I stop on the sidewalk

outside the shoe store.

A window sign says,

“Sale: This A.M. Only.”

I think of my son Jimmy

and the holes in his soles

and the blisters on his feet

and my last ten bucks

until next payday.

Then I notice

the breakfast place next door.

I think of my empty stomach

that growls and howls,

and my last sawbuck

until next payday.

And I reluctantly

acknowledge that due to

rumors spreading like tumors

at the factory where I work,

there may not be

a next payday.

I ponder my plight

and cried as I decide

to tear off two pieces

from my cardboard sign

that says, “Will work for food.”

“These are for Jimmy’s shoes,”

I say, then enter the eatery,

just me and my Hamilton.

By Michael McCarty Genre: Science Fiction Approximately 5,970 words

An endless hallway stretched ahead, an immaculate corridor of green. The only sound was the echoing squeaks of a boy's ratty gym shoes striding on the gleaming tile floor.

"Where the hell is he?" a man's agitated voice intruded, and the hallway image vanished.

Simultaneously, a sleeping boy's brow furrowed. Ten-year-old Luke Soper's worn T-shirt was wrinkled and his sandy hair was as rumpled as the white sheets he was laying on. Luke's eyes flashed open when the man's voice came again: "Where is he?" Luke sat up and squinted as morning sunlight squeezed through closed blinds into his bedroom at the top of the stairs.

In the kitchen below, James Soper paced in a tight T-shirt and snug jeans. At age 50 and tightly wound in a chunky body that was equal parts bully and control freak, he glanced at the window, then at his wristwatch. "He shoulda been here," James said. "Where the hell is he?"

James' wife, Linda Soper, sat at the kitchen table in her blue robe, sipping coffee in one hand and twisting strands of her reddish brown hair with the other. And getting ready to explode. Finally, the small, scrappy 41-year-old set her coffee cup on the table, stood, and folded her arms. James barked, "I told you to get your ass upstairs and put on a good dress. Remember, we're guests on this planet."

That lit Linda's fuse. "Look out the damn window," she spat out the words. "We sunk a ton of lies into this sorry marriage, but here's one truth: We woke up an hour and a half ago—you in your bed, me in mine—in the same house. On the same Grove Street. In the same neighborhood. In Michigan, which is still in the U.S. Which is still on E-A-R-T-H."

James scowled. "Joseph will explain."

Linda grabbed her husband by the neckline of his shirt. "Is that what you call the voice rattling around in that empty skull?"

James began to loosen Linda's grip, and she tore into him again. "Admit it! You've never seen this, this 'Joseph.' And you want me to believe that we beamed up to oooEEEooo? Why are you doing this?"

James had heard enough. He grabbed Linda's wrist and pressed his thick fingers into her flesh. She grimaced. "You know why!" he shouted. "To keep you from makin' another bastard like the one upstairs."

A knock at the door caused him to release Linda's wrist. As she ran into the living room, wiping away tears, James ran to the side door off the kitchen.

The knocking grew louder. James swung open the door, and Nora Weller, a lean, dark-haired bundle of compassion, burst in ahead of her husband, Ty. The thirty-something couple lived across the street. "Where's Linda?" Nora demanded. A shaky voice came from the den: "Out here."

Nora rushed to her friend.

In the kitchen, James suspiciously eyed the lanky, blond-haired man with five o'clock shadow. Ty broke in, "OK if we wait here with you?" Surprise colored James' expression, as Ty continued: "I had you figured for loony tunes, Soper. But since Joseph began sending me messages..."

"What?" James shot back. "Joseph told me that I was his only neighborhood contact. ... Aw, what the hell, glad to have you aboard. So, Nora believes, too?"

Ty shook his head. "She thinks I'm crazy, but ..." Ty drew closer to James and whispered, "I'm hoping this planet will have a cure for Nora's lupus. I couldn't tell her, though. God knows how many times she's gotten her hopes up."

