"Darling, you love comforts me like bright sunshine after a--" The scrap of paper said. It was my turn to vacuum the floors on Saturdays and right at the far end of our study table, just before it got sucked by the machine, I stooped and picked up the torn snippet. The scrawly hand wasn't mine and, in that moment, it was as if my life had been sucked by the vacuum cleaner. Who was writing Shakespearean love notes, albeit flawed, to my wife?

When Jen got home, I skipped the pleasantries and all but shoved the scrap of paper in her face.

"Oh, there it is!" She looked bewildered. "Where did you find it, love?"

"Don't love me!"

"I can explain--"

"You'd better get started then!" I stood akimbo, us barely inside the front door.

"It's not what you think."

"Then, tell me!" I demanded again.

"You know how..." She paused to think, "I decided to take up hiking again?"

"Yes, every Saturday. Five p.m."

"You remember, huh? Anyway, I met this guy--"

"What guy?" I was breathing down her face by now.

She backed up against the front door and her shoulders sank. "Well, he's part of a drama group--"

"I don't want to know what he does, ok?"

"No, I mean he asked me to join their troupe, and I did!"

"What has that got to do with this scrap, and why didn't you tell me?"

"I was about to..."

"But isn't Venus and Adonis a love poem, and not a play?"

"Yes, we're adapting several works into a collage drama, dear jealous Iago!"

Then, she punched me in the ribs and hugged me tight.

Chapter 1

In the aftermath of the cataclysm on Ghaldar V, the galaxy buzzed with accounts of a human captain who had defied expectations. Captain Elara Quinn’s decisive actions—calming panicked delegates, orchestrating a desperate evacuation, and piloting a battered shuttle through a treacherous gorge—had become the stuff of interstellar legend and that’s what a majority still believed they were, legends. Yet the Delegations in the grand halls of the Interstellar Concord now huddled over holographic reports of the incident, gazing with fear and awe at how humanity’s supposed “mediocrity” had produced an extraordinary triumph against nature’s fury. The Vul’thar, with their precise calculations, and the Lakarri, known for their tireless endurance, found themselves reconsidering the definition of strength itself.

Within these marble-lined chambers, seasoned diplomats debated the lessons gleaned from Ghaldar V. Was it the unyielding human spirit, honed by millennia of adaptation on an unpredictable home world, that had saved the day? Or was it simply a fluke of circumstance, a rare alignment of emotion and instinct? As arguments grew heated and alliances shifted, a new narrative began to take shape—one where the human blend of creativity, intuition, and resilience might well be the key to navigating future crises. Behind every whispered conversation and furtive glance, there was a growing realization that this was not an isolated victory but a sign of a potential paradigm shift in interstellar leadership.

At the heart of these discussions, Captain Quinn was both celebrated and scrutinized. Invited to the Concord’s highest echelons, she was expected not only to recount her experiences, to subdue certain aspects of these reports that many thought had to be exaggeration, but also to offer insights into a new mode of interstellar cooperation. In these moments of high diplomacy, the humble hero of Ghaldar V was poised to become the reluctant ambassador of Earth, carrying with her the hope that humanity’s unique qualities could serve as a bridge across the vast cultural divides of the galaxy.

Chapter 2

Captain Quinn’s arrival at the Interstellar Concord was met with mix of cautious reverence from some, yet brewing resentment and distain from those more sceptical. Representatives from various species—some who’s whole perspective of humanity had now changed and those who still held the belief of humanity’s averageness—now gathered to listen to her firsthand account of Ghaldar V. In a grand assembly that filled the vaulted halls of the Concord’s central chamber, Quinn spoke not of her own heroism, but of the collective resolve that had spurred every crew member and species to overcome chaos. Her voice, steady and imbued with the calm certainty borne from crisis, resonated across the room, weaving together threads of emotion and logic into a tapestry of shared survival.

Her speech focused on the necessity of adaptability in the face of unprecedented disaster. “Ghaldar V did not respond to brute force or cold calculation,” she explained, her eyes sweeping over sceptical yet intrigued faces. “It demanded empathy, innovation, and the courage to trust one’s instincts when the usual methods fail.” In those words, the essence of human resilience was laid bare—a quality that transcended species-specific strengths. While the Vul’thar and Lakarri had long been celebrated for their specialized capabilities, Quinn’s articulation of human resolve hinted at a new form of leadership: one that embraced imperfection and fluidity in the face of unpredictable cosmic forces. Even those with reprehension and disbelief had started to believe it was more than simple legend.

As the session drew to a close, many delegates remained pensive. For some, this was a pivotal moment that redefined what it meant to be powerful in the galaxy, now somewhere survival depended not on a single trait, but on a blend of intellect, emotion, and sheer determination. The seeds of change had been sown, and even as the debates continued long after Quinn left the stage, it was clear that humanity was no longer just another species in the Concord.

Chapter 3

Even as accolades from Ghaldar V piled up, Captain Quinn found the adulation to be a double-edged sword. In quiet moments aboard her shuttle, now retrofitted for deep-space travel, she grappled with the expectations that her singular triumph might set an impossible standard for every subsequent human endeavor. Each congratulatory message and impassioned plea for guidance reminded her that her actions had elevated not only her own reputation but also that of the entire human race. But with that elevation came a pressure to consistently perform at an extraordinary level—a pressure that weighed heavily on her shoulders.

