I was away at college when my dog of eight years died from liver cancer. It hit me hard, harder than I would like to admit, that I hadn't said goodbye to him for real when I left. I'd been home a few days before to attend the funeral for a childhood friend. Ironically, she'd also died of liver cancer.

I have anxiety, with a side-order of OCD and depression. This means that if I'm already in a stressful situation, it only takes one little thing to tip me over. That semester, I was overloaded on coursework I had to get A's on to maintain my scholarship, working as a TA to earn some cash, coming to terms with my mother's loss of employment, and grieving not only for my friend, but also for my dog. Suffice to say I was stretched thin. So when my second dog died not two weeks after the first, my dad didn't tell me for week. He was afraid that this would be the thing that tipped me over.

And he was right. I completely shut down. Lucky for me it was a Sunday.

I didn't leave my room that day except for a few trips to the bathroom. The heating was broken, and I was sweltering, but I didn't leave. I lay on my bed, and watched mind-numbing videos. I don't remember what I ate, or what I drank. I must have had something. I had an assignment due the next day that I told myself I had to work on, but as I watched more videos, and watched the day pass by excrutiatingly slow, I didn't work on it, and didn't work on it, and didn't work on it, until it was too late and I was in the depths of dispair, because I always turned in my homework on time. That was who I was.

That day was a hellish purgatory, and when I woke the next morning with tired eyes and a head full of miserable thoughts, trying to pull myself together enough to go to a class at eight, I knew that was not the right way to deal. And I said to myself, then and there, that I wouldn't do this to myself ever again.

A year passed, and most of my family bounced back from having not one, but both of our faithful dogs die in the span of a month. We started talking about getting a new dog, because we missed having them. The reason we didn't just go out and get one was that my dad didn't really want another dog. He loved our two, and wasn't ready to let them go just yet. But my mom wasn't having any of it, because the last time our family dog died, it took ten years for him to get over it. So she found a dog that he couldn't say no to.

His name was Target. A rescue dog with PTSD, he feared strangers, men, clouds, parked cars, and wind, among other things. The point being, this was a problem dog. That's rescue speak for broken. Normally, he wouldn't have popped up on our radar, since my family left the rescue a few years ago. But, because my family was well known in the rescue association for dealing with problem dogs, we got a call from the head of the association begging us to take the dog in. No one else, she said, could handle how messed-up the dog was. We were the only ones who might be able to help him.

And we couldn't ignore that. Even my dad, with his heart so set on never dealing with the pain of watching his dog die again, couldn't ignore this dog that only he could help.

So it happened that the day my parents took Target home was the day my dad's brother suddenly died from a heart attack, at an age that heart attacks are considered a distant, almost improbable, possibility. He was visiting my grandparents when it happened. He'd been talking when he suddenly stopped, and he never finished his last sentence.

My dad called me when he found out, having learned from last time that it was better to tell me bad news as soon as possible.

Having learned my lesson, and sticking to the promise I made myself the year prior, I dealt with my grief better than before.

The funeral was that very week. I couldn't go, which was harder on my dad than it was on me, I think. That whole week, my dad worked on his little brother's eulogy. It should have been a tense time, a weary time.

But that week Target proved to be a great distraction. It being his first week with the family, he was a novelty in the house. Something for my dad to focus his energy on. Something for us all to think about, and focus on, and talk about. His presence forced us to be aware that there was still more in the world, that there was normalcy despite grief, that things would, eventually, resolve themselves. That this, too, shall pass.

The death of the two family dogs was a trial, but now I call it a trial run. For me, it was valuable practice in the art of grief, giving me the proper tools to handle a bigger death when it did come. And for my family, it was like a practice hurdle to prepare us for the death of a loved one, a death that sent ripples out into a larger world than our little household. I think that if they hadn't died when they did, if they hadn't died at all, we would never have gotten Target. And I think that the novelty of that dog, with all his odd quirks and fears, is what helped my family stand back up on its feet as quickly as it did.

So though it sounds callous, the timing, and indeed the fact of their passing, is too perfect for me to call their deaths anything but a blessing.

Life is a kind, if strict, teacher. She looks a lot like my mom, but reminds me of my dad.

With smack after smack on the wrist, and one bad accident that took years to scar, she's taught me pain is but temporary.

And in saying farewell to my classmates as they left her school, one after another she's taught me that some absences can only be filled by the people who made them.

I watched my dad cry as he buried his brother, when he suddenly left.

And I've stared at the white ceiling, lights still on, doing nothing, feeling nothing, only waiting for it to be time to sleep again.

But I've held my friends' hands as we skipped to class.