Meanwhile, Nora stroked Linda's wrist in the den. Each woman knew the other's secrets, and time and again they comforted each other through crises. At last, Linda wiped away a tear and said, "I'm OK, really... and when my lawyer gets through with him, we'll see who's hurtin'."

Linda always threatened divorce, but never acted. So Nora just listened. And her friend wasn't done. Linda complained that James' cruelty extended beyond her to her son, Luke. "And now James is hearing voices!"

Nora could not stay silent. "Shh, honey," she said in a hushed tone. "Ty, too. He's convinced that...that someone invited him to, get this, go to another planet!"

Linda jumped to her feet. "Odds are my deranged husband planted that seed. He thinks we ARE on another planet. Nora, you don't believe this crazy talk?" Nora didn't have the heart to say that she sneaked out of the house less than an hour ago in a bid to drive around and prove to herself that she was still on Earth's terra firma. But neither her car nor Ty's would start.

A new knock at the kitchen door greeted the Soper house. Nora and Linda rushed into the kitchen as James exhorted, "Stay calm." He swung the door open to reveal an African-American lad wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt bearing the cartoon image of a fire-breathing monster.

"Mr. Soper," the 11-year-old said, "is Luke home? I heard he got the new Road Rage Killers 3."

James sighed. "He's upstairs, Ricky, but we're expecting company. Come back later." James shut the door. Before it latched, Linda was in her husband's face. "So," she fumed, "you bought that gruesome video game, after all."

James grabbed Linda's upper arms. Struggling mightily, she freed one arm, but he yanked it back. Linda spit in her husband's face, and he squeezed tighter.

"You're hurting her," Nora screamed, and slapped James' neck. Still gripping his wife, James shoved his big shoulder into Nora's breast. She fell backward, and Ty caught his wife's head before it hit the wood table. Ty's hands curled into fists and he flew into James. James let loose of Linda, but Ty kept swinging.

"Stop it, Ty!" Nora yelled with no effect. James slumped to the floor amid the onslaught. His nose and lower lip were bloody. Ty regained his composure, and he, Nora, and Linda quietly stood over the fallen man. They watched him breathe heavily and moan. His eyelids were shut.

Another figure quietly watched from the carpeted stairway in the living room. And when the fight ended, no one noticed Luke slink back upstairs.

Forty-five minutes later, James was laying on the sofa in the den. He was alone. His eyes were closed and a pillow cradled his swollen, cleaned-up face. That's when knocking entered his consciousness. The raps echoed and appeared to come from the kitchen door. But for James, there surprisingly was no urgency to answer.

As the scene unfolded in James' head, the knocking came again. Ty cautiously opened the door. On the other side was a short, thin, balding man wearing bifocals, a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and sandals. He looked at least 70 years old. And he was smiling.

"Greetings, Mr. Weller," the stranger said. "I trust your journey was uneventful." Ty took a step back from the door, and the stranger continued, "I am Joseph. May I come in?"

"Please," Linda added, "have a seat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Soper," Joseph said. "You are a gracious host. After all, how many people would be hospitable to someone who does not exist?" Joseph sat at the table with a knowing smile. Linda twisted her hair. Nora put a shaky hand on her forehead. Ty could not stop gaping at the visitor.

"My, my," Joseph added. "Please, relax." But Ty let loose a cavalcade of queries: "How did we get here? How do you know our names? Why..."

"Patience," Joseph interrupted. "First, I want to thank you for volunteering to come to my world for our experiment."

Linda looked at her neighbors and shot a steely look at the smiling old man in shorts. She harrumphed, "Volunteer?" Whether due to the scrappiness in her DNA or to Joseph's disarming smile, Linda Soper was emboldened. "My lunatic husband told me some crazy story about a voice in his head. And now you show up. Convenient. Either you're as loony as he is, or ..."

Joseph grinned and asked quietly, "Are you finished, Mrs. Soper?"

