When I visited colleges, most of the tour guides I followed were walking backwards talking to our group. I suppose as long as one is guided to an unknown place by another, this counts as following no matter what because in either case they are proceeding to that point in front of you.

The question is if you want to follow the backwards walker. On one hand, they may be able to lead backwards because they have ninja-like reflexes, or some kind of second sight. In this case, you definitely want them on your side, and you should follow them as a form of appeasement. On the other hand, they could be very stupid for believing that walking backwards is advantageous over walking forwards. Perhaps you should question if following this urchin is really what you want to do.

The more pressing question is can you follow someone walking backwards? If you don't know where to go and you can't see the person you're supposed to follow, how do you know where to go? How can you check to see if you're still behind the one wearing the hat that says "follow me". You can look over a shoulder, but then are you truly backwards? You peek anyway, only to discover the individual with the hat is gone, but you are walking behind another. Maybe its the same person but they took off the hat, or maybe its a different person entirely and you're lost. There's really no way of knowing. Maybe it's time to man up and walk forward next time, or perhaps not. You ended up exactly where you needed to go. Was this the plan all along? For just a second, the man with the "follow me" hat reappears and gives you a grin that's hard to place, only to walk backwards into the crowd and disappear.

Under a stormy sky, it could've been any time of day. The road was covered in a misty sheen, and the radio was humming softly in the background. There wasn't much on the news today, just static-ridden discussions of new flavors of potato chips by the samovar, and reports of the celebrated return of Joe Pecci and his bat.

Many years ago, Jeromathy was a passionate scientist-to-be whose spirit yielded to no one. He had great goals, such as demistifying the life cycle of even-toed ungulates, and being the first to go egg hunting on planet Zordvorf. "Rules are mere leftovers in the age of discovery. In truth, our world is just a big floating disc of wet clay and acceptable wrongdoing," he would often muse to those who cared to listen. Even then, people told him he was going too far.

It's human nature to push away the milestone that pulls you down, but Jeromathy's hit him square in the face and nearly suffocated him. If Jeromathy had been wise and read the critically acclaimed Things You Shouldn't Say to Monster Truck Rally Organizers, he may have avoided that fateful night completely. Instead, the free-minded scientist attempted to utilize a local monster truck rally as a means of voicing one of his most coveted beliefs. Once the announcer took a break, it wasn't hard for Jeromathy to sneak up to the microphone. "The earth is flat I tell you", shouted Jeromathy, "It is simply impossible for it to be spherical. Take your monster truck tires for example. They are described as 'round', yet they are also flat. The earth is no different. Perhaps the studies of a flat earth will only ever be truths a doublethinker holds onto. Please, help me make them more."

Anger fueled boo's echoed from the crowd. Jeromathy had made his point, but as a spherical rock bounced off of his forehead, it appeared that such a point had not been well-received. Before he could speak again, strong hands gripped his wrists, and he knew that his ruse had ended. "You'll never bring me down. I'll jump off the side of the earth if I have to", Jeromathy shouted as he struggled to free himself. A fist collided with his cheek, and that was the last he remembered when he woke up the next morning, branded as the subject of ridicule.

For years, Jeromathy let that awful night devour him. During the day, it weighed him down like wet cement, and at night haunted his dreams. He'd been worn down to a pitiful stump of a man, but that was about to change, because finally Jeromathy realized that he'd been the subject of ridicule long before the monster truck rally. He'd always been the one to avoid at parties, and the one that made mothers pull their children closer in public. Finally, Jeromathy felt free again. He sped a bit faster in his old sedan as his instructions echoed in his mind. "You go five more exits than usual, and make a left turn by the overpass. Then you wait."

The dimly lit overpass offered shelter from the lashing sheets of rain, but it offered no solace for his anxious mind. As instructed, he turned his car off and got out to wait. Already on edge, he nearly jumped as a train screeched and rumbled overhead, overtaking the rain and the trickle of its runoff. Several lifetimes ago, Jeromathy loved trains. He was fascinated by their mechanics, as well as their versatility, and it was one of his dreams to ride a train to the side of the earth. In his younger years, one of Jeromathy's favorite activities was to buy a few protein shakes, and then drink them on the train to the Goulash. Not once did he have company, but he never wanted any. At that point of his life, the delicious taste to the protein shakes, the hum of the train, and the beauty of the Goulash countryside were all he needed for his paradise.

After what could've been seconds or hours later, a hooded figure emerged from the cold, rainy curtain beyond the overpass. "Hello Jeromathy", said the dark figure. The air was suddenly colder as the greeting echoed off of the concrete columns holding up the overpass. Somehow, the black hood and robe were completely dry, but just as Jeromathy was about to address this, the figure spoke again, this time asking a question.

"What am I really thinking, when I'm thinking about object permanence?"

Jeromathy did not answer immediately. He took his time to consider what the figure was asking him, and then the answer came. He knew it had to be the right one.

"The pocket contents of Omar Khayyam of course", answered Jeromathy.

"Ah, so truly close", echoed the mystery figure,"I can see your thoughts as they swim and drown. If only you stayed true to your mind's initial response. That, my friend, would've been correct."

Jeromathy silently cursed himself. How could he have known that answering with 'the pocket contents of Yusef Lateef' would have brought him victory. Omar Khayyam's pocket contents just made so much more sense. Knowing he had failed, Jeromathy prepared to run. He made for his car but the rusty sedan had vanished. Now sprinting, he made for the rainy edge of the overpass. The hooded figure snickered behind him. He kept running, but he was no closer to the outside.

Jeromathy knew he was doomed. He was trapped inside of the very phenomenon that terrified every flat-earther. Too bad he'd never be able to show the world. Two dimensional sinkholes were a key component to proving that the earth was flat, but none could prove that they were real. A two dimensional sinkhole could only be created if temperature, air pressure, sound frequency, and light all were at a precise point where they could fuse and create a temporary manifestation of "true flatness." Not much else was known about them, as they were nearly impossible to track and even harder to survive.

Jeromathy had accepted his fate. He prepared to be shredded and swallowed atom by atom until his existence was erased completely. In the end, at least he knew that he was right. That would have to be enough. "Soon I'll be back with my protein shakes on the train to the goulash", Jeromathy whispered.

Someone called me beautiful. It came as a surprise, as I've never been called such a thing before, let alone be noticed. I had no idea what to do with the compliment, so I just put my hands in my pockets and kept walking. Succumbing to a growing guilt for not acknowledging the kind stranger, I grew distracted on the route home. I let my steps lead the way, and didn't notice the patch of unsalted ice that lay underfoot until my balance was gone.

It was quite beautiful to watch lush, thick red spread and merge with a blue so soft it could've been silver. The shapes and hues merged and shifted in such an ethereal beauty that I could've stayed there forever. Shattering that perfect vision like stones to a mirror, whispers of concern clouded around me one by one and I realized that I'd been half-consciously watching my blood pool on the ice.

Everything was wrong. The blood was threatening to melt through the ice as the ice countered with freezing the blood. They twisted and struggled in their quarrel as gasps rushed louder and louder through my head like a train through a tunnel. I couldn't take it anymore. Twisting and thrashing to my feet, I nearly fell again as I rushed away from the mystery that now lay behind me. I ran faster than I ever had before, suddenly feeling sick and desperate to rid myself of the feverish chaos that strangled my thoughts. A few tried to chase after me, but none could match my terrified haste. I didn't stop until I was at my front door, exhausted and confused. I ran inside, preparing to survey the wounds that lay beneath my soaked clothes. Peeling the blood-heavy layers from clammy skin, I braced for what I might see, but nothing came. I stood naked and unscathed in the tiny bathroom of my tiny apartment, but I did not feel relief or joy. I just stood there nauseous as I tried to make sense of it all. I knew I fell and I knew I was hurt. How else would my clothes be so bloody? I was so confused and so tired.

Suddenly my legs no longer held me. I don't know how long I spent naked and unconscious on that bathroom floor, but when I woke up it was dark and mom was screaming.

Deeply settled in sandy soil

Roots poke through a picket-lined sidewalk

Paralleled by a street with no lines

Unfurling to briney bay

As singing psithurism

Whispers legends of the deep

Saltbox homes lie modest yet sturdy

Copying the hands that made them

Nailing the shingles were

Sea bound dreamers and hardened sailors

Growing the tiny village

To a town of tradesmen and whalers

A small swamp hosts deer and daffodils

Sustaining sleepy calmness

Caressed by the harbor winds

Only home to a lucky few

The little street holds a peaceful grace

Undisturbed by seasons and people

Unlike the village beyond the trees

Trapped within a twisted place

Yielding not to time and space

Echoed from eyes so bleary

Silence is cold and eery

A quiet roar crashes in

Lashing nerves already thin

Cast out in endless churning

Trapped in a conscience burning

Raided, bombarded, taunted

Scalded by thoughts unwanted

Slowly the torment subsides

Cast to shadow darkness hides

Silence turns placid with time

Quick and steady dread doth climb

Creeping, creeping, creeping still

To scream unbearably shrill

And too soon there's no escape

Peace crushed like a ripened grape

Madness laughs and few are heard

Teary sadness, vision blurred

Without solace all turns bleak

To the lost who cannot seek

How many batmen are there? It doesn't matter. Didn't you hear? The Grand Random Creator, the batman above all batmen in Wuhan and elsewhere, is exceedingly busy at the moment, and writing topics is now anyone's game. That's all it took, and just like that we're all trusting the compulsory compulsions in comparatively competitive computers. It's a real mess out there and no one can be trusted. They've probably told you that in the middle of dessert, you don't remember your name, but its a lie. In times like these, how can one remember the nuances of sticky date pudding perfection, or possess the tools to get there? If the recipe is off the slightest bit, disaster will strike and the rest becomes gibberish. But that's the consequence of mentioning the secret garden's unmentionables. See, the contents of Julius Fučík's pockets are simply too unsafe to speak of, that's why they were shipped far, far away. And far, far away, in the garden they will stay. For if they are revealed, the entire world will fall astray, and then Baron Vladimir Harkonnen will seize the chaos and use his philatelic supremacy to end us all. The entire world will be in stamped disarray, until the only thing to fear will be fear itself... and body snatchers. They say that these body snatchers are the worst in generations, and dead or alive they'll snatch you if given the chance. They'll snatch you so hard that they'll not only have your body but your very soul as well, and then you'll be so filled with fear that you forget the meaning of the word. So please, don't mention the secret garden's unmentionables, the power of Bondyé compels you!

Have you heard of Romeo and Juliet?

And how she made his lips so wet?

Or how they spooned beneath a tree

Discussing the woes of puberty?

Perhaps its alright they die

No matter how many cry

Somehow the romance had to be stopped

Something of Romeo's hadn't dropped

Despite the hurly burly

The parents were right

The two were simply too early

"Once upon a time is such a cliche way to start a story, but here we are", said Sally. Ana rolled her eyes, and Jane just shrugged. It was girls' night out, and as per usual, Sally was late. Knowing that there was nothing they could do to avoid the cascade of gibberish that was soon to come out of Sally, Ana and Jane simply stared and waited.

Just as Sally moved her lips to weave the fabric of that night's hap-hazard explanation, the front doors of the restaurant were thrown open, and the restaurant went completely silent. Two men dressed in black from head to toe made their way to the center of the restaurant, guns in tow. "Give us all your asparagus", they shouted, "There is only one thing we ask of you and that is asparagus." At some point, silverware hit porcelain in the back of the restaurant.

"I have some asparagus for you", said an elderly man in the back of the restaurant.

"Very noble indeed, old man, but it is not asparagus from you that we desire."

Slowly, a stark, gloved finger was pointed at Sally and the whole world seemed to shudder.

"But I hate asparagus", Sally protested, "I haven't touched it in years."

Seeing through her stalling, the men were growing impatient.

"I'll come with you", Sally finally offered. "We shouldn't do it here, where the others may suffer."

"Very well."

So off Sally and the nameless men went, perhaps never to be seen or heard from again. Sally's magical asparagus pee was the secret to her immortality, and perhaps it would now be theirs too. However, there was a catch. The aroma of the immortality-granting asparagus urine was so pungent that it was capable of robbing anyone nearby of their consciousness. Perhaps she could use this as a weapon when they least expected and make a run for it. This was not the first escape Sally had made in her five centuries of existence, and these men seemed to have forgotten that vital piece of information. Good, she could use that to her advantage.

Ana and Jane never knew why Sally was late that night.