The burden of legacy became a recurring theme in private conversations with her trusted advisors and even in reflective monologues in the solitude of her quarters. She recalled the trembling uncertainty of those early moments on Ghaldar V, when every decision was a life-or-death gamble. It was that raw vulnerability, combined with the hard-earned wisdom of survival, that had enabled her to chart a path through the chaos. Now, however, that same vulnerability was seen as a strength and quality that was to be emulated across all human endeavors. Yet, for Quinn, it was a reminder of the fragility of life and the constant interplay between chance and preparedness.

In these moments of introspection, she realized that true leadership did not demand perfection, but rather honesty and an unyielding commitment to learning from every experience. As she prepared for her upcoming diplomatic mission, Quinn resolved to truly redefine what it meant to be a leader in this new galactic landscape. Rather than a flawless beacon of inspiration, she chose to be a symbol of resilience—a living testament to the idea that greatness could emerge from the ordinary, provided one was willing to adapt and evolve.

Chapter 4

As months and years passed, the galaxy went on, but soon news of a mysterious cosmic anomaly had begun to ripple through the galactic community, and its potential threat to vital trade routes and communication lines could not be ignored. Advanced sensors, deployed long ago, detected fluctuations in space-time that defied conventional analysis. The anomaly, unpredictable and seemingly chaotic, evaded even the most sophisticated algorithms. It was as if the universe itself had conjured a challenge that demanded more than logic alone. Recognizing that the qualities that had shone on Ghaldar V might be exactly what was needed to confront this new threat, the Interstellar Concord turned to humanity once again.

Captain Quinn, now a seasoned leader both on the battlefield and at the negotiation table, was tasked with assembling a diverse team of experts from across the galaxy. The team’s mandate was clear: venture into the heart of the anomaly, study its properties, and, if possible, develop a countermeasure to safeguard interstellar travel. As preparations began in earnest, debates raged over whether traditional scientific methods were sufficient or whether a new, more integrative approach was required. Quinn, drawing on her own experience of blending rationality with instinct, argued that the anomaly’s unpredictable nature demanded a fusion of disciplines—melding emotion and intuition with data-driven analysis.

The journey to the anomaly became a crucible for collaboration. With representatives from the Vul’thar, Lakarri, and other species reluctantly setting aside old rivalries, the mission underscored a universal truth: when faced with the unknown, unity was the most potent weapon. Each team member brought unique insights, and in the process of pooling their knowledge, they began to form a collective understanding that transcended individual expertise. The stage was set for a mission that would test not only their technical skills but also their capacity to embrace uncertainty—a challenge that was as much about forging new bonds as it was about unlocking the mysteries of the cosmos.

Chapter 5

Midway through their journey, the crew discovered an anomaly within the anomaly—a derelict vessel drifting in the gravitational field of the cosmic disturbance. The ship’s design was an enigma in itself: a blend of ancient aesthetics and advanced engineering, its architecture bore markings that hinted at a civilization long forgotten. As the team boarded the ghostly craft, the eerie silence and haunting echoes of its corridors sent shivers down their spines. It was as if the vessel was a time capsule, preserving secrets of an era when the cosmos was a canvas for civilizations now lost to time.

Captain Quinn led the investigation with characteristic determination and measured caution. Every step on the creaking decks brought them closer to a revelation that might shed light on not only the ship’s origins but also the underlying patterns of cosmic evolution. The crew discovered intricate carvings and cryptic inscriptions that told stories of triumph, decline, and rebirth. Each symbol was a clue—an invitation to piece together a narrative of a civilization whose downfall might mirror the cyclic nature of cosmic phenomena.

As the crew laboured to decode the inscriptions, a sense of interconnected destiny emerged. The ancient texts suggested that the civilization had faced a calamity eerily similar to the seismic upheaval on Ghaldar V, yet across near every corner of their empire—a disaster that broke their empire and forced them into obscurity. This realization sent ripples through the team, igniting a fervent desire to understand the cosmic cycles at work. In the dim light of the vessel’s command bridge, the crew began to theorize that the anomaly might not be an isolated incident, but part of a much larger, interstellar pattern of rise and fall—a pattern that terrified those across the galaxy more then any single calamity

Chapter 6

Buoyed by the revelations aboard the ancient vessel, the Concord sanctioned an unprecedented expedition directly into the heart of the cosmic anomaly. This mission, distinctly human-led, was an ambitious venture designed to probe the depths of space where few had dared to tread even before the events that come to be. Captain Quinn, whose steady leadership had already proven invaluable, was once again entrusted with the responsibility of guiding her team into the unknown. The stakes were monumental: the success of the expedition could yield insights that might protect entire star systems from impending catastrophe.

The starship selected for the expedition was a marvel of galactic ingenuity—a hybrid vessel that combined Earth’s robust engineering with adaptive technology gleaned from salvaged alien artifacts and the scientific genius of the Vul'thar. As the ship’s engines roared to life, the crew felt the weight of history on their shoulders. Every sensor reading, every whispered conversation in the briefing room, was imbued with the memory of Ghaldar V and what they had discovered previously—a reminder that the survival of all they knew depended on their abilities. The journey ahead was fraught with the possibility of unforeseen dangers, yet each crew member was prepared to confront the mystery with an absolute and unyielding resolve.

During the voyage, the crew encountered pockets of intense cosmic radiation and gravitational distortions that challenged even their most advanced instruments. In these moments of peril, the capacity to improvise came to the fore. Whether by re-calibrating navigation systems on the fly or by devising makeshift repairs during emergency maneuvers, each obstacle was met with ingenuity and a spirit of relentless perseverance by each of the ship’s crew members. The expedition was not just a mission of discovery—it was a testament to the enduring power of adaptability in a universe that was as beautiful as it was unpredictable.

Chapter 7

As the expedition pushed deeper into uncharted space, the heterogeneous crew—initially bound together by necessity—began to forge bonds that transcended species and cultural differences. The mission’s shared hardships and the constant brush with danger dissolved long-held prejudices. Tensions between the Vul’thar’s reliance on cold calculation and the Lakarri’s instinctive fortitude gradually gave way to a unified purpose. In the crucible of crisis, the diverse strengths of each species within the crew and blended with a new developed adaptability into a powerful force capable of overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable.

Captain Quinn’s leadership was central to this transformation. Recognizing that true collaboration required more than just mutual reliance on technical prowess, she encouraged open dialogue and the exchange of personal experiences from each culture. Informal gatherings in the ship’s common areas became sessions of storytelling, where life on vastly different worlds was recounted with humour, sorrow, and triumph. These shared moments of vulnerability not only humanized her crew beyond faceless workers but also reinforced the notion that survival was best achieved through unity and understanding. It was in these unexpected alliances that the crew discovered an invaluable truth: that strength lay not only in adaptability of one individual, but in the diversity brought by every individual.

The bonds forged during the expedition began to show practical benefits as well. In critical situations, teams that combined the Vul’thar’s analytical acumen with the human knack for improvisation and the Lakarri’s unwavering stamina proved remarkably effective. This synergy, born out of mutual respect and shared adversity, would ultimately become the foundation upon which the mission’s success rested. In every calculated risk and every spontaneous act of heroism, the crew demonstrated that the universe’s challenges could only be met by pooling their unique gifts. It was this lesson that resonated throughout the galaxy in the years to come.

Chapter 8

Midway through their journey, the expedition unexpectedly encountered a vibrant planetary system that defied all prior expectations. Orbiting a luminous star, a verdant world teemed with life and culture—a stark contrast to the barren relics of ancient technology they had recently explored. The inhabitants of this world, known as the Celestari, had developed a society that celebrated creativity, intuition, and emotion as fundamental to their way of life. Their cities shimmered with iridescent architecture and pulsed with music and art, evoking a sense of wonder that reminded the crew of the galaxy’s own vibrance and diversity.

Captain Quinn decided to make contact, seeing in the Celestari not just an opportunity for scientific exchange but also a chance to broaden the expedition’s perspective on resilience and survival. The Celestari welcomed the visitors with an open-hearted curiosity, inviting them to partake in their rituals of storytelling and artistic expression. In long evenings under a sky painted with swirling colours, Quinn and her team sat among Celestari elders who spoke of ancient legends, the cycles of nature, and the delicate interplay of emotion and intellect in shaping destiny. These encounters were not merely diplomatic niceties; they were profound lessons in how diverse cultures could share wisdom and foster mutual growth.

The experience left an indelible mark on the crew. The Celestari’s philosophies compounded on their challenged preconceptions about strength and success. In turn, the expedition members shared their own tales of survival—from the harrowing moments on Ghaldar V to the calculated risks taken in the void of space and even moments from each of their pasts where they had adapted to challenge without realizing. This cultural exchange not only enriched the crew’s understanding of their own identities but also planted the seeds for future alliances. It was a reminder that in the grand cosmic theater, every species had a unique role to play—a mosaic of traditions and values that, when combined, could illuminate even the darkest corners of the universe.

Chapter 9

As the expedition neared the core of the cosmic anomaly, mounting evidence suggested that the phenomenon was not a random disturbance, but part of a recurring cycle that could threaten the stability of entire star systems. Preliminary data revealed disturbances in space-time that hinted at the possibility of a cascade effect—one that would trigger further cosmic events with devastating consequences. The gravity of the situation pressed upon every crew member, yet their resolve did not waiver. The events upon Ghaldar V a beacon of inspiration—fostering the belief that things could be changed, no matter how large or insurmountable they seemed.

In response, Captain Quinn convened an emergency strategy session, drawing on the collective expertise of her diverse team. Together, they devised a bold, multi-layered plan that would require the expenditure of every resource at their disposal, leaving them with nothing if it failed. The strategy was a delicate dance of calculated risk and spontaneous innovation and realization—echoing the very approach that had saved them on Ghaldar V. Each member of the team, from the Vul’thar scientists to the human engineers and Lakarri tacticians, was assigned a role that played to their strengths. Their goal was to stabilize the anomaly and avoid the domino effect of cosmic disruption.

In the tense hours that followed, the ship’s corridors became a hive of coordinated activity and fervent determination. The team’s synergy was palpable as they executed complex maneuvers and synchronized their efforts with precision. Every action, every decision was made in real time—a testament to the unyielding spirit that had defined their journey and grown from the very beginning. As they prepared to implement the final phase of their plan, the crew understood that while their efforts might safeguard the present, but also pave the way for a more resilient future across the galaxy, they may not make it back to see these changes.

Chapter 10

In the climactic moments, as the anomaly pulsed with a raw, ancient power, the combined might of the expedition was put to the ultimate test. The meticulously crafted plan was activated—melding human intuition, Vul’thar precision, and Lakarri endurance into a synchronized operation that defied traditional expectations of technology and logic. Captain Quinn’s calm command rang out across the bridge, her steady voice cutting through the cosmic noise, despite the unbridled terror withing her own mind, as she directed every calculated maneuvers and adjustment. In that crucible of uncertainty, every crew member became a testament to the indomitable spirit of survival and collaboration.

Slowly, as if yielding to the will of the united team, the turbulent forces of the anomaly began to subside. Yet the threat of this crisis put up a final ode of resistance, forcing the crew back. It was in this moment, as timed seemed to slow, that the whole ship was bathed with a single vision. They saw worlds burning with everything on them reduced to cinder. They saw stars collapse upon themselves and swallow everything around into an inky abyss. Yet, within this vision they saw a sole hope.

When they had first come across that derelict ship during the first expedition, the assumption was that its crew had tried to flee their empire and the crisis consuming it. But this was not the case. Captain Quinn had been allowed to keep a lone object from that derelict wreck, a glass cylinder containing an ever shifting mass of unknown material. She had felt drawn too it, not for any reason other than its sheer uniqueness, but now the mass seemed to shift. It’s shape still shifting but now pressed against its transparent casing towards the anomalies heart. It was in her office that Quinn noticed this change, and it was here she realized what it’s true purpose was.

She rushed to the bridge. Her voice echoed over the ships speakers as she spoke.

“Friends, we stand at the precipice of our greatest trial. It may seem as if we have been defeated, that the galaxy is destined to be destroyed as it has countless times before, but all is not lost. In our journey, we have unraveled secrets older than any of us. Challenged the views from generations past. We have learned so much during our time on these expeditions, it is in these discoveries that we overlooked the key to ending all of this. That derelict vessel, we all thought it was a simple relic of a forgotten era. A ship taken by a desperate few who tried to escape the calamity we now face. But we were wrong, it was not a simple escape attempt, it was a final, desperate act of containment—a safeguard forged during the end times. It was in that vessel the key to ending all of this lay, waiting for someone to find it. Yet now, I must speak the truth we all fear: the only way to harness this power is to drive it into the very heart of the anomaly. I intend to venture this alone, none of you deserve to sacrifice yourselves when I alone brought you here. All I ask of you is to remember that the vessel and its precious cargo were born of collaboration—a bond forged in the fires of our darkest hours. I ask that you make sure the galaxy knows it cannot remain stagnant. Make sure they know the lessons we learned on this journey.”

As Quinn’s words faded from the speakers she began to move to the shuttle bay, yet before she could leave the bridge her second in command stepped between her and the door, soon the whole crew stood between her and the fate she resigned herself too.

“No Captain, your not doing this alone. We learnt so much on this expedition, changed for the better, forged bonds that couldn’t have formed anywhere else. I’m going with you, even if it means I won’t come back. Plus, with these reading you’ll need someone to help you stay on course”

One by one the whole crew spoke out in agreement, determined to accompany their Captain even if it meant death. Before Quinn could speak up in retaliation the crew’s chief data-engineer spoke up.

“I’ve already made the preparations Captain. I had a fear we might not make it back from this, so I took the liberty of recording our whole expedition and everything we’ve learned onto a sort of black-box. It’s already loaded onto the shuttle, and I’ve checked the heading. They won’t forget what happened here. They will change their ways. They couldn’t not change”

No more words were spoken after that, the whole crew filled a sole with determination as the shuttle was sent off towards the Concord. No-one truly knows what happened to Captain Quinn and her crew, but their message still resonated throughout the galaxy.

Only by embracing collaboration, valuing every voice and skill, and daring to act in the face of uncertainty can we transform despair into hope and stand together to forge a legacy that will endure, instead of one that crumbles to dust.

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Hey and welcome back dear readers! I've spent most of the week writing and refining this story here for you all, so I hope you enjoyed it! I'll admit, it's not exactly what I wanted but I wanted to keep up my consistent upload schedual and I know if I keep re-writing it i'll never get it finished. As always, if you have any feedback, notes or other things to say then please do leave a comment. I hope you all have a good day/night!

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• ’The setting of the story should be in Little Tokyo – either past, present or future.

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Dear Brother,

You know I was always afraid to answer a call. It's not that you managed to race me to the rotary phone. I let you believe that, slowing down on purpose.

Now that you're gone, I stand here laughing through my tears, remembering the tomfoolery. Growing up with you, my younger brother, was the best childhood anyone could have. Yes, we did fight a lot and snickered when the other got chastised by dad, or mom. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Ever.

Brother, you always raced ahead, like the Virar fast local, even as I lagged behind like an all-stops train. It was also why I stand here today. The fateful night of 1st Jan.

The world was getting ready to ring in the new year when the other ring startled us-- the phone ring. While rest of the family slept, I awoke and, somehow, answered the phone. That was the last I, or anyone else, heard from you.

When the police called the next morning, I could sense the rising dread on dad's face. The journey to the station where we found your mortal remains was punctuated with sudden gasps of breath, a lot of praying, and forcing ourselves to stay positive.

You had fallen off a train, they said, although that was never confirmed. Far more sinister causes came to mind. None could bring you back. What was confirmed, for sure, was the fact that we had a gaping hole now. In our family and in our hearts.

This morning, mum called, and I dragged my feet to the phone. I knew why she had called, and as always, I was afraid to answer it.

Rest in peace.

"Switch!" someone shouts and a chorus of voice start pouring through the cracks. I'm back. I smile. Tom is standing in front of me. "How are you?" I ask. My brother looks at me strangely. "What are you talking about? I just broke my leg. I'm not answering your jokes." I roll my eyes. I didn't know his leg was broken. If I had I wouldn't have made that joke. Whatever, It doesn't matter right now. I can fix it then yell at the system later. I got down on my knees and started binding his leg. "What are you doing?! That's going to hurt!"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point. I have to set it and put it in a splint."

"No, you don't. I have mods for things like that--" he stopped talking. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

"You're nonverbal." I stated. He grimaced, then nodded.

"Alright, brace for pain." Frantically, he waved his hands in the air.

"What is it?" I asked, impatiently. He proceeded to make a motion with his hands indicating cash and then wiggled his pointer finger in the air.

"I don't know ASL." After that, I looked around for the bandages.

"Wait, where are the bandages?"

Tom looked exasperated and starting flinging his hands around again. I went inside my head. Anyone know ASL? I ask.

It's literally one of my first languages, responds Alaric.

Ok, how am I supposed to know that?

If you ever paid attention maybe you'd know what purpose each of us serve.

I think I heard curses in about fifteen languages after that.

Fine, just get me someone to translate.

I'll go in the front with you.

Thank you.

Back outside, me and my co-con buddy started working together. Her name was Persephone, in case you wanted to know.

Ok, he says that we don't have any bandages.That's why he doesn't want you to start splinting it.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask.

"Carry me to the helicopter. There you won't have to use any rusty pipes for bracing and I can sit comfortably while you do it." Addy translated for me. I nodded. Alice then helped me carry him over to the helicopter.

Once I was there I started spinning around in a circle. Why am I fronting? Who is here and why are there so many of you? Does anyone know how to fly a helicopter?

I waited a minute and there was no answer.

I'm kinda starting to freak out!

Just then I became aware of my brother staring at me from the bench. I waved and tried to smile but it was kinda hard to convince him of my fine-ness when I was currently sinking to the floor in a fetal position. I put my head in my hands and breathed in and out slowly. I'm fine. I'm fine. I am soooo fine. It took me a couple minutes but I got myself under control enough to fix my brother's leg. The next problem was figuring out how to fly this thing. Just as I started wondering how I got in this scenario in the first place there was another switch. It was a different alter's problem now. I could sleep.

She stared at her signature drink the waiter set down in front of her. “I didn’t order this!” She called after the waiter.

“No, but I did,” the chillingly familiar voice reached her ears before he sat across from her. “Hello, again,” he smiled.

“Derek.” She said curtly, willing her face into neutrality. What was he doing here? She’d gone to the city to get away from him. Dyed her hair auburn, got a spray tan regularly, and started wearing glasses. She’d even changed careers from a chef to a school teacher, going to night school to finish her teaching certification. She'd thought perhaps she'd gone overboard; been too cautious. Yet, here he was, in the flesh.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his voice was as smooth as honey. “You still like a green tea matcha latte with a hint of vanilla, right?”

“What are you doing here?” She gripped the paper napkin in her lap, tightly. The coffee shop bustled around them, but here, at this table, the world stood still.

“I came to see you, Sara.” His blue eyes looked into hers, almost sincerely. Those eyes had fooled her before. “I was so worried when you disappeared. I came home to our apartment. No note, no message, no hint that you’d ever existed. You even took your art off of the walls and the spices from the cupboard.”

“Those spices were expensive and— No! You don’t get an explanation. Leave me alone!” Sara hissed.

He stared at the untouched latte with its milky white flower art in the thick green liquid. “It’s not poisoned. I never once touched it.”

Sara didn’t even look at the drink. To accept it would mean she was letting him in. Forgiving him, even if it was only a little bit.

“I know you hate food waste. It was one of your passions as a chef,” he coaxed as if she were a little child like those in her kindergarten class.

“Derek, did you not think that I would have told you if I wanted to be found?” She pleaded. She looked around at the cafe, but nobody seemed to notice, or care, that she was in distress.

“We’re married, Sara. Til death do us part. Or was that just a lie on your side?” His eyes narrowed.

There it was. The real Derek. The charmer and the sweetheart disappeared the day after they said their vows. Reality set in. He was cruel. A liar. A cheater.

“I was going to send the divorce papers as soon as I had enough to afford a lawyer,” she said quietly. She closed the little notebook on the table in front of her slowly.

“I won’t sign. We’re married, Sara. You’re my wife and I want you back.” Derek’s face was serious. No saccharine smile. No narrowed eyes. Straight face.

“You cheated on me!” Sara said a little louder than needed. Now heads were turning their way. She blushed furiously.

“I did and I’m sorry, Sara. I was wrong.”

She blinked, the only show of her surprise. “What?”

“I was wrong. I took you for granted and I want a second chance.” He said. His voice held notes of true regret.

Derek. Mr. Right. Mr. Charmer… he never… never admitted he was wrong. She stumbled over her words, “Derek, I—”

“You don’t have to answer right now. In fact, you probably shouldn't,” he said, standing. “But please think about it.” As he walked towards the exit, he paused. “I like the hair color. Makes your eyes pop.”

The door jingled too brightly. Sara stared at the journal in front of her, thinking about it.

"Clouds are the dream weavers of the sky, spinning fantasies in sunlight," said my love before wayward journey into night, arm in arm, over fiery autumn cobblestone.

"Oh," murmur the passersby, sweeping... peering up.

"Look! there, there are angels, combing their spiderweb hair with a broom, and now the strands are caught, oh! into a spindle, and it shall become... the wool of a whole herd of sheep! across the indigo. See how they run towards the sun! to avoid a laundering...?"

The man at the doorway licks his finger, and checks the wind, "To the south, my fair friends!! To the south," he nods approvingly.

"Aha! the clouds are busy, tonight, darling, making hay before the winter, then."

"No, my love, it's you who weaves, and spins, who turns poofs of breath into infinite flaxen stores upon the wind," says I, enamored with the light, and the chill, that shows to us the splendor of your weave.

02.04.205

Rabindranath Tagore challenge @dctezcan

TEEK and TEEP

February 03, 2025

I finished reading about the definitions and the symptoms. It is time to cause one to occur.

The officer decided that I was not paying enough respect to his badge. He could not articulate a reasonable suspicion of a crime, so he demanded I leave my car. He argued this was for officer safety. I politely informed the officer that he pulled me over for no reason. I could video this encounter for my safety and I wanted to speak to his supervisor.

He took his baton and broke out my window.

I opened one of his blood vessels in his head initiating a subarachnoid bleed.

He immediately felt the pain.

Carefully, I made the broken glass from my driver’s side window reform so as not to draw suspicion from passersby. With each passing second, the officer found it difficult to remain standing. This type of intracranial hemorrhage deprives the brain of oxygen rich blood required for higher (and lower) thought. His training required him to push the emergency button on his radio. My telekinesis prevented his hand from such an action. He looked at me. I looked at him and smiled. I could have put him out of his misery, but I politely declined. This police officer would suffer for his insolence. He had an ego. Now he has subdural bleeding, pooling, and intense pressure. If someone was present with the skills to diagnose and the tools to drill a cranial hole, relieving said pressure, I would not interfere.

But no such cavalry would come to his rescue. He would die a shriveled man, unrecognizable to his friends or family. I wanted the last thing anyone saw was the anguish this officer displayed on his face. He would lose bowel and urine control, but no one would notice. His face would etch upon their memory forever. I would remain until another arrived. In court, I would delight in narrating my video of his brazen actions and how terrified he made me during my ordeal. I could not care if the judge or the jury believed my testimony. I would not be on trial. I would be a witness to the unfortunate demise of one Sergeant William Goldsmith.

How was your week?

Today, as many days go, I asked those of low moral character to correct themselves and accept their punishment. At the bank, I witnessed a loan officer attempt to foreclose on a house. This made me want to read both their thoughts. The owner was late by one day on her third to the last payment. The loan officer wanted this foreclosure to occur so he could collect a handsome finders fee from a series of contractors who wanted to begin construction on a series of town homes. The home owner would receive but a pittance for her diligence in making 357 timely payments. She insisted she only needed two more days to make the payment. The loan officer did not care. I might not have cared until I saw his smirk. He was literally excited at the thought of financially destroying this woman. His finders fee was a distant second. I had to intervene, and so I did. First, I erased all of his memories of financial gains. Then, I induced him to be more cordial to his clientele. He resisted, at first, but he soon had no other choice. He offered to pay the remaining three payments out of his own pocket. She was too surprised to accept. When he insisted, she became as ecstatic as he was just minutes before.

He could afford nearly $5000 to make amends for his arrogance.

TEEK extended her hand and used her telekinesis to remove the cheap 10K gold ring from her right index finger to give to TEEP. TEEP used her telepathy to distract all within visual range to accept the prize as a token of winning this week’s best use of their ability. Both had achieved a corrective action the wager required. Yet, only one succeeded without the death of he who required correction.

The sisters laughed while formalizing the details of next week’s wager. One corrective action from one deserving person without actually killing them or destroying their lives. The goal was to make them learn.

And to wear the ring for one more week.

tan afamat tan afamada

February 01, 2025

It was the last time I heard her speak.

Few get to hike the Pyrenees from Donostia-San Sebastian to Andorra for a honeymoon. We flew into the airport and found ourselves immediately out of our element. We didn’t speak Spanish. We didn’t speak Basque. We didn’t even know Basque was a language. Or Catalan.

We didn’t care.

Both of us were experienced in camping, climbing, and hiking. I met Heidi while we were both teenagers in high school. We immediately fell in love. We went everywhere together. During college, we climbed Kilimanjaro. On the top, I proposed. She accepted immediately.

Four days ago, we wed in London. Three days ago, we stayed in the Hotel Tres Reyes San Sebastian for the night. Two mornings ago, we packed our gear, said hello to the sunrise, and began walking. We have been hiking ever since.

Heidi wanted to explore only with a compass. The Andorra Palace expected us ten days later. My guess is when we did not arrive, they contacted the authorities. From what you told me, you discovered me at the bottom of a ravine, unconscious with a broken radius and ulna. I do not remember falling. I certainly would have remembered breaking two bones in my arm.

That is all I know about me.

The Officer de Police Judiciaire, OPJ Laurent took careful notes as he readjusted the camera for the third time. I knew he wanted to go over my story again, from the top. I just wanted him to find my wife. Rescuers pulled me out of the mountains, but found no trace of Heidi anywhere. His report includes interviews with a few townspeople we met along the way when we made good use of a mountain road. All seven of them report seeing me. None of the seven saw Heidi. That is their story.

“If you are married, where is your wedding ring?” I told OPJ Laurent that I must have lost it.

“The hotel employees in San Sebastian said they saw your wife check in with you, and leave with you. Once again, did she actually begin hiking with you? Maybe, she changed her mind. Maybe, the two of you had a fight. Newly married couples do fight sometimes. Maybe, just maybe, she decided to take a train or a bus instead.”

He said it as if it actually happened as he said. Nothing could be further from the truth.

For the third time, I told him what I knew about our hike.

On day five, we stopped to make camp adjacent to a small stream and a field of flowers. I collected the water to boil and she wanted to explore the field. When I asked her why, she told me she had never seen such beautiful and unusual flowers. She then told me she would be back in a few minutes.

I gave her those minutes.

I wish I hadn’t.

I began looking for her, following the path she made in the crushed grass of the field. Heidi was careful not to step on any of the flowers. I was not so careful. Something about this field gave me the creeps.

“Pardon. What is creeps?’ This OPJ Laurent interrupted. In the previous two statements, he had never once interrupted me. I explained creeps. He Google translated creeps.

“Ah, fait peur.”

Close enough for me to continue.

It took nearly an hour to find where Heidi’s tracks ended. We (I) were no longer in the field. Her tracks ended on a moss covered embankment. The moss must have been growing for years because it covered dead trees, rocks, the hillside, everything. I found one of Heidi’s boots on the ground, still tied, and kind of slimy. I found another of her boots three feet off of the ground stuck in the moss, almost as if someone had wedged it in there. When I reached for it. I felt an incredible pain in my arm. I pulled back immediately, and turned to run. When I woke up, it was the next morning, the rescue teams found me, stabilized me, and brought me here to you.

I have told you all of this before. Why do you keep asking me for a statement?

OPJ Laurent either could not or would not answer my question. He was a man who knew something, or at least suspected something, but would not tell.

“Until you are told otherwise, we are still detaining you. We will hold your passport and ask that you do not make it more difficult on yourself by attempting to leave. We will pick up your hotel bill until we have finished our investigation.

I am sure he kept videoing me as I departed for the hotel.

Later that week, my father arrived to bring me home. OPJ Laurent was on paid administrative leave, and was not available for comment.

But I was.

During my police interview, I pulled out my small, inconspicuous flip phone and dialed my father. He was smart enough not to speak when he heard the conversation. He was smart enough to record both my conversation with OPJ Laurent and the conversation the good detective had once I departed, leaving the nearly invisible flip phone behind.

“Bonjour, Henri. Nous avons un fauteur de troubles. Ils sont trop gros pour être contrôlés. Commencez à nettoyer le terrain.”

A French judge dismissed my case stating I had no right to record. My transcript was unreadable due to lack of proper accent marks required for an official document of this magnitude.

Google Earth displays a photo of a cleared field. According to Google, no vegetation has ever grown on this field.

Ever.

While passing a flower stand in the airport in Barcelona, I swore I heard a potted Venus Fly Trap speak to me. “Tan afamat tan afamada”.

I knocked it over, stomped on the plant, and paid handsomely for the damages.

It was a long flight home.

“No. No, no, no!” Sal followed the trail of crimson in the snow to her crumpled form. “Mom!” He pressed his hands against the large red stain on her garments. “Come on, not this again. Your stitches were barely healed, What were you thinking?”

Somewhat deliriously, she smiled up at the large flakes wafting from the sky. “The Winter Berries are ripe, I wanted to sell them at the market. They fetch a great price, you know.”

“I told you already that I make more than enough. I had to leave my job early because Mrs. Potter saw you stumbling through the snow.” He looked down at her feet. “For Titan’s sake, Mom! You don’t even have shoes on!”

Despite her protests that she’d not finished harvesting the berries, Sal hefted his thin mother in his arms and trekked back to their cottage outside the village. Her eyes closed as they walked, drifting off. The blood on her dress began to dry and he breathed a small sigh of relief. He could barely afford their food and rent. Another visit to the physician would officially put them into debt. If the blood was clotting, though, he could take care of it himself.

He set her down on the cot in the corner of the main room and assured himself that her breathing was even and unbothered before he stoked the fire from embers to a large blaze that nearly didn’t fit in the hearth. He was worried about her. Her sleepwalking had gotten worse in the recent months. He’d begun sleeping with his bed against the front door to prevent her from leaving the house. The stitches in her abdomen were from a nasty fall she’d taken while Sal had been at work. She claimed she’d stayed in the house all day but the baker’s daughter, Kristi, had seen her walk like one of the undead into the forest, mumbling about the angels.

The village called her crazy. Sal had fought the diagnosis at first, but as the time dragged on and she grew worse, he feared they were right. Sal worried she might become a nuisance to the town and so much so that the magistrate would order her locked in the asylum in the next city over. Nobody knew what went on in the asylum because nobody was allowed in. If they took her, she was as good as dead as far as Sal was concerned. So far, her craziness extended to mindless wandering and strange muttering about angelic creatures and demonic fiends.

Sal returned to work, and, for the next few days, things continued as normal. He worked in the coal mines, the rhythmic pounding of his pickaxe grounding, in a way. He tried to occupy his thoughts in the dark tunnels, to keep them away from his mother, but he found himself worrying anyway. She could be bleeding out in the snow again, her purple, frostbitten hands reaching for the last of the Winter Berries out in the forest.

“Sal! It’s your mother!” Sal’s fists tightened around the handle of the pickaxe, but he turned to face the newcomer in the tunnels. Kristi.

“What is it this time?”

Her face was ashen. “The magistrate has her. She came into the village shrieking about the Urslusmegalucerus and that everyone needed to leave.”

“Take me to her.” He jogged after the girl, watching her red pigtails bounce against her back. In a different life, he’d have lived in a house of his own and asked the baker to marry Kristi, but with his mother’s condition, he had no other option but to care for her. He scoffed at his mother’s ridiculous raving. The Urslumegalucerus. A fairy story to scare little kids into staying in bed at night. A great big bear with teeth like a lion and antlers like a great moose.

Sal arrived at the town meeting hall where his mother, in nothing but a nightgown and one of Sal’s coats was begging the magistrate to listen to her.

“You have to let me go! You may not believe me but Sal and I have to leave! You can’t let me stay here to share my fate with the rest of the village! It’s coming!”

“Sal!” the magistrate shouted, spotting him the second he entered. “You promised you’d keep her locked up. She’s scaring the town and disrupting the market.”

“Sal! Sal! If they don’t let me go you have to leave! It’s coming! The Urslusmegalucerus!” Her eyes were wide with fear.

Sal’s heart sank as he beheld her. What had she become? How had this happened? “No, mom, it’s not coming. Let me take you home.”

“Out of the question!” The magistrate snapped. His thick, dark eyebrows furrowed deeply. “I told you, the second she began to cause disturbance she was through. I’m having my men take her to Dernum. At the asylum, they will be able to keep her from hurting anyone, herself included.”

Sal opened his mouth to reply, but screams began to rise from outside.

“Too late.” His mother whispered, looking at her feet.

The soldiers inside the hall shared glances before they all dashed outside to see the commotion.

Something twisted in his stomach. Sal, pickaxe still in hand, grit out, “Stay here.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Kristi or his mother, but he hoped they both listened. He dashed outside into the street and his jaw went slack.

A bear, fifteen feet in stature at least, antlers six feet across, tore through the town. One swipe of his paw brought down the tents and awnings lining the street. Vendors ran screaming. Sal could feel bile rising in his throat as a soldier, sword in hand, charged the bear. The man was dead within seconds. The bear trampled over the body, further into the town.

His mother was right. She’d known. She wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t sure what she was, but she wasn’t a mindless lunatic. He had to get her out. As he turned to go back to the town hall, another one of the massive creatures emerged from the treeline no more than a hundred yards away.

“You have to go now!” he shouted by way of greeting. “She was right! The Urslusmegalucerus. Two of them! They’re destroying the town.”

The magistrate looked stunned. Despite being the son of a madwoman, the magistrate knew Sal was no fool. The moment he regained control of his body, he fled through the backdoor.

“Come on,” Sal said, gripping his pickaxe. They followed the path the magistrate had taken, through the back of the hall into a long corridor. They pushed open the heavy oak door at the end. Sunlight flooded the darkness. The magistrate was climbing on the back of a horse.

“Hya! Move!” he shouted, digging his heels into the side of the beast. The horse sped into a gallop.

“Come on, there’s two more horses in the stable!” Sal shouted as they jogged towards it.

Kristi leaped into action alongside Sal, saddling the horse faster than even he could. He hefted his mother into the saddle of the dappled mare that Kristi had saddled. Before Sal could offer his hand, Kristi swung herself into the saddle behind Sal’s mother.

A scream sounded from the road behind them. Sal’s head snapped towards it as an Urslusmegalucerus tackled the magistrate and the horse from the treeline. “Go!” he shouted at Kristi. “Keep away from the treeline! Don’t stop until you get to Dernum!”

She and his mother rode off, fast. Sal climbed onto the back of the black horse but didn’t follow the two women. He steered his horse to the village where the screaming didn’t stop. He likely wouldn’t make it, but if he could buy a minute, maybe two, for anyone to flee, it would be worth it. He adjusted his hands on the handle of the pickaxe and rode into the fray.