and downed it in one swig. He slammed the mug back down onto the counter.
“Refill,” he ordered.
I took the mug back. Filling it more slowly this time, I asked my first burning question.
“So, how’d you learn my language?”
I slid the mug to the man. He drank it in one gulp again and passed it back to me.
“Hmm…” he paused, reclining in his seat. “I was called to these parts a few decades back by a planet with a bunch o’ rings. They said some people on a planet with a big red spot were tryin’ ta invade, and they needed my help ta stop ‘em. Some guys who looked like you happened to be livin’ on the rings planet, speakin’ that language, so I learned it from ‘em. Figured you might know it, too.”
I passed back his second refill. “Yeah, a lot of my people headed to that planet after ours got uninhabitable from pollution. Makes sense you’d run into them.” I took the mug back and refilled it. “So, you’re in the military?”
“Gee, how’d ya piece THAT one together?” the man chuckled, gesturing to the medals adorning his person. “General Xylathryp Hyaloo, at’cher service!”
A new voice squealed from across the room in Sragysian, a language I was pretty familiar with. “Wait! No way! General Hyaloo?!”
Hyaloo and I turned our heads. Down at the end of the counter sat a stubby little orange cylinder-shaped guy with dozens of noodly appendages wiggling out from his top and bottom. His three eyes protruded upward like antennae, and his smile stretched to cover half of his entire body. He hopped closer, from stool to stool, until he was seated right next to Hyaloo, staring up at him in amazement.
“Wow…” the orange guy gasped, “General Hyaloo, sir, I’m a huge fan! I learned about a bunch of your battles in school! I even followed all of your escapades in the Gualthir region!”
Hyaloo’s booming laugh filled the air again. He switched his language to Sragysian. “The Gualthir region! Now THOSE were the days! Back when I could wield a Nruja Lance without rupturing a vertebrae!”
“And how impressive you looked wielding it!” He replied, emphatically. There was something familiar about his voice that I couldn’t quite place. He went on. “I actually got a few of your victory speeches to air on my channel! Ratings absolutely skyrocket whenever you open your mouth!”
My eyes went wide. “Wait! Are you Lanthamar Kzull?” I asked in my best Sragysian.
The orange guy turned to me, beaming. “Yep! You know my show?”
“Do I know the twenty-six o’clock news? Yeah, man! EVERYONE knows your name!”
A few of Kzull’s appendages turned blue. “Aww, stop it! You’re making me blush!”
“Hey, yer right!” Hyaloo belted. “I’ve heard that name before, too! Gotta say, ya look pretty young fer a big-shot celebrity!” He reached over and gave Kzull’s top ganglia a noogie.
“Oh, please, please! It’s really not that big a deal,” Kzull chuckled. “I’ve only been covering regional stories so far. I’ve barely even been on TV for a full cycle!”
Kzull suddenly turned to me. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Where are my manners? We’ve already introduced ourselves. What’s YOUR name?”
“Oh, uh…” I hesitated, “it’s John.”
Kzull waited a moment for me to continue. “John?”
“Uh, John Smith.”
Kzull nodded. “Ah.”
There was an awkward pause. I nervously scratched the back of my head. My hair suddenly felt too shaggy.
Hyaloo broke the silence. “Well, go on! We already shared our life stories with ya! Surely you got somethin’ to share with the class!”
Kzull waited eagerly. I gulped.
“Well, uh… I opened this cafe around three and a half cycles ago…”
Kzull and Hyaloo waited for me to continue.
“...that’s it. I haven’t done much else since.” I said.
“Oh…” Kzull shifted, uncomfortably.
“Hm… sorry fer puttin’ ya on the spot like that, Johnny,” Hyaloo murmured.
“Oh, no, no!” I quickly cut in. “It’s fine! It’s not like I’ve got a problem with where I’m at or anything!”
“Oh, good. Good.” Hyaloo smiled.
“Ooh! What’s your favorite part of the job?” asked Kzull. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was genuinely interested in me.
I scratched the stubble on my chin. “Hm… I guess… it’d be meeting guests like you.”
“Aww,” Kzull smiled, “you’ll make me blush again!”
“I get customers from all over the place,” I went on. “I guess hearing all of their stories allows me to live vicariously. I might be tied down to- er- currently working this job, but hearing the stories of the adventures everyone else goes on… the opportunities and excitement you all have access to… I can just imagine myself in your shoes when I hear you describe it over a cup of my coffee.”
There was a beat of silence in the room. “Huh,” chuckled Hyaloo, “ain’t that somethin’.”
“I don’t actually wear shoes,” Kzull interjected.
“Sorry,” I quickly added, “that might’ve been too personal. And shoe-reliant.”
“Oh, no, no, not at all!” Kzull reassured me. “Honestly, I’m flattered you think of us that way!”
Hyaloo looked around at the tables behind him. Several of my customers had begun to clear out to the parking deck, unanchoring their ships and flying off. “Uh oh, how long’ve I been ‘ere?”
Kzull stretched his eyes up to one of his ganglia, which I now realized had a tiny analogue watch on it. “Oh no!” He jumped up. “My next spot’s coming up! I gotta go!”
Kzull leaned over the counter and shook his top appendages rapidly. Coins flew out of his limbs and bounced away in all different directions. He straightened up. “That should cover it! Thanks for the chat!” Kzull quickly hopped down from his stool and sprinted toward the parking deck as fast as his ganglia would carry him.
Hyaloo and I watched Kzull run out. Hyaloo then turned back to me. He switched to my language again. “I think I got time fer one more cup o’ joe."
I nodded and filled his mug one last time. Hyaloo took it, stared down into his reflection in the mug, and smoothed down some of the fur on his head. He then drank half of the coffee, and set the rest back down on the table. He stood up, nearly bumping his head on one of the overhead lights.
“Well, I’m outta ‘ere.” Hyaloo reached into his coat and pulled out a crumpled bill. “Keep th’ change, Johnny.”
I took the bill and nodded. “Thank you for your patronage, sir.”
“C’mon, Johnny. It’s just Hyaloo to ya.” Hyaloo leaned in. “And don’t worry, kid. You’ll get outta ‘ere soon enough. I’m rootin’ fer ya.”
“Thank you, sir,” I responded.
“Tch.” Hyaloo straightened up and headed out toward his ship. The bell on the door tinkled as it swung shut behind him.
I was left alone at the counter. No new customers were coming in, and the few that were left seemed to be quietly wrapping up their meals. I took a rag and began wiping down the counter where I had spilled coffee earlier. I picked up the mug Hyaloo had left and cleaned the coffee ring underneath it. I paused, brought the mug over below my chin, and stared down into the half-empty mug. In the coffee’s reflection, an alien stared back at me.

Every night, Jake took the same route. Four roundabouts, right lane onto the highway, then loop back until he could get off Exit 18 and drive back to his neighborhood. He became very familiar with the roar of the road, windows open as cold wind blasted his face. The feel of the steering wheel under his freezing fingers, until he started wearing gloves. The inexplicable grief that overcame him every time he thought about stopping. The way his heart started lifting when he saw the dial on his dashboard climbing. 70, 80, 90. Trees and signs racing past, until all he could think about was the way each stretch of street was swallowed up by the black of the night.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know why he did this every night. This had been going on for a few months now. He told his mom he liked to check the car’s gas tank and fill it up before school the next day. Or that he was picking up his girlfriend from the library and driving her back home because she lost track of time studying again. Or he thought of a recipe he had to try out right that second, and he just didn’t have the ingredients. He rarely got caught leaving the house, though. His mom went to bed at nine thirty at the latest, and sometimes Jake would stay out until 3 or 4 am. He was allowed to, now. Eighteen years old. No one could tell him what to do. It scared him, sometimes, having so much free will. No one to stop him from going too far.

One time, he broke down. He pulled to the side of the road, parked his car, and threw open his door. He wanted to start running and never look back. He wanted to throw something, break something, just to prove he was still alive. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He was eighteen, he was alive, and he didn’t know what to do with any of it. He ended up calling his ex-girlfriend. Jake still hadn’t told his mom they’d broken up. He didn’t know how to. He didn't feel like it was real. Nothing really changed that much. They still hung out, still talked and passed notes in class and went to school events together. They just…didn’t have that ease anymore. It was for the best, anyway. They were applying to colleges on different sides of the country. He kind of knew it wasn’t going to last. He knew she deserved someone who could actually be honest with her about what was going on in his head. He didn’t really even know what was going on in his head.

Sometimes he drove with music, sometimes without. He put on a podcast one time, and couldn’t remember a single word they said. He used to drive with the radio blaring every night, blasting classic dad rock and various one hit wonders. Then that song had come on, the one his parents had danced to on their wedding night. He felt a wave of devastation hit him like an avalanche. Boulders coming down a snowy mountain, crashing down on his shoulders. He felt the grief in his bones, shuddering through his nervous system. It made its home in his chest, settling in like packing dirt around a plant. Its shoots, leafy green and thorny, invaded his arteries. The heaviness crawled around him, vines wrapping around his limbs until all he felt was numb.

When Jake was eight, his dad died. His dad was a race car driver when he was younger, the kind with wit as fast as his wheels. He had met Jake’s mom when they were sixteen, in a crowded cafe in Paris. She was there on a school trip. He was there for an international youth competition. He couldn’t speak a lick of French, and she ordered pan au chocolat for him perfectly. They met again twelve years later, both taking the same philosophy class at the same university. He was late, looking for a seat. The only open one was next to her.

This was Jake’s favorite part of the story: they locked eyes, and Jake’s dad knew that this was the girl he was going to marry. Jake’s mom would always chime in with, “I always had wondered what happened to that clueless American boy who couldn’t even pronounce ‘bonjour,’ and here he was, staring at me like he had forgotten how to blink!” Then she and his dad would laugh together like it was the funniest joke in the world, and Jake felt like everything was going to be okay.

Jake had told this story to his ex-girlfriend. She had laughed, and told him they would go to Paris one day, and talk about philosophy over pastries. He wondered if they’d still go, now that they were broken up. It wasn’t like things were over. He’d grown up with her, had known they would always be in each other’s orbits since they were five. She listened to him complain about calculus all throughout sophomore year, yelled at a kid who made fun of his klutziness in the fourth grade, made him a CD after he’d called her at 2:36 am, sobbing, “He’s been gone from my life longer than he was even in it. I’m eighteen years old and he never got to see it. He’ll never see me graduate.”

“It’s so quiet in my house and I can’t stand it anymore. I feel so suffocating, so I drive and I drive and I drive and I turn right back around. I’m trying to run away from it; he’s been dead for ten years. I should be over it. Em, I just miss him so much. Em, I love him so much. I don’t know what to do with it all. Em, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s never coming back. Em, it hurts so much.”

“It’s too quiet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he sniffled. “Yeah, it’s too quiet and my thoughts are too loud.”

“It’s too quiet, and my thoughts are so loud, and I’m losing my mind on the side of the highway at like 2 am, and I’m calling my ex-girlfriend because I don’t have anyone else in my life, and all my friends hate me ‘cuz I’ve been so sad for no reason, and my mom’s trying to hold it together, and I don’t have anything left, and I’m scared I’m gonna feel this empty forever, and–”

“Jake, you’re spiraling,” she told him. “Get back in your car. Drive home. Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

What else could he say? What else could he do? He got back in his car. He drove home. He slept. He brought Emily some roses the next day, fresh from Trader Joe’s discount section. An apology for wrecking her REM cycle when he knew she’d had a test the next day. She took a rose, gave him the rest of the bouquet back. She told him to give them to his mom, as thanks for putting up with his messy teenage boyness. Her words, not his. She gave him a CD she burned for him after they hung up. “For when things get too loud,” read the label, “this will be louder.”

The CD contained the most mind-blindingly awful songs he had ever heard, half of them screaming death metal from indie artists and the other half excruciatingly catchy children’s pop songs with copious amounts of autotune and synth. He loved her for making it for him. He gave the flowers to his mom. He still hadn’t told her that he and Emily had broken up.

70, 80, 90. What if he went faster? 90, 100, 110. Not good enough. Too much. He couldn’t handle it. There was no one to stop him. 110, 120, 130. Faster? Whoa–

Jake braked faster and more suddenly than he had ever done anything in his life. Time slowed to a crawl. He felt strangely calm. He wondered vaguely, absurdly, what would happen to the leeks he had just bought. He knew his mom wouldn’t use them. She hated cooking. Jake’s dad had taught him how to cook. They both loved food, pretended like they were on a cooking show. Emily’s parents were always fighting, so she’d come over to his house and hang out for hours on end. She’d sit at the kitchen counter, legs swinging from the too-tall stool at the counter she always sat at. Jake’s dad bought her a fancy beret so she could pretend to be a food critic. She’d rate each dish Jake and his dad made her, always proclaiming their score to be either fifty million out of a million or negative two. Jake’s dad thought she was the funniest girl in the world, except for Jake’s mom. Jake looked up and he was upside down. His car was mangled, metal bent all around him. Airbags blown out, various forgotten fast food containers scattered. Jake was sitting in his car upside down, branches poking through his windshield. Car, meet tree.

What happened next was a blur. He remembered hazy snapshots of the night. Paramedics pulling him out, strapping him onto a gurney that smelled sharply of antiseptic. Head pounding, siren dancing through his eardrums. His mom, her eyes filling with tears, holding his hand at his bedside. My baby, my baby, is the shape her lips formed. He didn’t hear a word. Emily visiting him the next day, a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in her small hand. Sorry, they didn’t have roses, she told him. His dad never showed up to his hospital room. His dad never left the hospital. His dad haunted him, from the endless corridors he remembered waiting in, to the feel of the hospital sheets under his fingertips. The scratch of the doctor’s pen on the clipboard, the squeak of shoes on the linoleum floor. My dad died in a bed just like this, Jake thought. I could have died.

“Yes, Jake,” Em said. “You idiot. Don’t kill yourself just to see him again. He’s right here.”

“No, he’s not,” Jake said. “He’s not here. He hasn’t been here for over a decade.”

“Jake,” his mom said. “Jake.”

She was crying. She held up a mirror to his face. His dad, twenty years younger than the day he died, stared back at him.

“Oh,” Jake said. “Oh.”

“He’s always with us,” Jake’s mom said. “Can’t you feel him?”

And Jake felt the vines recede, sede their grip on his heart, the strangled way they had cradled him, kept him from falling apart. He felt raw, and bruised, and vulnerable. Emily laughed at him. He started laughing. He always laughed when she did. His mom started laughing too. The three of them, laughing and crying and getting snot all over each other. Jake in a hospital gown, his mom in one of her big soft sweaters and Emily in one of Jake’s own hoodies.

“I’m sorry,” he told them. “I wasn’t trying to die.”

“You haven’t been trying to live, either,” Emily responded.

“I know,” Jake said.

“Will you?” she asked.

“Will you still go to Paris with me even though we broke up?” Jake asked.

“Make me a pastry first, baker boy,” she said. “I need the latest episode of Jake’s Bakes. Then we’ll see about Paris.”

“You broke up?” gasped Jake’s mother. And Jake’s dad, smiling from wherever he was, laughed at his wife like she had just told the funniest joke in the world. The world quieted, and Jake heard that laugh. He knew everything was going to be okay.

“Mr. Hawthorne?”

The woman peered over her clipboard with a smile—the warm, contagious kind that seemed to wash over everyone within range. She wore a long, fitted white gown paired with red high heels-the signature Escort uniform. Her lips displayed the same bold scarlet color, and Nathaniel couldn’t help but notice how nicely it contrasted with her pearly white teeth. She must have spent a small fortune getting them fixed, he noted; no one but the A-List elites were born without imperfections, and cosmetic surgery was something most Escorts saved up years of hard work for. 

Nathaniel himself was a man right in that awkward stage—a B-List, consisting of businessmen, education, law enforcement, minor government and military officials. B-Listers were nicknamed the “Silvers”—always reaching for Gold but never quite reaching it. Of course, it was a respected standing amongst the C-Lists—middle-class citizens with nothing quite in particular to show for themselves. Much better than a D-List, heaven forbid he should ever stoop low enough to perform actual labor. And certainly preferred over the unspeakable…the dreaded E-Lists. But nothing, not even the A-Lists compared to the Erudite— the leaders who had saved their society from a world of war and pollution and had transformed it into a single organized, peaceful nation. The 1% who ruled them all with absolute power and humble sovereignty. An interesting description, Nathaniel thought, for a group of conceited men who exceedingly dismissed the values that had rescued their society in the first place.

What am I thinking, he quickly thought. I would not be here right now if not for the Erudite, waiting for an Interview. Nathaniel knew this could change everything. Perhaps he might finally be admitted. He would bring back the ideas that had united the universe: of order, justice, and equity, if only his shy demeanor and awkwardness didn’t get in the way. To be one of them, he had decided early on, was to finally gain knowledge. To be free to explore, to invent and discover like the Pre-Erudite teachers he had learned about back in grade school—Issac Newton and Nikola Tesla and Steve Jobs…

He heard the quiet tap tap of the Escort’s pointed heel and realized she was still standing there expectantly, waiting for his response. Nathaniel cleared his throat and attempted to collect himself, standing up from his chair. “Yes, h-hello,” he replied, trying to hide the slight hiccup in his voice quite unsuccessfully. 

“Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne. Your Interview is scheduled shortly. We hope we won’t take too much of your time, but the procedure should be quick as long as everything runs smoothly,” She recited in the same cheery tone. “If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please feel free to ask.” The Escort paused, then leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. She whispered, “Oh, and it’s very normal to be nervous. We’ve all been there during our first Interview. But I suggest you just relax. The lie detectors will work faster that way.” She flashed him another one of her smiles. “Please follow me”.

Nathaniel managed a nod, signaling for her to carry on. He discreetly finished dusting off the sleeves of his shirt, adjusted his suit collar, and stepped in line behind her. The Escort led him towards the front of the room, where a large opaque door stood. She paused briefly to scan her hand against the fingerprint reader, which opened the invisible door with a soft swoosh. Leaving the reception area they stepped into a long, dimly lit corridor with countless rooms arranged on both sides. Nathaniel read the signs fixed next to each one as they walked by: Interview Room #1A, Interview Room #16D, #6C. He noticed that below the sign was a piece of paper, looking out of place amidst the harsh modern interior and savvy tech. He was observing the rows of checks and “X's next to what looked like a list of names when he heard the Escort clear her throat likely and hurried to keep up. 

“Here is where your interview will take place,” she informed as they stopped in front of a room labeled “Interview Room #1B”. “If you need me, I will be waiting right outside. Once you are done with your Interview, I will escort you back out. Any questions?”

“Oh, um, I had imagined you’d be attending the Interview with me…,” Nathaniel started. “How silly of me. Never mind.” He felt his face turning red with embarrassment and hoped she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

The Escort only chuckled lightly, reaching for the doorknob. Compared to the semi-transparent glass door they had entered earlier, this one was made entirely of metal and slid open with no sound at all. 

“After you, sir.” The escort gestured for him to step inside. She gave him one last smile, shutting the door abruptly behind her. 

Nathaniel was already missing her presence as he rapidly took in the bright artificial lighting and mirrored room—he could see his reflection from every possible angle, which made him a little jittery. The room was completely empty except for a small table fitted with three seats—two of which were taken by a man and woman who were currently staring at him very intensely. Nathaniel quickly sat down in the remaining chair. He figured he should introduce himself, so he stammered out,“H-hello, I’m Nathaniel. Nathaniel Hawthorne.” 

The women smiled. Somehow, it seemed quite different from the one he had received from the Escort not a minute ago. “Yes, we are aware. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Hawthorne. I am Official Kennedy, and this is Official Mark. We will be in charge of handling your first Interview.” She paused, reaching beneath the table to grab a queer contraption consisting of several wires connected to a rectangular black box. “As you may know, we have a very strict security policy. This is simply to ensure the authenticity of the Interview, of course, but we will now be fitting you with lie-detector equipment created by the Erudite Safety and Protocols team for the benefit of our Interviews. Please extend your right arm and lay your palm flat on the table.”

Not a single one of the articles he had read had mentioned a lie detector. Still, Nathaniel lay his arm on the table, assuming that it could do no harm. After all, what lies did he have to tell, and what could they possibly figure out from a bunch of wires wrapped around his fingertips? He felt himself beginning to relax a little as Officer Mark drew up a thick stack of papers and Officer Kennedy secured the contraption to his fingers. She connected the wires to a little computer next to her, which flashed to life displaying a graph with lines running across the screen.

“I will now be going through a set of questions to best determine the outcome of the interview. This is just protocol, so please try your best to answer as well as possible.” Officer Mark droned in a monotone voice. “First: what is your class grade, and what is your occupation?”

Nathaniel had to suppress a grin—this was too easy. “I am currently a B-List, and working as a professor at the Erudite University of History and Sciences.”

“Hmm-mm.” Officer Mark made a little scribble on the first page of paper. “All right. Can you tell us a little more about your job? Why did you choose it?”

“I didn’t; I was recommended by my grade school teacher to one of the previous professors at the University. I decided to accept their offer of a one year period and loved it so much that I asked for a ten-year extension.” Nathaniel loved talking about his occupation. It was one of the rare things he was passionate about, and especially proud of. 

“Interesting.” The officer replied, sounding anything but. Another little scribble. “The education field is known for its intense social responsibilities, as it is tasked with the role of educating the future generation. How do you handle situations when they go out of hand?”

“I, uh…,” Nathaniel didn’t quite comprehend what he was asking. “What do you mean by ‘out of hand?’”

“Things like unusual activity. When particular students express ideas…that don’t quite align with our Erudite values. Situations where proper discipline is required to guide them towards the right path. I’m sure you’ve encountered many before.”

“Oh! Well, I mean, there’s certainly been difficult students if that’s what you mean. Usually I just have a quick discussion with them privately. Wouldn’t want to embarrass them, but I also try to pay closer attention to them to  make sure it doesn’t become a trend, if you know what I mean?”

Officer Mark grunted what sounded like approval, glancing at Officer Kennedy monitoring the computer. She scanned the screen and gave him a little nod. “Very good. Now moving on.” He cleared his throat. “What, in your opinion, are the strengths and weaknesses of the Erudite?”

Nathaniel’s voice caught in his throat as well. “Excuse me?” The question seemed out of pocket, for a personal Interview. Weren’t they here to assess his personal experience?

“The Erudite. What do you think of our sovereign leaders?” The Officer repeated.

“Well...I would say I feel deep admiration for them, I suppose. Without them, we’d have never had a chance to rebuild our society, and advance in a way no one has ever attempted before.”

More scribbling. Then, another glance at the screen. 

“Tell us more. Do you think it is necessary to have these advancements, even if it means putting aside what seems like the needs of the people?”

“During the Pre-Erudite wars, people were sick and starving. They fought meaninglessly against each other and were corrupted by greed. Do you believe society was worth saving at the time?”
“What do you think about the Erudite’s decisions during the Reconstruction and Rehabilitation period? Would you have done the same, if you were in their position?”
The questions were fired one after another like gunfire, with Nathaniel scrambling to keep up. He felt his body tensing up again under the pressure, and a quick glance at the squiggly lines on the monitor confirmed his wildly escalating heartbeat. 

“What would you say is the most important role of a B-List? If you could choose, would you remain a B-List? Or would you want to advance to, let's say, an A-List?”

“Do you think the Erudite society is heading in the right direction?”

A pause.

“I-I…I, um, I…,”

A shared glance between the two Officers. All three of them turned towards the monitor. To his horrible suspicion, it displayed a crazy set of lines heading in all directions, rising and falling with the thump thump of his heartbeat.

 “...An error?” He caught Officer Mark’s whisper. Officer Karen pursed her lip. There was a long beat of silence, and Nathaniel was afraid that his heart would burst at any moment. Surely he couldn’t have failed already? They needed to give him a second chance. 

“...No. An error. Continue.”

More questions. This time, Nathaniel responded with care, noting the slight shift of the Officers’ eyebrows or the little nod of approval he got after an acceptable answer. Officer Kennedy even gave him a small smile, this time more similar to that of the Escort’s. 

“Good. We’re done here. Check off his name. He’s a pass.” 

Nathaniel beamed with pride.

He saw Officer Mark getting up from his seat, straining with the effort due to his rather large and round figure. He maneuvered around the table towards Nathaniel, resting his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Thank you for completing your first Interview. We are glad to inform you that you have been cleared and will need no further examination.” He announced, giving his shoulder a small squeeze, as Nathaniel tried not to wince.

A snort. “Oh, cut the bullcrap, Mark, and get it over with. He won’t remember anything anyways. Erase his memories.”

"Erase...

...His...

Memories..."

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ears processed the sounds, his brain converted them to words, yet his body was slow to react. He turned to look at Officer Kennedy, just as he felt a small prick on his right arm. “W-what…” Thump. Thump. Somewhere in the distance, he seemed to hear his heartbeat getting louder and louder. The lines of the monitor became frantic, sizzling and shifting around like a colony of ants.

He saw Officer Mark’s face peering over him, a large syringe in his hand. He looks almost sympathetic. “Thank you for completing your 33rd Interview. See you again next year,” he whispered.

Then, blackness. 

The Cabin

Chapter One

My town was a lively one, a complete contrast to me. I had no family at all, and I was stuck in my single cottage. The house was my late grandfather's. Like me, he was a single man. Not many belongings. I was a man of about my early forties. I looked much older than that, though. I had lived a simple, but bleak life. I was able to half-remember my childhood history. I glared in the corner. There was an old, unbelted piano there. I thought about my love of music, and Beethoven. My life was like his. I just forgot everything that I ever sang, though. I stretched; that's enough thinking for today. With this, I closed up the thick metal blinds which I had constructed myself, and slept. Those thick curtains hid all the noise, and the light too. As I was climbing into bed, I could hear a far-off roar outside. I wasn't disturbed by it, till the roof fell.

I howled in pain. "Help!" I screamed out of fear and hysteria, forgetting that I was alone at home. I stared at the sky from the shattered roof. This was a tornado. I did not receive a warning because I did not own a cellular device, or an alarm. Those curtains were not ideal. They excluded all possible warnings. The sirens, even the screams of the individuals. A gust of heavy wind came out of nowhere and took hold of me, dragging me across the dark oak floor. Doing so, I bumped my leg against the curtain, causing a shock of pain through it. It was most definitely busted. Just like my house was. I grabbed the curtain, the only thing that was between me and being blown out of there. The wind suddenly just died down for no reason. I let out a huge gasp of air, I was alright! I looked out into the window, and I could hardly believe it. Not a soul around, all laid waste. Despondency hit me. I never used to enjoy this town, but to see this sort of destruction shocked me. I couldn't explain it. It was as if I knew nothing of where I was. But what I did know was that I had to be away from where I was.

I hobbled out of my house and across the field, or what was left of one. I noticed a boat out of the corner of my eye. I had no other choice. I couldn't go back home, considering that I had no money for repair. I also had nothing to carry, or at least that's what I thought. I tried balancing myself on the boat. I couldn't swim. This was quite dangerous for me. I clung to the paddle and tried pulling myself over with my bony hands. I had no clue where I was going, or when I would arrive. What Fate awaited me?

Chapter Two

I shivered and looked down at muddy water in disgust. That was it! I kicked the boat in frustration. How could I have forgotten water? Who knew how long this journey would last? I had been paddling for a day already. I had just realized my own thirst. I unwillingly scooped the filthy water and brought it to my lips. I gulped unwillingly. The water was murky but invigorating. I was also hungry. I had gone hungry before, but this was nothing. I could not possibly have consumed any food from home. All I consumed were pieces of meat and rotten fruits that I begged for. Home, I thought. I never believed that I would ever miss such a town. Hunger cut through my stomach. I had an idea. It was quite a struggle, but I managed to snap off a small piece of wood from the side of the boat. I attempted to shape it into a spear.

I managed later on, and I had a few splinters on my hands as a result. I swept the spear across the water with hope that one would swim by. A few scrawny fish swam by. I pushed the spear into the water with the hope of spearing one. But they slid away too fast. I had failed once more. Hours passed, and I finally got one. Now was the hardest part. I took out some crumpled paper from my pocket, and hung the fish on the side of the boat. I rubbed some of the wax from the parchment onto the stick and ran it against a second stick. I rubbed hard until sparks appeared. Fire! Now I was able to cook the fish. I held the stick over the fish and cooked it. Char marks appeared on the sides so I took it off. My mouth watered. I took a bite of the tender piece of meat and closed my eyes. I soon had another bite.
I would not normally enjoy such a bland fish, but I was extremely hungry. Suddenly, I experienced a piercing pain in the abdomen. Being out at sea for so long must have taken a toll on my health, I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. I looked down at my hands, which were covered in blood from the injuries I had sustained when the tornado hit. I felt the feeling of restlessness wash over me; how much longer would I be there? I rested my head against the back of the boat, hoping that I would make it to land the next day. Gradually, I began to close my eyes.

Chapter 3

It was still early morning, with the sun barely clearing the horizon to cast its pale light upon the black waters. I woke up to the boat's slow rocking, the pain in my stomach burning on steadily like a low fire that refuses to go out. My muscles were feeble, yet I could not help but press on. There was nothing but the boat and the open sea. I gazed at the fish, now tasteless and cold, but it had given the power to paddle onward.

I wasn't sure for how much longer I could hold on. My hands clung to the paddle with whatever strength I still had left. The blisters in the palms of my hands had burst several hours ago, but the pain hardly registered anymore. It was as though my body had closed down to all but the necessity to live. Each time I pulled on the paddle seemed to exhaust me entirely. I wasn't willing to think about how long it had been since I'd had a glimpse of land—two days? Three?

The days blurred together in a haze of hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. I leaned over to one side and looked out across the water, the waves shimmering with a sky that seemed to stretch on indefinitely, taunting me as much as they reassured me. I had no idea where I was going, only that I could not stay in this little boat forever. But where was I headed, and what did I find waiting for me on the far side of this seemingly boundless expanse of water?

The possibility of never catching sight of land again entered my mind, but I forced it out. I didn't dare to think that way. I had to just keep paddling, keep paddling, however desperate it looked. I wasn't going to allow myself to die out here, by myself, lost. The hours dragged by like miles of water with no horizon, the level sea inviting me with its emptiness. The sun climbed higher in the sky, the more fiercely it burned, searing me through the ragged tatters of my clothes. I could feel the sweat trickling on my forehead, but the battle was within me, a battle in silence against the hunger that roared in my stomach and the parched, burning dryness that convulsed my throat. The paddle strokes became more labored, each one forcing me further into the bottom, further from any flicker of recognition.

I was too tired to cry, but my body was begging for mercy. My legs ached, my arms trembled, and the stabbing in my side would not let up. But I moved on, something animal, something deep inside of me compelling me to move. Hope? Desperation? Maybe both. I could not allow myself to think. Thinking made it more difficult. A sound shattered the silence—something that did not belong in the endless silence. I did not stir, paddle frozen in mid-air, gazing out into the distance. My brain pounded harder, hope burning in my heart. Was it land? Or was madness playing tricks on my mind?

The sound grew louder, the splintering crash shuddering the air. I shut my eyes in the distance and screwed my eyes up, but only the blinding glare of the sun made it hard to see anything. And then, through the blinding shimmering heat haze, I saw it. A blackness, something enormous and dark, rising out of the sea. For an instant, I couldn't decide if I'd gone crazy. Was I dreaming? But no, it was real. A presence—a looming, tall one. A serrated shape on the horizon. The closer I got, the more it took shape as something I recognized. A small island, the shape of jagged cliffs rising out of the water like teeth. I had a jolt of energy, as if seeing land had somehow brought me to life.

I did not realize how much I had needed land until I saw it. The boat shot ahead as I paddled with new energy. Each inch of progress was a victory. Land had been in sight the very instant before, but now it loomed above me. The beach was appearing in the distance as I continued walking. I could see some of the trees, tall and twisted, bending in the breeze. I didn't know if this was an inhabited island or not, but I didn't care. I needed shelter. I needed water. I needed firm ground beneath my feet again. Minutes were like hours as I was finally close enough to rest. I could see the sandy beach, the water sparkling as it curved over the sand. My arms were sore, but I was almost there. Almost free.

I pushed the paddle into one final plunge, and with a shuddering crash, the boat surfed up onto the beach. I half-fell onto the beach, panting for air as the frigid shock of air hit my lungs. I remained there for an instant, my body shaking uncontrollably as I tried to regain some semblance of balance. The island was abnormally still. The trees were whispering in the wind, but there was no sound of any animal, no bird, no leaves. I looked around, attempting to discover some sign of life, some spark that I was not alone. But nothing. I limped to my feet, my legs trembling, and staggered onto the beach. The sand beneath my feet was a promise, something concrete amidst all this nothing. I staggered towards the trees, in search of something that was akin to civilization. The farther I went into the island, the stranger and more alien the landscape. The trees curled, roots shooting out of the earth like curled palms. The earth I walked on was hard, rocky, and treacherous, but I pressed on. It wasn't until I had walked into a small clearing that I saw it—something that disrupted the island's wilderness. Half hidden beneath mounds of moss and vine in the middle of the clearing was a structure. A cabin.

Chapter 4

I slowly approached the cabin. It looked small and old. Hesitantly, I reached for the handle. It felt cold and worn down, like it hadn’t been opened for a while. I took a step in, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I saw a small room to the left, and took a closer look. I froze.

In the corner of the room, there was a small, dusty, upright piano. Something was pulling me towards it, telling me to play. “What’s the use?” I muttered. I had forgotten how to play anyway. But I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out a hand and softly pressed a key. It let out a faint, acoustic sound. I could tell that it hadn’t been played for a while, yet it was still perfectly in tune. Without thinking, I sat down on the small, wobbly stool in front of the piano. Suddenly, everything came back to me. I remembered everything I had learnt. The Moonlight Sonata, it was my favorite childhood piece. I felt a surge of emotion. I found myself back in my childhood, staying up every night to play my piano. It brought back so many memories. My eyes pooled with tears, those were the good times.

I found myself getting carried away, playing the whole day, with my hands moving with a mind of their own. I played through the stabbing pain in my stomach, the burning sensation in my broken leg. Nothing mattered anymore. I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Happiness. I had regained all my skill, all my passion. It was truly amazing what a simple instrument had done to me.

I found myself getting a little dizzy, a ringing noise echoed in my ears. I knew that my long journey at sea had caused some major problems with my health. I tried to stand but collapsed. Unable to get up, I lied there panting. Every raspy breath I took drained some of my energy. I knew it was the end for me. I didn’t deny it, but simply accepted all the wonderful moments I had that day. I was satisfied with my life, even though it had taken years for me to finally find my true self. I sighed, my eyes closing by each second. Using all of my effort, I whispered out one last sentence. “Thank you, Beethoven.”

With that, I slowly shut my eyes, and drew my final breath.

The End

Anyone could easily tell it was a castle of her own making. The walls representing the brutal state of her mind echoed in the ridges and valleys of withered quartz she never bothered to fix, harshly contrasting with the bright colors splattered against the pale walls. It was almost as if she was both desperately trying to hide all of her fears and depravities underneath colorful illusions while being too delusional herself to fix the neglected place she called home. The wind whistled a haunting melody through the disheveled windows as if nature itself were trying to distract from the horrors within. The shards of stained glass littered the floors, manifesting a beautiful mirage of white rabbits, golden clocks, and bloodstained roses resembling the ones flooding the garden in the front yard. They almost succeeded at diverting me from the cracked marble tiles underneath them. The ceiling seemed to be the only thing that stayed perfectly intact after she inhabited the place. The extensive marble pillars snaked up the walls, uniting at the top to form an arch highlighting the mural underneath. The mural was an array of strategically positioned hues of purples and blues descending down to the center point, where a detailed painting of a silver pocket watch resided. If it weren’t for the faded rose detailing bordering the fringes of the design, I would’ve believed I had suddenly been transported elsewhere.

Even with the vibrant collage hopelessly reaching for my attention, the imperfections swallowed any glimpse of beauty that was once found there. For the church that was a sense of tranquility to many was now consumed by the broken mind of a child cursed to be eternally unkind.

It was difficult to believe that the wasteland I was clawing my way through used to be a recollection of beauty and grace. Her presence now haunted these walls, erasing any semblance of kindness, community, and hope that was once thriving.

Although she was beyond my glimpse, I could feel her contiguity lingering, as if she were a predator stalking her next meal. The glass cracked beneath my feet, alarming her of my existence. Every step I took rang in my ears, serving as a harsh reminder of my fate presented before me. The mesmerizing shards of what was once hopeful art stabbed through my skin, begging me to turn away so I wouldn’t become just like they were. Fragmented, forgotten, and alone.

If it weren’t for my brother’s desperate weeping mimicking the screams of the history being lost underneath my body weight, I would’ve run far away from this dead-end church long ago. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t leave him there. He was all I had; sacrificing him now seemed like a waste. So, I continued to trek through her den, silently crossing my fingers behind my back.
My eyes began to burn as I glared down at my thick boots; memories that were once so deeply rooted in my mind that I had wished they left were now holding me captive. The last recollections I held before all was destroyed and the gods reprimanded me for being greedy, wishing for one last moment of peace, were now disintegrated back to its initial condition.

Visions of Sunday mornings spent listening to a man speak prose I couldn’t comprehend flooded my mind like a hurricane. I never noticed the tumultuous sound of time ticking by as I yelled about how I could’ve been playing rather than sitting on a bench, not understanding how that same face I was so determined to reprimand would soon become buried in fragmented shards of memories. Now even the minuscule flakes of glass glinted in the light and illuminated a masterpiece—something I wish I had noticed years ago. But it was too late now. A new creature had claimed its golden throne and chose my guarded, heart-shaped box to be their shrine.

I bit my tongue, hoping to eradicate the potent taste of blood infecting my mouth as the overwhelming agony of tiny daggers sliced through my boots. This had to be her intention; it couldn’t not be. For what other reason would the exterior of her residence be sparkling as if it were built yesterday rather than centuries ago while the interior was torn to shreds and left with bitter claw marks? That had to be it. Although she holds a mind poisoned by those before her, it cannot be so deeply intoxicated she’d vanquish a place she once resided in for comfort. The shards could certainly serve as an ale to a paranoid mind attempting to ward off those who dare attempt to injure. Perhaps the blood was the ale itself? Healing whatever caused her to bleed through vicious revenge.

My mind descended into madness as I attempted to lift my feet once more to endure another step. The distant harmonies of her overbearing demeanor seeped venom into my blood, paralyzing me with fear. I froze as tears clouded my vision, petrified at what the place had become. The grief I had buried so deep down it had formed a pit in my soul, was finally bubbling to the surface. The wind howled as my knees gave in and I tumbled to the ground, banishing hundreds upon thousands of radiant remembrances to dust.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this was yet another nightmare soon to be forgotten by daylight, but as if the sun despised the idea of being replaced, it hit the direct aim of the window, forcing the prismatic rays to flash through my shut eyes. I wailed, refuting the sun’s lust for attention. But the sun became obsessive, omitting patterns of light, forcing me to blink and open my eyes.

But as I wipe my eyes, I no longer see a corrupted church; I see a little girl’s home. Lively paint splashed on the walls, centuries of footsteps worn down the glistening tiles, and childish mistakes littered the floor. Generations upon generations of young children ran through these halls, and she was simply just another addition. For I had no right to grieve as the angel of death had not come to take me; she came to take back her happiness through a sanctuary of memories. For although she may be the bringer of doom, Kelsi Potenza is still an angel underneath the chains pulling her down.

The young mouse scrambled up the steep hill that led to Ealdræd’s hut. He stumbled over a rock, but regained his footing and continued his frantic climb. As he reached the crest of the hill, Ealdræd’s hut lay before him. He hurriedly rapped on the wooden door. An aging gray mouse leaning on a staff opened the door. He wore large spectacles, and was dressed in the traditional robes that designated him as a wizard. He smiled when he saw the young mouse panting on his mat.

“Well hello Leo. What brings you here?” he asked gently.

“Oakley is very sick, Ealdræd,” the mouse said respectfully through his gasps for air. “Father requests your aid in healing him, for the sickness is beyond his ability to cure.”

The old mouse suddenly looked grave. “It has been many winters since I have encountered any sickness that was beyond the abilities of Woodrow Everett. These are ill tidings indeed. Take me to your father. I must see to this immediately.”

Leo nodded. The two started down the hill. When they reached the healer’s hut they found Leo’s father hunched over Oakley. He glanced up when he heard the door open, but his attention quickly returned to Oakley. Ealdræd walked over to his friend. The two spoke in hushed tones. Straining his ears, Leo could just make out what they were saying.

“Is it the Nameless Plague?” Ealdræd asked quietly.

“I fear so. All of my herbs have done nothing. I fear it is the same one, the Nameless Plague.”

“How is the boy doing?”

“Oakley is faring better than most. But these are just the early stages. And we both know that there is only one outcome for those infected with the Plague. Death.”

“One outcome, unless one goes to great lengths to save them. I shall climb Mount Sebux, and obtain the root of the Zohar tree. Until the root has been collected, our village will be in great peril.”

“Ealdræd, we both know you can never ascend those great mountains alone. Wizard or not, you have seen too many winters to survive such a quest.”

Leo stepped up to the two older mice. “Father, if I may, I will go with Ealdræd on his quest to obtain a cure to this vile plague.”

His father looked appalled. “Leofwine Everett, eavesdropping on your elders!”

Ealdræd cut in. “The boy has shown much courage in offering this Woodrow. Scold him not.”

His father nodded curtly. “Leofwine, your offer is generous, but you are inexperienced, and unprepared for the dangers that lie beyond our borders.”

Ealdræd glanced at Woodrow. “Can the boy shoot?”

Woodrow nodded. “His bowmanship is impressive for his age, and has some ability with a sword, though he lacks my skill with herbs.”

Ealdræd nodded. “Then he is prepared for what lies beyond our village. Leofwine, pack your things. We depart at sunrise.”

*****

It seemed the entire village had come to see the two mice off. Mice, squirrels, and even a few hares all waited at the gate to wish them luck on their quest. Ealdræd ignored them, but Leo couldn’t help glancing around the assembled crowd. When they reached the gate they were met by his father. Woodrow was brief, wishing them luck on their quest and presenting Leo with both a dagger and a bow, as well as a quiver full of arrows. Then they were through the gate, and it closed behind them. As soon as the gate closed Leo heard a rustling in the bushes behind them. Leo dropped the bow and quiver and drew the dagger. He spun around, only to find he was facing nothing but a rather large squirrel.

“Bushtail sir, at your service,” the squirrel said in a rather energetic voice.

Leo blinked. He glanced at Ealdræd, who made an I'll-explain-later gesture, and stepped up to Bushtail. The two briefly discussed something about fare and destination, before Ealdræd walked back to Leo.

“Good news. Bushtail will take us to the shore of Lake Glacier. From there it is but a short hike to Mount Sebux.”

Bushtail nodded energetically. “Oh yes. Climb on!”

Leo, now thoroughly confused, followed Ealdræd’s example in climbing onto Bushtail’s back. As soon as the two mice were seated, Bushtail took off. The squirrel was surprisingly fast, and in a few minutes the village was lost in the trees. The forest stretched for miles in every direction, but Bushtail seemed to know exactly where they were. After only a few hours the distant forms of mountainous peaks emerged in the distance. Finally, they stopped at a massive lake. Across lay the mountains, their peaks cold and unwelcoming. Much of the lake was frozen, and massive icebergs floated in the places where liquid water still remained.

“Well, here we are!” announced Bushtail in his energetic way. The two mice dismounted and thanked the squirrel, who then bounded away back into the forest. 

“Ok, now do you care to explain what that was about?” Leo asked Ealdræd. Ealdræd laughed.

“Many of the squirrels of the forest will help us smaller races around the forest in exchange for food,” he explained. “Bushtail is an old friend of mine, and he trusts me to fulfill my promises, so he is fine with being paid shortly upon our return to the village.

Leo nodded, trying to wrap his head around the alien concept.

“Now,” Ealdræd continued, “we need to decide how we should cross this lake. By raft, or by foot. Regardless of whichever we chose, our way will be fraught with peril.”

Leo thought. At last he spoke. “I think we should cross over the ice. While I don’t like the thought of it breaking beneath us, I doubt any raft could survive in such a river.”

Ealdræd nodded. “I agree. On foot it is.”

*****

As the sun began to set behind the mountains the two mice set out across the frozen lake. The ice was thin in some places, but Ealdræd knew what to look for, and they proceeded without incident for some time. It wasn’t until the last rays of light were fading that they encountered a problem.

“Delightfull,” Leo commented, glancing at the hundred-foot deep crevasse of death before them. The sound of rushing water came from below, although none could be seen. The crevasse was at least ten feet across, far too large to jump.The light of twilight was fading quickly, making their odds of finding their way back to dry ground effectively zero. Any attempts would likely result in bumbling about in the dark before stepping on a patch of thin ice and plunging into the frigid depths, never to resurface.

Ealdræd pointed. “We can cross over there.” In the distance Leo could make out the outline of an icy arch spanning the gap. Leo nodded.

“Can we make it?” he asked. It was getting dark, and the ice would be treacherous in the night. Ealdræd smiled.

“Sometimes you forget that I am a wizard, young Leofwinef. We need not fear the night.”

Leo gasped. Up until then he had all but forgotten about Ealdræd’s abilities. Now he remembered. Ealdræd could easily conjure up light from his staff. He did it back home to please the young ones all the time. Surely he could do it now.

Ealdræd picked up a shard of ice that was lying nearby. Speaking a few words of power, he threw the ice into the air where it remained, suspended midair by his spell. Ealdræd then gently touched the tip of his staff to the ice, and a pale, ice-blue light began to emit from the shard. Leo was amazed. He had never seen Ealdræd take this approach before.

“The ice is a little known trick,” Ealdræd explained. “Magic is always costly, but the ice refracts the light, allowing me to provide less of my energy to fuel the spell.” Leo nodded, and the two mice set off across the frozen plains. Ealdræd’s light was only enough to see a few feet ahead, and they soon lost sight of the arch. They trudged onwards, keeping close to the crevasse whenever possible, returning to it as quickly as they could whenever a patch of thin ice forced them otherwise. 

Suddenly piercing howls rent the night air. Ealdræd grimaced.

“The wolves of the mountains are hunting. We must make haste.”

Leo nodded. They quickened their pace, practically sprinting the final mile to the arch. But as they reached the arch Leo’s heart sank. In the distance he could see the shape of several large wolves, approaching the far side of the bridge.

Ealdræd saw them too. “Quickly Leo, across the bridge.”

“But the wolves-”

“Do you see another way to the mountains? We have no choice.”

Leo grimaced, but complied. The two mice scampered across the arch. The wolves were still some distance away, but they were swift. The mice began frantically climbing up the steep mountain, the wolves ever approaching.

Suddenly Ealdræd collapsed in a heap on the snowy ground. The shard of ice that had been lighting the path for so long fell from the air, shattering into tiny fragments. Leo frantically turned Ealdræd over, feeling for a pulse. It was faint. Ealdræd groaned.

“It… It was foolish of me to come here. Your father was right. The journey… it has taken its toll on me. Help me… help me stand up.”

“Ealdræd, no,” Leo protested. Ealdræd smiled sadly.

“I will not live to see the day, young one. Let me at least have one last blaze of glory.”

Leo sadly lowered his head, and gently helped Ealdræd to his feet. The old mouse smiled at Leo. Then, slowly, he walked down the mountain, to the wolves.

The wolves howled with glee as the elderly mouse walked up to them. They failed to see the look in his eyes until it was too late.

A mountain of snow came hurtling down the side of the mountain, uprooting trees and sweeping up anything in its path. Leo braced for the impact, but the avalanche parted around him. Below him, the wolves panicked. Some stood, riveted to the spot by the sight of thousands of tons of snow and ice crashing down the mountain. Others attempted to flee from the incoming carnage. But no wolf can outrun an avalanche, and the avalanche soon overtook them, sweeping them down the mountain until the mounds of snow and debris went crashing off a massive cliff. Leo watched until the avalanche had ceased. There was no sign of Ealdræd. 

Leo bowed his head. The old mouse had gotten his final blaze of glory, and it had outdone everything he had done in life.

Leo never knew how long he stood there, just staring at the destruction, wishing to see some sign of Ealdræd, some indication he was alive. But there was nothing. Out in the distance he heard the sound of some soft whimpering. The wolfs’ cubs probably. Chances were they had heard the avalanche, and had realized what had happened. Leo sighed. Was there any point in continuing on now, without Ealdræd? 

Ealdræd would want you to finish the quest, said a small voice in Leo’s head.

Leo glanced up at the mountain. He knew the voice was right. Slowly he began to trudge up the mountain. Just as the canyon where Ealdræd lay was about to pass out of sight Leo stopped. Drawing his sword, he raised it in a final salute to Ealdræd. Then he sheathed it, and resumed his climb.

*****

The early rays of dawn were just beginning to shine over the mountain top when the young mouse reached the peak. Before his eyes lay the strangest tree Leo had ever seen. It was perhaps twice as wide as it was tall, and its leaves were a brilliant golden color. It had to be the Zohar tree.

Leo immediately began to dig in the snow at the base of the tree. He found a small root and grabbed his knife. Carefully he dug the root out, and placed it in a small pouch. He then turned his back on the strange tree. Normally he would have taken time to marvel at such a plant, but now he just wished Ealdræd could have seen it with him. It didn’t feel right to stand here, alone.

*****

Bushtail was waiting for Leo when he crossed the river. He opened his mouth to ask something, probably about Ealdræd, but then, seeing the look on Leo’s face, closed it. He seemed at a loss for words.

Leo climbed onto the squirrel’s back. “Take me back Bushtail. I can see about your pay when we get there. Just take me home.”

Bushtail quickly shook off his stupor. “Oh-righto. To the village!”

Leo clung onto the squirrel’s back as Bushtail sprinted through the forest. All the while his mind remained in the canyon, where Ealdræd had fallen. Leo could still picture him, standing peacefully as the avalanche engulfed him. The old mouse had known his fate from the beginning. Leo was certain of that. But Ealdræd had gotten the death he chose, and Leo could accept that.

*****

By the time Bushtail reached the village a small crowd had gathered outside the gates. Leo ignored them. He could see their excitement at his return quickly vanishing as they realized that he was returning alone. He knew they had questions, but he didn’t want to answer them. Instead he rushed to the healers hut, his head down.

When he stepped inside he found Woodrow hunched over Oakley. It appeared that Oakley’s condition had worsened. Woodrow glanced up.

“Do you have it?” he asked Leo, who nodded. He passed Woodrow the root segment he had taken from the tree. His father quickly extracted some juice from the root, and dripped the juice into Oakley’s mouth. He sighed in relief as Oakley let out a faint groan.

“The magic of the Zohar tree is working. The Plague will not manage to overtake us.”

Leo slumped in relief. He had been worried that he was too late, that the Plague would be able to overtake the village. Then Woodrow frowned

“Where is Ealdræd?” he asked quietly.

Leo lowered his head. “He… he didn’t make it,” he said quietly. Woodrow nodded.

“Leofwine, don’t blame yourself for his demise. Ealdræd always knew that he was not destined for a quiet death. I won’t ask for answers you don’t want to give, but I know that whatever happened, he would be proud of you. Because of you our village is saved.”

Leo nodded, and stepped back outside. He glanced up at Ealdræd’s now empty hut. Ealdræd had been willing to sacrifice himself for the village. Leo hoped he could be that brave.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was a beautiful spring day. For the first time since Ealdræd died, Leo felt at peace.

I woke up in the middle of the night during a class trip to the sound of pounding on the door. I checked the clock next to my bed. It was 3:06 AM. Who goes around knocking at people's doors in the middle of the night, I thought. I tried to ignore it and go back to bed, but the knocking got more persistent.

"Let me in!" I heard a voice call from the other side of the door. In my groggy state, I thought I recognized the voice. Was it one of my friends? Curiosity got the better of me and careful not to wake anyone else in the room up, I got out of bed to look out the little peephole in the door. It was my best friend, Frienda.

"We're not supposed to leave our rooms!" I hissed through the door. "You're going to get in trouble!"

"Let me in!" Frienda insisted again.

"No. Go back to bed."

"Please! This is really important."

"Go. Back. To. Bed." I told her. "I'm not letting you in."

"And I'm not leaving! Something weird is happening in my room."

I sighed. "Go get a teacher."

"This isn't something the teachers will be any help with! Please."

"Fine. But if we get caught I'm saying I found you hiding in here."

"Okay! Open the door!"

I opened the door and light from the hallway filled the room as Frienda stumbled in. I looked outside to make sure no one was watching and quickly closed the door. 

"Frienda? Did you jump in a pool?" I asked, looking her up and down. She walked to the bathroom, her shoes squelching, and grabbed a towel to dry herself off.

She wrung out her long brown hair while saying, like it was the most normal thing in the world, "It's raining in my room."

I gaped at her. "Is this a prank? What do you mean it's raining in your room? Is there a hole in the roof? Where are Abigail, Beth, and Carrie?" Abigail, Beth, and Carrie were the girls Frienda was sharing a room with.

"They snuck out. And there isn't a hole in the roof. It's just raining. Come see for yourself."

I put on my shoes and followed her, tiptoeing, to the other end of the hall. The door to her room was ajar, and inside I could hear rain falling and the low rumbling of thunder. No, I told myself. It's just a very loud white noise machine. But when I opened the door, I gasped and stumbled back. The rectangular room had two queen beds pushed up against one wall and a chair in the far corner. There was a closed door on the wall opposite the beds that must've led to the bathroom. It was similar in layout to my own room, and in the darkness I might have even believed that it was the same room I had just left, except for the rain that was pounding down in sheets, blurring the outlines of furniture in the dark. Every few seconds, a flash of lightning would illuminate the room. The smell and sticky humidity of a thunderstorm slammed into my senses and I looked at Frienda, my eyes wide in shock. 

"I'm as confused as you are. One moment I was asleep and the next it was raining and I was running down to your room."

"I don't understand," I muttered, turning back to the room. "This isn't possible."

"I assure you, it is," a figure in the darkness said.

Panic flared in my stomach as Frienda shrieked and stumbled back. “Who’s there?” She demanded.

“I have simply come to fix the gaping hole in the weather. Would you be so kind as to leave me alone while I am working?”

“Who are you? What’s happening?” I asked.

“That is none of your business. But do not worry. You'll forget all about this."

You'll forget all about this.

Frienda looked as scared as I felt. "No way-"

I was sure whoever was standing there could hear my heart beating from across the room as I nodded and interrupted Frienda. "You're right. We'll go back to bed now." I grabbed Frienda's wrist and started dragging my struggling friend down the hall back to my own room.

"I'm glad you made the right choice," they called after us.

It wasn't until we were safely back in my room that I dared to let go of Frienda.

"Are you really going to let our memories be erased? Just like that?" she asked me, hurt.

"We don't even know if he's telling the truth," I said, glancing back at my friends to make sure they were still asleep. "He's probably a robber who wanted to freak us out enough that we would leave."

"But the room was raining!"

"I'm sure there was an explanation for that. Like what if-" But then the door opened. The scream I was about to let out got caught in my chest when I saw that the same figure was standing in the doorway, now illuminated by the hallway light. 

Its skin was like granite, a million little splotches of black, white, and grey, and its hair was pure white. Its eyes were so green they must've been emeralds stolen from a vault of jewels. It was about the size of a human, but clearly was not. I looked around for a way to escape and saw the window I had opened earlier when the air conditioner wouldn't turn on. Frienda seemed to have the same idea as me. We locked eyes and both ran to the other side of the room, jumping out the window. Luckily, we were only on the second floor of the hotel and the grass on the ground gave us a relatively soft landing. Still, pain flooded my whole body as soon as I hit the ground. Frienda groaned and stood up.

"We need to call the police! Do you have your phone?" I asked her.

"No. But we should probably go find one." She helped me up and we both ran.

"Wait!" I heard a voice calling after us. "I promise I'm friendly!"

We kept running, but the thing, whatever it was, was faster than us. Fear pulsed through my limbs, urging me to run faster. We ran into a parking lot and crouched in the small space between two cars, hidden. I heard running footsteps on the asphalt slow to a halt.

“Oh come on,” They said in frustration. “Now I have to destroy all these nice cars!”

And with those words, the wind started blowing faster, faster, faster, until it formed a funnel. I watched in terror as the tornado raged through the parking lot, picking up cars and growing bigger by the second. It was slowly making its way through the rows of cars. We stood up and tried to run from it, but it changed course and headed directly towards us.

“You can’t run!” They said.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and the tornado swallowed us. I expected pain, but all I felt was a slight breeze. I expected to be thrown around in a circle, but I stayed still. I tentatively opened my eyes. I was in the middle of the tornado. Swirling all around me in the wind were cars. Frienda was floating beside me. And- my stomach twisted- so was the strange creature.

“What’s happening?” I asked them.

“I’m going to erase your memories. Your kind can’t know about this.”

“You can’t do that! And what even are you?”

They sighed. “I guess since you won’t remember this, I can tell you. I am a troll. We control the weather. Sometimes our systems malfunction and things like snow in April or-” they gestured back at the hotel. "-raining hotel rooms happen."

“What?” I laughed in shock. “I mean, I guess that makes sense, considering everything that just happened, but still, what?”

“Humans never understand anything,” they grumbled. Then in a louder voice, they said, “I’m going to knock you out now. You will wake up tomorrow not remembering this.”

“You can’t do that!” Frienda was shaking with anger. “We deserve to remember stuff!”

“You can’t be trusted with this information. You’re humans! And you’re kids! Kids can’t be trusted with anything.”

“But we should remember this. We can keep secrets.”

“No.”

“Okay,” I said. “How about you make us forget until we’re adults? If you have the power to erase memories, you must have the power to just make us forget for a few years.”

They scratched their head, pondering the thought. “You’re still humans. I can’t allow that.”

“Please? This seems like a pretty important moment. Way up there with graduation and marriage. Would you really make someone forget their own wedding?”

“Fine. But only because I can see that you aren’t going to stop begging, and contrary to your beliefs, I am not a monster. You will remember everything when you turn twenty. And don’t try to bargain for eighteen. You’re still a teenager at eighteen.”

“YES!” Frienda squealed.

Then everything faded to black.

I woke up and looked around my college dorm.

“What?”

41 Years ago, I first awakened thanks to creator, Mr. Bottswire.
Mr. Bottswire was an old, charismatic mechanic that used to work for the army during the war.
Mr. Bottswire gave me life, he gave me light, he gave me vision. To me, he was the embodiment of God. He taught me everything I knew and gave me everything I needed.
Mr. Bottswire said I was built to be a weapon. A weapon for war. Though, the first few years of my life I spent being trained and improving my abilities. Every time I got hurt while training, Mr. Bottswire would fix up wires and change my gears for me, just like a father would help patch up their child’s wounds. Sometimes he would get really anxious when I got seriously hurt from the training program, I never understood why, I was just a robot, it’s not like I can’t be repaired if I was broken.
Mr. Bottswire treated me like I was human most of the time, he treated me like I was his child. He lost his only son in the war, maybe he sees his son in me.
He even had me try on his late son's old clothes. He had me use his son's old room too. Maybe the reason why he was so nice to me was because he thought of me as his child.
Mr. Bottswire used to tell me strange jokes to try and lighten the mood between us. One time I remember he told me.
“Hey you wanna know something cool? I just made a new pen that can write underwater! It can write other words too! Ha ha ha! Do you get it, do you get the joke? Such a knee-slapper, I’m so funny!” Mr. Bottswire laughed at his own joke, he laughed so much I think he teared up a bit.
“Ha ha ha ha.” I let out a robotic laugh.
“Hey, are you sure you found that funny? That laugh sounded rather..mechanical! Ha ha ha threw in another quick pun. Do you get it? Do you get the joke? ” He laughed uncontrollably at his own joke again.
“Uhm I need to use the bathroom.” I remember that was how I responded to him back then.
“What oh okay…Wait! Robots can’t use the bathroom! Come back!” He yelled back at me after I turned for the bathroom.
When the weather was nice Mr. Bottswire used to take me out on walks around the town. Us two hand-in-hand would walk by the river. After, Mr. Bottswire would buy something to eat, and a few flowers from the local florist. Mr. Bottswire would eat as he walked and I would carry the flowers. We eventually would end up at the memorial graveyard near the MapleBerry forest. We would pay our respects and give the flowers to the fallen soldiers.
Finally when I turned two or three (I can’t really remember now since it was a long time ago.) I was made into the strongest, fastest version of myself possible. That was when I first stepped into the battlefield. I fought in hundreds of battles during that ten year long war. I fought for my life. I fought for Mr. Bottswires life. Each battle I went into my only thought was that I had to survive. I had to survive for Mr. Bottswire.
“The Battle of Finality” is the name It will be remembered down in history as. This was the battle that ended the war. This was also the battle of tragedy. In the midst of war, Mr. Bottswire was on the field, repairing the fallen “Fighter Bots.” He gave out weapons and buffs to the bots that were still standing.
When the fight was coming to an end, the enemy pulled a surprise attack, bombing us from behind, while also blocking our escape route. We were trapped inside and there was nothing we could do. The soldiers were scouting the area for a way to break out. Everyone was in a frenzy, panicking, crying, shouting, we were completely closed in. The bomb hit us with critical impact, there were almost no survivors. After the impact, my body was torn to shreds. I couldn’t move a single joint. I was clinging to reality by one wire that connected my lower half to my torso and head. I thought I was done for. I turned my head, Mr. Bottswire was hugging me. When did he get here? Where did he come from? Why was he here and not back at headquarters? I didn’t know. Mr. Bottswires legs were torn off, his arms wrapped around me loosely. He was in terrible shape, his skin was tattered and torn. He was so “broken” you could see his bone sticking out from parts of his body. He was breathing. Mr. Bottswire was still alive.
“Mr. Bottswire?” I asked in a small, rigid, unsure voice.
“I’m sorry I don’t think I'm gonna make it.” He coughed out a spurge of blood.
“Mr. Bottswire.”
“If you make it, live a good life, make sure to leave a few flowers at the memorial for me. I’m sorry I can’t repair you this time like from when you got hurt during training. I should have never built you if I knew it was going to turn out like this, you would have been better off not fighting in war.”
“Mr. Bottswire what are you saying? What do you mean you're not gonna make it?”
“Hey, remember me when I’m gone kid.”
“Mr. Bottswire!”
“I love you.” Mr. Bottswire closed his eyes gently, and slumped down on my breaking apart torso.
“Mr. Bottswire? Wake up. Mr. Bottswire? Mr. Bottswire? Why aren’t you responding? Mr. Bottswire? Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up! What’s going on? Are your gears rusty? Do you want me to replace them for you? I don’t understand, Mr. Bottswire. Why aren’t you waking up?” I remember I called out to him over and over again that day.
The war was over. After the bombing, a different faction of our army set out and ended it. The war is over but at what cost?
At Mr. Bottswires funeral you could see just how many people cared for him. Through the hundreds of people that attended not a single one of them didn’t look at me with soft tenderness. They all tried comforting me and telling me it was going to be okay. The towns folk looked at me with sadness in their eyes. They looked at me with pity, not confort. The soldiers looked at me with empathy, not pity. But neither looked at me with confort. None of them looked at me like how Mr. Bottswire used to look at me with shining eyes.
Everyone told me that Mr. Bottswire was dead. But he wasn’t, there was no way, he was just somewhere far away, and he would come back soon. He isn’t dead. What even is death. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Please someone please,tell me when Mr. Bottswire is coming back.
After the funeral something clicked in me, and I started trying to make a clone of Mr. Bottswire. I tried reading his old notes and diaries. I tried to piece together my own “Mr. Bottswire.” Oftentimes when I went out of the workshop to get more supplies, the townsfolk would look at me with that humiliating, petrifying look on their face. They look at me with pity and discomfort. They will often whisper to each other saying things like; “I feel so bad for them, they’re so desperate.” or “When is someone going to tell them that their Mr. Bottswire is never coming back.” Sometimes I even hear a “Someone needs to put that robot down, they have gone insane.”
People told me I must feel so sorrowful, they tell me I'm desperate, I'm insane. But in truth, I'm not, I'm not sorrowful or desperate or insane or anything at all. I can’t feel anything after all I'm not human. I don’t know why I did the things I do. I don’t know why. Maybe it's because without Mr. Bottswire I have no purpose. I have no meaning. I don’t know. If Mr. Bottswire was here, he would tell me why I’m doing this. I don’t understand any of this. Mr. Bottswire must be out on a long trip somewhere far away. He will be back soon though, I just know it.
After years of waiting and trying to make a clone of Mr. Bottswire, my joints started getting rusty and didn’t work as well as they did before. This severely limited my mobility so I spent my days sitting in Mr. Bottswires chair instead. From morning to night I sat there waiting for Mr. Bottswire to return. He will return. I know he will. It has been 41 years since my birth. I am still at my creators workshop, waiting for his return. I sit here sleeping and collecting dust. While Mr. Bottswire is no longer returning to the workshop. Mr. Bottswire is gone.

>The Wilde<
Jaceri jerked her head to the other creatures crouched behind her. Tonight they strike. She leaped down from the tree, right into hostile territory. The others followed. Raj Central was a grid of brick and metal buildings, clustered and compacted into efficient cubes. Factories spilled poison into their rivers and toxicity into the crystal air. All for what? Technological innovations only led to more suffering and more burials of the magic folk. The prisoners would be kept in the catacombs, except those on shift in the factories. The thought alone of those magical creatures being kept as laborers treated less than beasts… It made her blood boil.

She raised a hand and slammed it into a fist.
The first rig shattered the glass of the guard house, and an alarm immediately followed. Explosion after explosion boomed throughout the complex. Fire rose, licking the night sky. Each bomb was strategically placed that night just an hour before during the shift in guards.

Her hand drifted to her white mask, making sure it was in place. A team of seven Wildes were already on their way to the entrance to the prison catacombs. Several magic folk were already running out, sensing a chance at escape. They were quickly directed by the group of Wildes to the outer gate and forest trail. Each Wilde cloak of grey-blue stood out like silver against the ruby-gold edifice. For the blood lost here, the complex may as well have been painted in it. One girl, a midnight creature no more than 14, nearly ran into her, the child’s eyes wild with panic.

Jaceri gestured to her comrade, signaling him to take the girl with the others. She had another venture on her own to attend to. She darted towards the central weaponry with the final rig tucked into her bag.

She would blow that blasted hellhole to bits. No more would die at the hands of starvation, exhaustion, and cruel lashings. She ducked behind a stack of crates outside the center structure. She would need to get out quickly before the rig timed out and detonated. That was the only thought on her mind before a hand slammed against her throat and pinned her to the wall.

>The Raj<
Stephan tightened his hold on the demon. This creature ravaged his province, his life’s work. He was left in charge of this base by his father and he would not allow it all to be ruined. How the beast got a hold of bombs in the first place was beyond him. Elves were the only creatures with the intelligence to craft such things. The creatures, or “Wildes” as they had called themselves, still used primitive weaponry and foul magic.

It clawed at his hands, then his face. The creature was at least a head shorter than him. He was nearly amused by its endeavors. He kept a firm hold, slowly draining its life. Its shimmering hood fell back as it thrashed and dislodged its mask.

He froze.

It- She was an Elf. No odd-colored hair, no horns or glowing eyes. Simple brown hair, a flick of freckles, and coffee eyes. It was unheard of that an Elf would abandon her people to fight for unnatural beings such as Fae and Dragons. Unthinkable.

His hands slackened ever so slightly in shock.

She gasped for air, still relentlessly clawing at his grip. Her molten eyes filled with hatred, more hate than his mirror reflected each morning. She was corrupted by those creatures. A true pity that even one of the sovereign species could fall so low. His own gold eyes bore into her.

“I will offer you one chance, little traitor. Bow and you will be granted life instead of a slow death.”

He didn’t have time to react before her hand shot out and grabbed the fang kept around his neck. Within seconds, she had it embedded in the back of his hand.

He howled, retracting quickly. He tore it out, pressing a hand to the bleeding wound.

“I will die standing before I live on my knees,” She rasped, her eyes glinting. “You will one day pay for your crimes, son of Raj.” She spun around and raced from the smoky building.

He growled and looked at the gash, still bleeding heavily.

She would suffer for this. They would all feel fire.

>The Dracel<
Anaya hurtled over a tree root and ducked beneath another branch. The forest was cast in an angry gold shade as the fire raged behind them. The magical creatures scattered, only a few keeping up with the Wildes racing ahead.

Saviors.

Dracel, night-creature, beast. That was what she was called, what she was. A creature of midnight skin and azul eyes. The Wildes had freed her and so many more. They were something of a myth down in the catacombs where they were held. Stories of these heroes passed in hushed breaths between cell bars. Because of them, she would live to see another day.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as a net flew past her and entangled a young Cerus. The poor thing let out a sharp cry before it fell. The Raj whooped as it was surrounded and dragged back while bleating. He aimed again, his sharp eyes locking on her form. No.

Her eyes snapped ahead, pushing herself faster. She weaved around a tree, then another. A hand lashed out from the shadow of it and hauled her back. She hissed and thrashed, blood pounding in her ears. The hand spun her around, and she was met with a light grey-blue cloak. Wildes. She was safe.

The man pointed up where others waited in the willowy boughs. She quickly grasped the tree truck and dragged herself into the shelter of the leaves. The Raj rushed past below them, terrifying entities in the firelight. She let out a breath, pressing a hand to her pounding chest. Safe safe safe.

The first Wilde raised a hand, signaling to the others hidden. One by one, they dropped silently to the ground. Anaya followed the handful of refugees wandering after the Wilde leading them. Her hands shook, the adrenaline slowly fading from her blue veins. It was only then she realized her left shoe was missing, lost in the escape. She sighed and pressed on.

As they traveled further from the Raj settlement, the gold light was replaced with the soft darkness of the moon. It welcomed her after such a time in the dark tunnels and smoggy factories. Anaya’s eyes glanced up, realizing where they had arrived.

Sharp gleaming trees rose from the earth, twisting into a magnificent wall. It was hidden well by the billowing leaves and flowers, as only a small entrance showed. They filed in one by one, and her breath was stolen from her.

Creatures of all kinds wandered the camp: Fae, Cerus, Dracel, Elafi, Dragon, and even the occasional Elf. Rope bridges connected to huts were built into the branches of each tree and firelights cast a beautiful array of colors over the sanctuary. She turned, and many of the Wildes had already begun tending to the awe-struck refugees. Several had wounds from the escape along with the long-term captivity and mistreatment.

One Wilde, the one who led them there, glanced at her. His eyes shifted and caught sight of her half-sided lack of footwear.

“Where’s your shoe?” He questioned.

Anaya’s face heated up. “The muddy path demanded a sacrifice,” she muttered, hooking her barefoot behind her other leg. He chuckled, hooking an arm around her narrow shoulders.

“You’ll have no use for it here. All your needs will be met.”

The next day, after a warm meal and a bed to sleep in, they were all offered a choice. Stay, and become a Wilde. You would have purpose, training, and a place to belong. Most of all, you could get revenge on those who wronged you, and help those who cannot yet help themselves. Or… They offered passage to the 5 Kingdoms.

Anaya’s heart soared. The 5 Kingdoms were a fabled legend, a fantasy land where magical creatures were equal or even ruled above Elves. The waters surrounding Riven were unpassable, there was no way to cut through the roaring waters and lurking sea beasts. Yet, here they were, claiming a northern current that provided safe conduct.

Her turn came. The Wilde asked her if they would join the coven or travel to the foreign land.

“I wish to leave,” Her voice sounded stronger than she expected. She truly wanted freedom from these memories, from those red-cloaked Elves.

The Wilde nodded and gestured to a small waiting group. From there, they took a small path to a dock where a voyager floated. They set sail.

Anaya looked back at the fading continent—her home.

She turned back to the open ocean, towards the rising sun.

She was free at last.

The small feline creature has always found himself alone. Waiting on the streets of this small city. No one bothers to even look at the cat, or notice that he exists. He always hopes that someone would see him, and take him for care. This has not happened for a year since he got abandoned by his previous owner, Paige Cox.

***

It was 2023 when the cat left his birth mom at thirteen weeks old from a small farm. He had five siblings, but they all seemed bigger and healthier than him, weighing at 5 ounces as newborns. This furry creature was the only one who was the smallest, and deemed the weakest by his siblings. Poor kitten, only weighing 2 ounces. He did not look as good as the other kittens, where his eyes were smaller and a bit more distorted compared to his siblings. As the youngest and the most fragile one, the siblings pushed him out to suck the milk from the mother. He just stayed behind in the small and dirty wooden box which the mother gave birth in, and watched the siblings greedily drink the milk. He felt the hollow ache in his heart which reminded him of a previous life.

How can this small kitten remember a moment from a past life? He was not supposed to remember anything according to reincarnation and atman. Atman is where the soul is reincarnated into another body, whether it’s a human or an animal. During that moment of sadness from being alone, the flashback just hit him out of nowhere.

He was hanging out with his friends at recess on an elementary school playground. The area was filled with large structures and slides with small children screaming and running around in the sweltering heat of 90 degrees Fahrenheit. The teachers sat together under the shade on the benches on the side of the playground and chatted while supervising the children. This human was in fifth-grade, too old to play on the structures. Instead, he stayed far away from the structure and the swings of the playground, on the cracked blacktop on the edge of the school property. He asks his friends to sit with him, and they start to discuss sports.

In the middle of the discussion, he looked up from his group of friends. He sees a small boy from his class moping around on the black top, staring at them. This boy was scrawny, with dirty brown hair and wore the same outfit every day which consisted of faded brown sweatshirt and jeans with stains on it. This was the kid that everyone picked on, including this guy with many friends. He was considered popular in his grade, while that tiny boy was a nobody. Since this poor kid was looking at them, the popular boy did not find any comfort from his stare.

“What are you looking at? Just leave us alone and go eat some dirt”, the popular boy said angrily. The poor boy quickly looked down. He looked down in isolation and tears were pooling around his eyes. The popular boy and his friends ignored him.

Finally, the kitten snapped back into reality. That memory of his past life as a human who left that boy out shocked him. Did I deserve the consequences for leaving that boy out and never realizing what I did wrong? Is this how it feels when you’re isolated? The feelings of emptiness hit him. It was a terrible feeling. From his birth and that memory, he knew he was going to live a terrible life of loneliness because of how he acted in his previous life. Karma was when he deserved the consequences in the future of his bad actions.

Before being abandoned, the cat knew there was no hope. He was meant to be alone. Paige Cox was the one who brought him home from the farm, and took care of him as a kitten. She was a young twenty-nine year old woman, tall and beautiful with brown silky hair. Because of the small white splotches on the kitten’s black fur, he was named “Splotchy”. The kitten had an amazing time with the owner, and was pampered so much. He started to think that he didn’t experience the consequences of his previous life. As Splotchy grew into an adult cat, Paige noticed that he did not look cute as she expected. The distorted eyes became more obvious, as the white splotches grew on the cat’s black fur. The hair always stuck out in all directions, no matter how much Paige tried to groom him. Finally, she decided it was not worth keeping the cat and left him outside.

Desperate, Splotchy clawed and meowed on the front porch door of Paige’s house. She knew that her cat was out there, but never let him in. She disregarded him completely, and left him alone. Days passed, but Splotchy continued to sleep on the porch, hoping the owner would take him in again. She never did.

A week passed after he slowly arose, and weakly stepped off the porch. Splotchy was starving, as the ribs showed through his skin. This was a reminder that he had to eat, otherwise he would not survive. It was late in the night, where most people were in their homes asleep. He slowly dawdled along the empty streets, passing the homes in Paige’s neighborhood, looking for food. Splotchy found some scraps, which he ate. This food was not as comforting compared to the kibble that Paige fed him. This was his life right now. Being a homeless, stray cat living off the streets.

Ahead, a glimpse of a glow caught his eye. All other houses in this neighborhood had their lights off at 3 AM, except that one small cottage at the end of the street. It had a unique structure compared to the rest of the houses, a one-story cottage. Curiously, Splotchy quickly ran towards the glow, and jumped on a windowsill on the front of the cottage. He secretly peered in, and noticed an old woman and a small young boy sitting together on the couch. The woman was holding a children’s book in her hand, while the boy rested his head on her shoulder. The fireplace was lit, emitting the glow which led Splotchy towards the cottage. But wait, what is that thing that the boy is hugging? Is it a— cat? This white furry animal was curled up on the boy’s lap, with his head tucked inside his body. He soon perked up, and stared at Splotchy. That cat looks so perfect, he must be having such a great time. That white cat gave a resentful stare. Of course that cat doesn't like me. Still, something of that cottage captivated him. Was it the warmth that they all shared?

***

Splotchy continues to visit that small cottage, every single day. He misses seeing the young boy and the old woman, and the cat all together as one family. Now they no longer spend time with each other, it seems the boy is busy with school while the old woman has grown sick. He notices that the warmth they shared with each other previously is no longer there. His fur flattens since they have never acknowledged his existence after all of that visiting. Suddenly, he feels a sense of dread as someone dangerous is right behind him. About to attack him. Before Splotch could turn around to defend, the stabbing pain blurs his vision. He topples out the window, falling onto the ground unable to get up. Splotchy feels a damp spot on him, knowing that he is bleeding. With seeing black dots in his vision, he is able to make out a white cat face in front of him.

“I always noticed your presence here in front of our place. I own these people and this is my marked territory. You are a dirty cat, you do not go into others' territory. Leave this place before I change my mind.”

This is the cat that the old lady and the boy own. He looks much older than Splotchy, like he is almost at the end of his life. Unfortunately, he has a daunting look with a red scar over his right eye. Both of his eyes are green, with black razor-sharp pupils and a deadly stare. He is a chubby cat, probably from being overfed so much. That’s why he had the power to attack me. He has all the food. I see why he is so selfish.

Splotchy knows he has no way to heal himself. At this rate, he would die in the old lady’s front yard. So much blood was pooled around him, with a horrible metallic-scent. The white cat continues to observe him and sits there. He knows I am going to die and he is refusing to help. Didn’t he want me to leave this place? How can he live with the thought of murder in his mind? This cat does not have any warmth in him that I am looking for. He is just as lonely as I am since the old lady and the boy aren’t around as much.

This does not give that white cat an excuse to enforce such a vile attack. He deserves to be an ant in his next life. The karma would come back to him for doing this to me. Splotchy tries to move his paw gently, but is quickly overcome by dizziness.

“Is this how you want your owners to see you? They have not met this side of you, I’m sure. To them, you’re a nice cat. If they saw the real you, they would definitely regret keeping you”, Splotchy meows angrily. He tries to understand why he was abandoned for being such a calm cat while this monstrosity beast is loved by his owners. Seems like looks are everything. He is a normal cat on the outside with a heart of stone. I wished I always looked more approachable, but not like him. This is not how life works.

“I see that you are unable to get up weakling. I cannot let you die here because my owners would find out. I am dragging you out to die on the road and we’ll pretend a car hit you.”

Splotchy knows it is over. He has to succumb to his wounds, and no one would know the truth of this cat and his murder. If karma was truly real, then this cat would get the consequences for what he has done. No remorse appears in his stinging glare. The cat bites on Splotchy, and starts to drag him out the blood mess. In agonizing pain, he starts to accept his fate. I am happy that I am not like him, who has become genuinely cruel. I understand what I have done in my previous life. At least I am ending this one as a good cat. The blinding light above Splotchy gives him the warmth that he was forever craving for.