And I've sung silly songs with my brother when we did our chores.

So though some absences from life are empty, I can't say mine isn't full.

Anger is the sudden shock of a fall through cracked ice into freezing water.

Ice chills my veins, burning slow and careful.

In the cold my thoughts become clear and sharp, beautiful as an icicle spear, just as deadly.

How they glitter so.

Beware the quiet anger.

Like snowflakes in a blizzard that never ends, behind it lies a storm's intent.

(This was for a challenge to create a shark hybrid, and write a short story about that was worthy of a SyFy channel original movie. The instruction was to go 'bat shit insane' with it. So I did, and I went over the 500 word limit in my enthusiasm. I ended up cutting a lot of it for the challenge, but I felt that I needed to post the original. So, this is it.)

Todd lay awake, staring up at the roof of the tent, watching the interplay of moonbeams and clouds on the fabric in an effort to distract himself from his growing sense of dread. He listened to the sounds of sleep that came from the other three boys in the tent, but even that didn't help. Stepping cat-like over bodies that shifted in the uncertain light, he made his way over to the tent door. The unzipping was shockingly loud in the silent night, so he wasn't surprised when he heard someone stir from sleep behind him.

"...whazzat?" one of his friends muttered sleepily. Todd couldn't tell who it was.

"It's Todd. I'm... I'm going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

"Oh. Okay." Whoever it was seemed to settle back down, but when Todd turned around to zip the tent back up, Daryl stood by the entrance, rubbing his eyes.

"What?" Todd asked.

Daryl smiled sheepishly. "I kinda got to go too. Didn't realize until you said."

Todd frowned. "I actually don't have to go. I just said it so you'd go back to sleep."

"Oh." Daryl bit his lip, but then grinned at him. "Well, I still need to go. So let's go."

Todd had forgotten his flashlight, but Daryl had remembered his, so that was all right. They were a fifteen minute walk from the bathroom facility in the campground. Todd could only manage five of those minutes in silence.

"So, what did you think of that story?" he asked.

"What, Michael's?" Daryl laughed. "That was so funny!"

"So..." Todd hesitated, then quietly asked, "You don't think it was true?"

"What? No! Why, did you think it was true?" Daryl grinned.

Todd felt silly. "A little, yeah," he admitted. "Don't make fun of me, okay?"

"Okay, but dude. Seriously. You thought there's a bat-shark on this campground that flies around eating people? Like for real? And that people actually call a bark? That's so dumb! Monsters are supposed to be scary, but that's, like, the least scary thing possible!"

Todd punched his shoulder. "Hey! You said you wouldn't make fun of me!" He turned, and stalked away into the darkness.

Daryl called after him, "Hey! Todd! I'm sorry, man! Come back!"

But Todd was gone. Daryl shrugged and left, figuring Todd could find his way back.

But he never did.

The next day, they found a scrap of Todd's pajamas by a tree. They were stained with blood. Daryl was inconsolable, and vowed that one day, he would find the bark that did this to his friend.

Twenty years later, he fulfilled that promise. He became a sexy vigilante bark hunter, and, after a fierce battle with the bark, which turned out to not just be a single bark but a whole colony of barks, with a bark queen at the center that controlled the hive mind, he found out that Todd, who was actually his secret half-brother, had actually been turned into a bark by a notorious witch that lived in the caverns deep below the bark compounds, so Daryl killed her too. And then fell in love with her sexy daughter, who had somehow escaped her mother for unclear reasons.

And they all live happily ever after. Except for Todd, who we never see again and whose only role is to set up the backstory that takes up half the movie for no real reason other than to provide the main character with a 'motivation'.

And then the sequel happens, and Daryl and his now ex-wife have to team up again to take down, you guessed it, Todd, who wasn't actually dead, or a bark, the whole time, and was in fact behind everything, despite only being something like eight when he first disappeared! And the whole thing was, in fact, a series of deliberate traps to lure Daryl to the catacombs under Paris, because he's supposed to save the whole world as dictated by an ancient Aztec prophecy... that's only a couple hundred years old because it's actually a fake! Because the whole thing was really a plot by a secret cult agency bent on destroying the world!

"Well," Daryl says, dressed all in black leather, shouldering a really big gun with a cocky smirk, slipping a pair of sunglasses over his nose even though it's the middle of the night, "No rest for the wicked."

The Barkening, Part 2: The Darkening

(A Syfy channel original movie)

Todd lay awake, staring up at the roof of the tent, watching the interplay of moonbeams and clouds on the fabric in an effort to distract himself from his growing sense of dread. He listened to the sounds of sleep that came from the other three boys in the tent, but even that didn't help. Stepping cat-like over bodies that shifted in the uncertain light, he made his way over to the tent door. The unzipping was shockingly loud in the silent night, so he wasn't surprised when he heard someone stir from sleep behind him.

"...whazzat?" one of his friends muttered sleepily. Todd couldn't tell who it was.

"It's Todd. I'm... I'm going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

"Oh. Okay." Whoever it was seemed to settle back down, but when Todd turned around to zip the tent back up, Daryl stood by the entrance, rubbing his eyes.

"What?" Todd asked.

Daryl smiled sheepishly. "I kinda got to go too. Didn't realize until you said."

Todd frowned. "I actually don't have to go. I just said it so you'd go back to sleep."

"Oh." Daryl bit his lip, but then grinned at him. "Well, I still need to go. So let's go."

Todd had forgotten his flashlight, but Daryl had remembered his, so that was all right. They were a fifteen minute walk from the bathroom facility in the campground. Todd could only manage five of those minutes in silence.

"So, did you think Michael's story was true? I'm kinda scared." he asked.

"What, that there's a bat-shark on this campground that flies around eating people? Like for real? And that people actually call a bark? That's so dumb! Monsters are supposed to be scary, but that's, like, the least scary thing possible!" Daryl laughed. "God, you're such a wimp!"

Todd punched his shoulder. "You're a wimp!" He turned, and stalked away into the darkness.

Daryl called after him, "Hey! Todd! I'm sorry, man! Come back!"

But Todd was gone. Daryl shrugged and left, figuring Todd could find his way back.

But he never did.

The next day, they found a scrap of Todd's pajamas by a tree. They were stained with blood. Daryl was inconsolable, and vowed that one day, he would find the bark that did this to his friend.

Twenty years later, he fulfilled that promise. He became a sexy vigilante bark hunter, and, after a fierce battle with the bark, which turned out to not just be a single bark but a whole colony of barks, with a bark queen at the center that controlled the hive mind, he found out that Todd, who was actually his secret half-brother, had actually been turned into a bark by a notorious witch that lived in the caverns deep below the bark compounds, so Daryl killed her too. And then fell in love with her sexy daughter, who had somehow escaped her mother for unclear reasons.

Swimming in the deep blue sea,

Here's to having fun with me!

Along comes a friend who's afloat.

Riding on his big fat boat,

"Karl, behind! Look out!" says he.

Canonical wishes are so often about gaining something, and there are problems in this world that could be solved by gaining a thing, abstract or material. But those classical stories go wrong in one way or another, and the root of all the turmoil is usually the object of the wish itself. This is why it is important to wish responsibly.

Any good wish, meaning any wish used wisely, should solve a problem. And most modern people would probably be tempted to wish for money, because in general, if you throw enough money at your problems, they go away. If this genie is into vague wishes, then this vague reasoning might be enough to get you money. But classical genies are notorious for being calculating two-faced creatures. They'll give you what you want, but it'll cost you big time if they can find a loophole in your wish. So if you don't want your life to go to heck in a hand basket, you better sit down with a lawyer or two, and draft up a seriously well thought out and well worded wish. Take your time. That genie's not going anywhere.

First and foremost, consider the wish for money.

When it comes to money wishes, people tend to wish for a set amount of money, like a trillion dollars. Don't do it, that money will run out eventually, and maybe sooner rather than later depending on how poorly worded your wish was.

Here's an example for you. You need to buy a pizza. But, there's a problem: you don't have enough money. You spent all trillion dollars or whatever. The problem would be solved if you did have the money. So, a good wish would be to always have enough money when you need it. There. Problem solved for all time.

But what if you've been stranded on a desert island? You need to eat, but in this hypothetical, you are on a literal desert island. There's nothing to eat, and nothing to drink. There's definitely not a convienent store from which to buy assorted necessities. In this case, the wish you just made to always have enough money is completely useless. Which is a problem.

So money's a good wish if you're planning on never getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. But since being stranded is not usually a voluntary choice, and considering that the genie will probably try to ruin your life in a variety of different ways, money is no longer the best possible wish you could make.

What, then, is the best possible wish?

Solve the problem of hunger by always having enough to eat and drink?

But what if you're drowning? Hunger's not an issue then, not having enough air is.

Classical wishes are most often phrased as gaining something. But, the need to gain might also be considered the problem of lacking. This, then, is one problem that might then be solved by wishing to always have what you need.

Ideas ignored.

Voice drowned.

Mistakes expected.

Capabilities questioned.

Ha!

I don't need to prove myself.