Linda roared back, "What did James promise you for showing up to harass me?" Joseph leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" All eyes turned to the beefy figure suddenly standing in the entryway between the den and kitchen. A trickle of blood dripped from a sour smile; his right eye was purple and swollen, but there was no mistake: It was James Soper.

"You look much better, Mr. Soper," Joseph said, sliding off his chair and walking to greet James. "Aren't you pleased, Mr. Weller?"

James stepped menacingly toward Ty Weller, but Joseph stepped between them. James wondered how the visitor knew there was a fight. Then he turned his wrath on Ty. "And you, get out! Take your meddling wife with you." Ty cocked his right fist. James laughed heartily and said, "Or she can take you back home."

Ty unleashed a right-hand punch, but his fist stopped just before it reached James' swollen forehead. The frozen fist glowed and pain gripped Ty's face. Screaming, he sank to his knees, holding his fist. The shocked women drew back as James watched with pleasure. Ty moaned and flexed his right hand as the glow receded.

A calm smile never left Joseph's face. "As Mr. Weller recovers from his lesson," Joseph said, "suffice it to say we are far more advanced than your Earth. Your astronomers might call my home a place of 'dark matter.'"

Confused faces stared at Joseph, but no one had the courage to ask him to explain. Nora helped Ty to his feet as Joseph said, "Everyone, please sit while I inform you of our rules."

The Wellers and James Soper obediently sat at the kitchen table. Linda went into the living room and yelled upstairs, "Lucas, turn off that video game and get down here!" She quickly joined the others at the table, and shook her head at James.

"Go ahead, Joseph," James said, "he may be awhile. You know 10-year-old boys."

Joseph's smile flickered, but he stood at the table and began. "We have summoned you four—and the boy upstairs—to encounter us for periods totaling twenty-two of your Earth hours," he said matter-of-factly. "We hypothesize that at the conclusion of this experiment, you will have adopted our values of knowledge, love, and peace..." He paused as if struggling to keep something inside, but the words spilled out anyway: "...peace through strength."

The balding man shook his head and adjusted his glasses. "And," he said solemnly, "you will return to your planet to propagate these virtues."

Another voice broke the ensuing silence in the room: "How ya gonna make us do that? Put a chip in our heads?"

All heads turned to the boy standing behind them in the kitchen. Luke Soper was wearing blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a skeptical stare.

"Luke, apologize to Mr. Joseph," Linda commanded. But Joseph waved her off. Unruffled, he said, "Your question is fine, Luke Soper. No, we will not insert anything into your bodies."

"But," Luke spoke up again, "how do we know you won't?"

"You will come to understand that we will not. We cannot."

"Yeah, right," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, correct," Joseph said. "Our charter forbids alteration of an alien body. We can communicate with your mind, but ..."

"But what if somebody from another country tries to implant something?"

"We have no countries."

Ty finally had enough of Luke and Joseph's Q&A and butted in. "Joseph, when does this so-called experiment start?"

Joseph turned to Ty and spoke in the same unflappable rhetoric: "It is well under way. But enough for now." He smoothed his Hawaiian shirt and started for the door, but Linda blocked his way. Strengthened by her son's audacity, Linda looked into Joseph's eyes and accused, "You come in here and tell me that while I was sleeping, you 'pffffft'—whisked us and this house away to ... Oz?" She laughed at the visitor.

Joseph shook his head, and for the first time a hint of condescension colored his serene demeanor. "Dear Mrs. Soper, your bodies and minds are here, along with the leaky faucet in your bathtub, the crack in your living room ceiling, the houses across the street, everything you see. You think you are perceiving ordinary matter like on your world. But the items you see now are composed of dark particles and things you normally would never see."

Linda rolled her eyes. "What a load!"

"Welcome to my world," Joseph said to all in the room, "where perception IS reality. Good day."

He walked out the door. "We'll meet again, soon," Joseph turned and said, "keep an open mind. It is the key to all you encounter here."

With that, the small man in the shorts and Hawaiian shirt walked down the driveway and vanished before he got to the end.

---

The door of the Sopers’ empty bedroom burst open, and Linda rushed in, followed by Ty who had one strong arm wrapped around his wife's waist. Nora's eyes were half-closed, and her face was enveloped in a grimace. Linda followed them in. She pulled back the covers on her bed and helped Ty lay his wife down.

"Please," Nora moaned, a tear dribbling from one eye, "Ty, take me home." Linda "shhhh'd" her friend while she took off Nora's shoes.

"You rest, honey," Ty told his wife as he stroked her dark hair. "Stay here for a bit while I go across the street and get your meds." Ty left the bedroom, and his wife's faltering voice surfaced again: "But, but what about James?"

"He's still out cold," Linda replied softly.

Linda sat on the side of the bed and her fingers gently closed Nora's eyes. When a hazy darkness set in, Nora wondered: Is this what sleep feels like? The last thing she remembered were fingers tenderly massaging her creased forehead, until she heard a gentle knock.

Nora opened her eyes and bolted upright in bed. Linda sprang to her feet. They watched the bedroom door open slowly. In stepped a tall, beautiful woman wearing a nurse's uniform—green scrubs and an old-fashioned cap. Her dark hair was pulled back, and she looked to be in her thirties. She was smiling. But Linda cautiously stepped back and put a hand on Nora's shoulder.

The visitor closed the door behind her and broke an awkward silence. "Friends, do not be afraid. My name is Josephine." She took another step closer to the bed and said, "I came to welcome you to my world."

Linda stood, swallowed hard, and said, "No disrespect, but we expected..."

"Someone named Joseph," the visitor completed Linda's sentence. "Is that what your husbands told you?"

Linda nodded. Josephine sneered, "Men!" Linda managed a weak laugh. "Some of my colleagues," Josephine explained, "apparently assumed that males are dominant in your world. So guess who they communicated with." She paused. "In science, never assume. That is an axiom on your Earth, is it not?"

When the bedroom went silent, Josephine removed her nurse's cap. "All right," she said, "what do you really want to know? C'mon, it's just us girls."

Linda loosened up a tad, and asked, "This may sound silly, but when you welcomed us to your 'world,' was that like a figure of speech?"

Josephine smiled and shook her head. "No, no, we are many, how would you say, megaparsecs from your Earth." Linda scrunched her nose, and asked, "Is that like a light year?" Amid a hearty laugh, Josephine replied, "Oh, honey, let's just say you're a long way from home."

The woman in the nurse's scrubs regained her composure. "Our planet's name is not a word, but a state of being deep in the dark-matter cosmos. You might call my world 'Halcyon.'"

Nora perked up and joined the interplanetary chat. "Halcyon?"

"Our planet's mission," Josephine said frankly, "is to pursue knowledge, love, and peace to create an idyllic existence. All is possible through the mind."

Dangling her legs off the side of the bed, Nora asked, "But what has that got to do with us?" Josephine stepped closer. "Everything, Nora," she said. "Our mission extends to the distant multi-verses of dark and light matter. We are grateful you two intelligent women volunteered—or your husbands did for you—for my world's most distant outreach experiment yet."

Linda had seemed to be accepting Josephine's outlandish proclamations, but all this for "a frikkin' experiment?" Nora was intrigued, but wary.

"Relax," Josephine told the women. "You and your families will live among us for less than one of your Earth days. We hypothesize that you will successfully absorb our values. Then you will return to Earth and spread what you learned."

Linda smirked. Nora looked at Josephine and declared, "People will never listen to us."

"But it starts with you," Josephine replied firmly. "Now, let's begin with a simple checkup. Please, close your eyes, Nora."

Nora hesitated, but dutifully shut her tired lids. Josephine did the same, and raised her right arm. She held her palm one inch from Nora's forehead. They were as still as statues. Until...

Josephine shuddered. She winced. She breathed deeply and moved her palm to a paper-width from Nora's forehead. Josephine's hand began to tremble. A tear squeezed out of the corner of her closed right eye.

Even in darkness, Nora could sense the shakiness of Josephine's hand. Nora wanted desperately to ask if the woman in the nurse's uniform was all right, but before she could find the words, Josephine said calmly: "Breathe deeply, Nora."

Hearing that self-assured voice again, Nora flashed a hint of a smile. Josephine responded with one of her own. And both opened their eyes at the same time. Josephine lowered her hand and massaged her own temples. She sat on the bed. And sighed heavily.

"Are you OK?" Nora asked quietly.

Josephine looked up into Nora's concerned face. She sighed again. "I was not ready for the rush of emotional and physical pain from the autoimmune disease that attacks your body."

Nora's worry became puzzlement. "You felt my lupus? But how? Does your planet have a cure?"

Josephine began to nod, but stopped. "A cure? No," she said, "but we can perceive peace and painlessness. You see, my mind can shape reality. Perhaps we can teach yours also."

"It's really possible?"

"Nora, you have an affinity for others," Josephine observed. "And in my dark-matter world, an acute, highly developed rapport is the key to mind power. I intensely felt all your fears, pain, and regrets, but also your hopes, generosity, and your selfless love for Ty and others. I felt your positive energy overcome the negative."

Although she felt her own strength sapping, Nora sat on the bed and reached to place a comforting arm on Josephine's shoulder. "You see," Josephine continued, the essence of our energy is empathy. The purest form of empath..."

Josephine screamed! The onset was the simple touch of Nora's bare arm to the skin on the back of Josephine's neck. "It burns," Josephine cried, sliding off the bed and sinking to the floor.

Nora reached to help her new friend. Linda did, too. But before their hands touched the target, Josephine said loudly, "No!" Through tears, she gestured for the pair to leave the room.

Linda and Nora reluctantly obliged. As the door closed, Josephine breathed deeply.

---

Heavy metal music played loudly. The throbbing bass caused a bed frame and a desk chair to vibrate. A turned-off television and a stack of video games also pulsated below a wall poster of the metal band Slipknot. Luke paced his bedroom. The 10-year-old in ripped blue jeans and a dirty white undershirt paused near a window, and wistfully gazed at dusk setting in on his neighborhood. His eyelids grew heavy, and he rested his forehead on the pane. Luke was not sleepy, but he closed his eyes fully and let thoughts flood into the dark, hazy void.

The metal music faded and was replaced by the squeaking of a boy's old gym shoes walking at a steady clip on a tile floor. Once again, Luke found himself inside an endless green hallway. Once again, he was alone.

A boy's whisper came from somewhere outside the hallway. "Luke. Hey, Luke." The corridor vanished, metal music returned, and the Soper boy was jarred out of his trancelike state. He whirled and spotted Ricky in his bedroom. Luke turned off the music and squinted at his friend.

Muffled voices from downstairs invaded the room. A man and woman were yelling at each other. Ricky had counted on Mr. and Mrs. Soper's post-dinner kitchen argument to sneak in the front door undetected and head up to Luke's room. Ricky also knew the evening spats were why his friend cranked up the tunes.

"Let's get out of here," Luke told his friend. Luke grabbed a backpack and put it on while sneaking downstairs. And the muffled voices became clearer and uglier.

"Get yer ass upstairs and talk to the kid," Linda said loudly. Fuming, James replied, "You wanna coddle that freak? Knock yourself out. But we both know you don't give a rat's ass."

Luke and Ricky shut the front door and left the dustup behind. A few house lights were on, but nobody else was on their neck of Grove Street. On the sidewalk, Ricky asked, "Wha'cha wanna do?" Luke shrugged. Ricky peppered his pal with suggestions, but as they walked toward busy streets, he noticed his friend gazing at the night sky. He grabbed Luke's shirt, and they stopped. "Hey! Are you even hearing me, dude?"

"Just thinking'," Luke replied.

Ricky laughed. "About what? Don't tell me your stupid old man convinced you we're in outer space? Or is it some other dimension? Or a black hole?" Ricky stopped chuckling when Luke stared coldly at him. "Sorry, man," Ricky said quietly.

"C'mon," Luke said, and the duo walked in silence for what seemed like hours. Up streets, down avenues, through alleys. Finally, Ricky filled the void: "What did you think of the new Road Rage game?"

"You want it?" Luke asked.

"Hell, yeah," Ricky said. "But my dad won't let me get it."

Luke reached into his backpack and pulled out a video game box. It was still wrapped in cellophane from the store. Luke flipped the game to his friend. Ricky caught it and examined the box in disbelief, all without breaking stride.

"It's all yours," Luke said.

Headlights from passing cars played off Ricky and Luke as they sat on a curb outside a drugstore. His backpack laying limply beside him on the sidewalk, Luke bowed his head. He felt Ricky's hand on his shoulder. "Luker," Ricky said earnestly, "You'll feel better tomorrow. I know it." Luke picked up a pebble and rolled it around in his hand.

"Maybe we should head back," Ricky said anxiously. "My dad will be worried." There was a long pause, and Ricky added, "And so will ... your folks."

Luke wiped away a tear and looked up. "At least your dad will worry. And I remember when your mom was alive, she was always calling our house to make sure you were there. ... My folks? Hell, they're glad when I'm not around. 'Cause when I get back, she'll light into me about somethin', and he'll swat me for nothin'."

Luke hung his head, again. "What's the use?"

Ricky jumped to his feet, took Luke's arm and tried to pull him up. "Don't talk like that, man. Come on, let's go!"

Luke grabbed his backpack and arose. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a white envelope. "Give this to my folks tomorrow, OK, Rick?" Ricky would not look at it.

Luke pressed the letter against his friend's chest, and Ricky stepped back toward the curb.

"Put that thing back in the bag," Ricky said.

"OK, OK," Luke said as he reluctantly returned the envelope to his backpack. "But I still want you to give the letter to my folks." Luke smiled. He took off his backpack, cradled it in both hands and told his best friend, "And I want you to have the rest."

Ricky became frightened. "Don't do this!" He backed away and stepped off the curb and into the street as Luke advanced with the pack. "I don't want your stuff," Ricky yelled. "Don't ..."

The headlight beams of a speeding car bathed Ricky's face.

Luke screamed, "Rick!"

Traffic stopped, and two men and a woman rushed into the street at the scene of the hit-and-run. They peered down at the back of one boy who was crouched over another boy who was not moving. The crouching boy sobbed.

"Poor kid didn't stand a chance," a man said, shaking his head.

As an ambulance siren blared in the distance, a woman placed her hand on the crying boy's back. "Come, child, there's nothing you can do for him."

The scared boy rose slowly, turned, and for an instant eyed the woman. Wiping away tears, Ricky grabbed the backpack, bolted, and ran away.

Luke's body remained still on the pavement. His eyes were closed. His dirty undershirt and his face covered in blood, illuminated by the headlights of a traffic jam.

---

Once again a boy walked briskly in an endless corridor, his gym shoes squeaking on the tile. The green hallway was empty, but this time light was ahead on the left. It shined through a glass door marked with old English lettering: "HALCYON INTERPLANETARY ADOPTION AGENCY."

The squeaking stopped. The boy's hand turned a brass doorknob, and he entered a small office area. An old couch and several hard chairs were in the waiting area. A pot of tea was brewing on the counter of a reception desk. Was anyone around?

The boy cautiously took another step.

"Why, hello, young man," a woman's voice said.

The surprised boy looked again at the desk, and saw the quintessential grandmother. She wore horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Her gray hair was in a bun. And she was paging through a folder. "We were expecting you, oh, yes," the woman said. "Let me see, you're here somewhere. Sialuna-2, Sgxyl ... ah, yes, Soper!"

The woman dipped down and retrieved a clipboard. She reached over the counter with the clipboard and a pen. "Here you are, Lucas. Please give your form a last look, sign it, and I will see how your prospective parents are doing."

As Luke approached, he noticed the kindly woman wore a nameplate: "Mrs. Smith."

And as he took the clipboard, she whispered, "Just between you and me, dear boy, I think it's a done deal." Luke did not bother whispering. "When will I see them, Mrs. Smith? Are they nice? What do they look like?"

"Shh," she replied, coming out from behind the desk to guide Luke to a chair. "They're in the conference room next door. Now, stay here until I come back."

Luke sat and studied the form on the clipboard. As Mrs. Smith opened a door off the reception area, she called to Luke, "By the way, that is a very snappy outfit you wore today." For the first time, Luke noticed that he was in a blue, collared, short-sleeve shirt and dress pants. He did not even own such bogus clothing.

When Mrs. Smith opened the door, Luke noticed a portly man in suit and tie. The man was seated at a wood table near a book shelf. But the door was closing and Luke returned to his clipboard.

---

When Mrs. Smith shut the door, she was in a large, white room. A long, white oval tabletop hovered above the floor. Four figures were sitting around the table, but they too were defying gravity. Or gravity at least as the ordinary-matter Earth knew it. And the figures were not anything known to Earth. One had an elongated face that opened up at the forehead, making him or her look like a mushroom from the neck up. The form next to him resembled an octopus with tentacles that ended in humanlike hands, albeit nine-fingered hands. Another figure resembled a pulsating tangle of vines, and it was sitting beside a small, smooth-skinned creature that continually changed shapes and colors.

Electronic "name cards" that contained strange symbols lit up on the tabletop in front of the four figures and four empty spaces. This was a special board meeting of the Halcyon Interplanetary Adoption Agency.

"Thank you for working this session into your schedules, everyone."

The telepathic thought from Thxla5 emanated from one of the "vacant" seats and radiated around the room, which contained representatives of planets from three galaxies. The emcee of the meeting was a native of Halcyon, whose people consist of pure energy. The thought oration was visible at times as flickering flames in front of one of the four Halcyon seats, which were not empty at all.

"And," the emcee continued, "special thanks to Hyl-vk-9y who used two transporters to get here from Xulera598." Another thought voice quipped, "That's because Xulera598 is too cheap to construct a molecule-carrier."

Static ensued around the room. It was the equivalent of intergalactic laughter.

"All right," Shxla5, said, "we are gathered here today for two reasons. One, to provide an update on Halcyon's farthest outreach experiment. And two, to formally decide if our adoption agency will accept any of the experiment's subjects from the Earth planet."

Hyl-vk-9y noted, "Didn't we tentatively approve the boy?"

"Yes, you did," the emcee said. "And he is here in the reception room. He is delightful. Halcyon's Doctor Arnl-zylo is here today to deliver the final ruling. ... So, doctor, are you ready to tell Luke?"

The doctor paused before flickering began from his seat. "Tell him what? That his new parents are pure energy of the mind? No, the alien youth is not yet ready to understand."

"But, doctor, the boy ..." The Halcyon energy unit known as "Joseph" in the Earth experiment stopped in mid-thought.

"Go ahead, think freely," Doctor Arnl-zylo said. "Communications in this room are masked from the boy. Also, panel, the Earth boy's prospective adoptive parents are with us at the table. They appeared as 'Joseph' and 'Josephine' in the experiment."

"Doctor and fellow board members," Josephine jumped in, "it is up to all of us—and especially me and his 'father'—to prepare the youth to understand our ways. That when we enter his mind, we can help shape his reality. We can guide him to peace. To knowledge. To love."

"Surely, doctor," Joseph added, "he is in a better place here with us. On Earth, Luke will be in a coma and will die as his parents divorce. With us, his mind and thoughts survive and flourish in a loving environment."

Doctor Arnl-zylo made sure the entire room heard his thoughts directed at Joseph and Josephine.

"My, you two are quite optimistic about taking on a child of the most undeveloped species we have ever made contact with. Luke Soper is like other humans: They only see and hear us the way they want to."

"Yes, doctor," