As a young child my family took a trip to Kansas City, Missouri. With us went my grandparents who drove separately, my parents, my sister and my baby brother. Our plan was to spend two nights in a nice hotel we found, so on day one we got the zoo out of the way and ordered dinner to be delivered to the hotel.

That night, my brother started coughing and wouldn’t stop. As far as I know this wasn’t because of the food. He must’ve been getting sick anyway, but he couldn’t stop and his face was turning blue, so my parents packed him into the car and peeled off, leaving my sister and I with our grandparents at the hotel for the night.

Due to insurance or something of the sort they couldn’t go to the nearest hospital there in Kansas City, so they had to drive the however many miles home. They drove and drove and were guided along with the Garmin GPS we had hooked up. About half an hour before they made it to the hospital back at home, the GPS decided to have them take a backroads route around the city just outside of the town we lived. They thought it was weird but the GPS told them it was the quickest way there, so my dad drove that way.

Through the headlights, he started seeing things in the trees. He’s told me that that road was the scariest stretch of road he’s ever driven through, and as he passed, he’s told me that he saw faces peering from behind the trees, people standing and staring. This is a phenomenon that he has experienced throughout his life, where he will see people or things in vacant houses or scary places, and the wooded backroads they drove through was the worst of them all. He found himself praying under his breath, my mom completely oblivious to all this. To her, they were driving quickly down a strange stretch of road that she hoped would turn into a more clearly defined space soon, and that was all.

When my dad prayed, the car began to shake. My mom, oblivious to the people he saw, was not oblivious to the car shaking, and she felt the same whooshing sound that my dad did. Something happened to the car, but they continued to move. When they looked around at the trees, they realized they had left that creepy road behind, and were finally on a patch of well-marked road. The bridge into town was approaching, and the hospital sat just on the other side.

But they made it 25 minutes early. When the car made the whooshing sound that they both felt, my mom noticed that the GPS quickly recollected itself, and told them that they were only 3 minutes away from the hospital, when just seconds before they were 28. The entirety of the town before ours had evaporated, and they found themselves at the tail end of a long and winding backroads.

Something saved them, something saved my brother. When they made it to the ER the doctors were able to do whatever operation they needed, and without much of a hassle, my brother made a complete recovery.

My grandparents drove my sister and I home the following morning. My brother would go on to swallow the head of a Spider-Man figurine the following week, and when he did, he was completely fine as well.

Can you hear the bells have come?

Ringing on today

Merrily, come caroling

Unlike any other day

What once was warm and full of life

Is quiet, sodden land

What once was hard is now at ease

A gracious, glorious plan

Decorum’s, decorations

A tree to stand upright

A beautiful and precious, we

That are gathered here tonight

What must the orders of us be,

A natural or candlelight?

Are we to see what these men see

We sing of all these nights?

Come together, are us now

Enjoying what has come

To pass and will still come to us

In Christmas‘s now on

Though if the snow stops falling

Our souls will shrink and flee

What holiness do us possess

Smiling glee to glee?

Conflicting snowy naught

And cheery merry souls

Which traditions are we to lose

Though we all continue on?

One. Why my Cat is A CIA Agent.

1. One day I was listening to “Party in the CIA” by Weird Al Yankovic and Jake decided to jump onto the counter and fall into the sink while I was washing my hands.

2. He looks out the backdoor longingly whether or not we feed him, always watching for the next squatter, intruder.

3. He was in a cage when we got him so we’re lucky to get him out and back into action. POW.

Two. Why the Aliens Left Without Bothering.

1. All the graphic designed t-shirts and Mars bars made them feel so self-conscious that most of them either ended their own lives or simply left without another word.

2. After Michael Jordan destroyed the Mon-STARS, a collective agreement was reached to stay away from tall people; the Dutch are now alien-free.

3. When they tried to takeover New York, they felt they needed to know the lay of the land before an attack. A homeless guy yelled at one of them because they weren’t folding their pizza and so they decided maybe Earth wasn’t actually that great of a stronghold.

Three. Why the FDA Approves of Alcohol and Nicotine.

1. If the FDA didn’t approve of these things, multiple assassination attempts would completely destroy the entirety of the program. All of their food would be drugged, poisoned, full of rat hair and poop.

2. Each and every president of the United States vaped at some point in their career. George Washington‘s dentures were specifically made so that the vape would slide in easy. William Henry Harrison’s vape shocked him from the rain water during his inauguration, resulting in premature death. Lyndon B. Johnson was famously so addicted to his vape that he named it “Jumbo.”

3. The FDA is heavily addicted to both substances. Fat, Dumb Americans.

Four. Excuses to Go Fishing.

1. “Listen, my car stopped working and I was going to have it fixed but I can’t find the number to the car company to fix my car, so I’m going to have to fish my way there. I should make it in time before the store closes, but I wanted to call to let you know that I’m on the way, okay? Alright.”

2. “My buddy got into some legal trouble and I was going to go to work, but he was telling me he hasn’t had a good meal since Vietnam, so I’m gonna have to take him fishing today to fix him up something nice.”

3. “Yeah, uh, I’m not feeling very well today, so I’m gonna be missing work here.. I’ve been using Tinder a lot these past few days, getting into the groove, as they call it these days. So if you hear me say “I caught one!” it just means I have a new match, and I’m pretty excited about that.”

Five. What’s Hiding Behind the Corner?

1. My fishing hook.

2. My cat Jake.

3. Lyndon B. Johnson with a vape in his mouth. Oh my God, what is he doing with my cat!

“What the fuck’s up, man?”

God stepped out of his car. I’m out of mine.

“Why’d you stop like that?” I asked. “You had time to go, I had time to go. That yellow light stayed yellow for a while.”

“It was gonna turn red. Are you kidding me? Why are you even arguing with me right now?”

“Because you’re a lousy fucking driver, that’s why!”

“What’d you just say to me?”

“I said you’re a fucking lousy driver.”

“Fuck you, you hit my car!”

“It’s not like it’s gonna kill you or anything, I’m the one in harm’s way!”

“Good!”

“No, not good! You were gonna have me killed.”

“If I planned for you to die, you would’ve.”

“So you’re just making my life harder?”

“I gave you free will and you used your only bit of freedom to ram into my car.”

“You stopped at a yellow light!”

“Yes, because it was going to be red, which means I can’t go.”

“You can go at a yellow light.”

“Not when you can prevent it. You’re supposed to slow down, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, and I understand that.”

“Because I was slowing down due to the yellow light, I came to an eventual stop at the line, not speeding up to go past the light because you’re supposed to slow down.”

“But you could have made it. That’s what you’re not understanding. You could have made that light no problem, you should know that. How do you not know that?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. When I gave people free will they went and did things like build roads and create police departments to boss people around. They also made yellow lights. I’ve lived in this country for a year now, and if I’ve made everyone follow all my rules then I suppose I must follow the law of the land.”

“This is absolute bullshit. You’re not God. No God would create an accident like this, they’d do what they could to prevent it.”

“I followed the law. At a stop sign you slow down, correct?”

“I pass if I’m able, otherwise yes.”

“Then I did nothing wrong and we need to call the authorities for running into me.”

“I accidentally hit you because you slowed down too fast at a non-red hit that we both could’ve made. I assumed you would go and you didn’t. You had the opportunity and decided to brake check me, and guess what. I failed.”

“So you admit this is your fault?”

“Fuck no, this isn’t my fault. It is your fault for coming to a complete stop at a light that wasn’t red.”

“You make no sense. I hope you realize that.”

“Fuck you, you’re not making any sense.”

“Hey, be glad you hit me and not anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t have hit anyone else because anyone else would have made that light.”

“Do you get into car accidents often?”

“This is my first one. Thank you for totaling my car, piece of shit.”

“Call the cops, bring them here, explain your side of the story. Good luck.”

With this, God got back in his car. The entire time we had been at the scene of the accident, not moved to the side of the road. When I got back into my car to retrieve my insurance number, I looked out at God’s car. It had absolutely no marks. I found this peculiar. I grabbed my insurance papers and walked to re-check the damage to my hood.

There was none.

It’s been a week.

He is staring. He is following, stalking. He checks to see if he is being followed, looks around his dusty brown minivan for cameras and sound equipment. When he drives it is the speed limit every time, following every traffic law, using every kind gesture. He puts on his hazards at times to let people around him, just as you’d expect from any kind old man.

When he’s noticed my car I’ve noticed that he keeps away from the windows and props up a cardboard cut-out to make me go away. I keep a hood up to protect from the cameras in front of his house, I pretend to look into a random mailbox as if I’m doing something not involving him and then be on my way. Sometimes I just drive.

At eight-thirty every night, he hops into his minivan and drives to Sabrina’s house. He parks on the side of the road across from her place, and looks in knowing she’s a busy college student that’s still very much awake. I’ll notice a cheeseburger he’s shoving into his mouth, fries, soda. Sometimes I think of the Big Kahuna scene in Pulp Fiction and be tempted to hop into his car and steal his food, forcing him to watch me swallow it down. I’d love to stick it to him in this way.

As it is, I’m sat a block away from Sabrina’s, eyes directly onto the professor that’s unknowingly facing me. I think to myself that I can take him out. It’s the seventh night and Sabrina’s expecting a call. Tonight I brought my own cheeseburger and fries. I eat some as I watch and pull out my phone. It rings for her.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“He’s sat in front of your place again.” I smack my lips a bit without control.

“Oh my God.”

“He’s just sitting, not doing anything. It’s hard to see with my car off, though. I can tell he’s still and facing your house but that’s it.”

“I hate this. I hate this so much.”

“I know. I’m pulling out my camera and zooming in on him. I don’t know the law well but after a week of this we should have enough to go to the police, wouldn’t you think?”

“I have no idea,” Sabrina responded. “I don’t know what they’ll do, if anything, without a ‘crime.’ I hope it’s enough for a restraining order. I just want him to stop. I don’t want to keep having to worry about this.”

“I understand.” I get my camera rolling and set it on the dash. “I’ve got it fixated on him now. What a filthy man.”

“I want to go out there and key his car and smash his windows and slash his tires and terrify him into never coming back here.”

“I can work him up,” I tell her. “I have a flashlight in my glovebox, I could shine it on his car and honk my horn, get his blood pumping.”

“That’d be something,” she says, “but I don’t want anyone else annoyed. We’re all college students here.”

“Yes, but anyone would understand if we explained the situation. It’s not very late, for us it’s not, anyway, and I think getting the word out is the best thing to do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. This can’t keep happening. I cannot keep dealing with this with nothing done about him.”

“I know. Should I try to scare him?”

“Go ahead.” She paused. “Don’t film this part of scaring him.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want anything used against us if this gets any worse or any bigger than it is.”

“I’ve seen his minivan before; he has a dashcam. He’s going to be recording everything so it wouldn’t matter what we do. I think I should keep it going.”

“Alright.”

“Right.” The phone falls through my hands and I pick it back up and explain to Sabrina what the bit of noise was.

As I get it back to the setting I had it at before, I notice through the lens that he’s shifted and begun staring at my car. I see a phone set up to stare at me. Without warning I see him turn the key and ignite the car to life.

“Sabrina, he’s turning his car on.” I keep still and have a sudden thought to duck down, no longer thinking of pulling out a flashlight.

“Okay, okay. Tell me when he starts to move.”

“I will.”

Suddenly, the car does move. It comes toward me and I consider ducking again, but I don’t. I feel frozen. He moves slowly, but when he does come and pass my car, I involuntarily lock eyes with him. I see him look at me, into me. Maybe, for the first time, he knows it’s me that’s followed him for so long, a student. Maybe this means he’ll look for a restraining order against me, meaning I can’t act dumb in his class anymore. I can’t hide. I check my phone and Sabrina is still on the line.

“Hey, he just drove off.”

“Good,” she replies. “Thank God.”

“He looked at me,” I say. “We locked eyes for a moment when he passed. He has to know who I am now. The car, my face.”

“Oh, fuck. Look, thank you so much for everything and being here, but please be safe.”

“I am, I will be.”

“Do you have any weapons with you?”

“I have my switchblade and the pepper spray you gave me.”

“Okay. I want you to be safe, I really do. It should be me out there looking after myself. I’m sorry about all this trouble.”

“You’re fine,” I assure her. “It’s okay. I’m here to help, and that scared me, sure, but it’s the seventh night and there’s no way I don’t have enough footage to go toward a restraining order.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Just until nine, do you think you could move up to where he parked in case he comes back?”

“Of course.” I sit myself back into the seat and turn on the car. “Tomorrow when you’re paid you’ve got to get a Ring doorbell camera installed. Please don’t forget about that.”

“I won’t. How could I?”

I get the car moving once my seatbelt is fastened on. My drink stirs and shifts as I go.

“Those cameras are such good lifesavers, even our charming professor has one.”

As I say this, I notice a car ahead of me who goes a normal speed, but as I roll to the stop sign they begin to feel like they’re moving faster. Up and up. It’s a minivan, a brown-looking minivan with an out of state license. Wisconsin. The van zooms and it reminds me of the professor’s. It’s coming.

“Does he really?” Sabrina asks. “What a hypocrite!”

I hear her come through but I don’t listen. The van speeds more and more as it comes closer and closer, and as I watch I feel glued to the stop sign. It’s not until I realize this feeling that I let my foot off the break and continue forward. The minivan has the same four-way stop approaching but does not slow down.

“This guy’s going to speed past the stop sign,” I think out loud.

“Who?”

The van’s speed climaxes, and I expect it to continue in a rush past the stop sign and out of view. Without warning the van suddenly turns, and I am directly struck head on.

Every year, my family catches the 6:32 a.m. train and we ride it up to Chicago's Union Station. In Union Station, I am home. I have been there so many times through the years that every trip back is another knot coming undone, another reminder of how much I've survived and how long I've been on this planet. But every time I'm there, seeing the groups of people and the workers and the yelling and the smell of human sweat and looks from the homeless and all the rich businessmen that try to pass me in line for the bathroom, I can't help but feel isolated. I am surrounded by humanity in all of its forms. Pickpocketers and mothers are looking for their children, kids are running around making noise and there are men who have just missed their train and are giving the rest of us a show. When I am in a large crowd of people, like the ones I see in Union Station, I remember that I am in no way unique or standout-ish. I am the general public. I am a member of society judging, regulating, becoming annoyed, staring. I am the traffic, a jam made of flesh, and there are people in front and behind me who wish I could vanish in a poof of smoke so they could simply walk through where my body had been. I'm an entity that has no business existing in anyone else's world. I'm a kid, no, a teenager, no, it actually doesn't matter.

I am in the way, that's what I am, and I really thought I could be happy in such a memorable place.

The elderly man living next door divorced 10 days ago, and per his wife’s request, he was kicked out of the house immediately. She was a beast, and controlled and abused him, and when he tried to stay we’d see her burn his things. Both of them were deaf.

After he left, she began messaging the police more than usual. Her packages were being stolen, and she begged for her camera footage to be reviewed. I would run over with a mask on and snatch her newspapers, but I was not the only one.

I know nothing of the garage.

When I wake, I’m cold. I’m sat on a metal moving chair that glides along, unsuspended from the ground, carrying me somewhere. I cannot see the floor. The chair is leaned so that my face is buried in a screen in front of me. This is what I watched as a kid in “Wall-E”. Where am I any way?

Suddenly, my chair stops. I am annoyed, I had gone back to being relaxed and so very abruptly it was ruined. I curse and I try to look down at my belt, but my stomach hurts. My neck hurts. I can’t. My head aught to go back looking into the screen. The colors and images move so fast I cannot process the vulgarities they’re shoving in my brain. But it is entertainment. So, I watch. When will I get out of this chair?

A rather well-known unsolved mystery involves shoes that have washed up along the shores of Canada that contain in them human feet that have been in some way detached from the body of those they belong to. These shoes have washed up without reason or rhyme, and have remained an intriguing topic that has stumped investigators to this day.

Many people who stumble on the subject ask questions involving where these shoes must have come from, why they landed only on the western beaches of Canada, and to who do these feet belong. In all three instances, the uncertainties and speculation fail to ponder the real mystery: what could have happened to break twenty-one feet off of their matching person in such a manner?

It was brought to my attention not some time ago that pilots who are active in the Air Force are required to wear their military boots at all times during their flights. While not the ideal choice for these pilots, if they have to eject from a plane these steel-toed boots will keep their legs intact and protect their limbs during their descent. The boots also serve their purpose in case of a plane crash; if enough force is acted upon during a crash, the pilot’s feet can and have broken off of their bodies without the proper footwear. Thus, military steel-toed boots are highly encouraged.

It is my opinion that the shoes found on the coast of the Salish Sea belong to plane crash victims, though I do not have a select theory on which plane crash this must have been. If a crash over the Pacific left no bodies to be found, this could reasonably account for those people, as well as offer an explanation as to how these feet have been so cleanly and ‘naturally’ cut off.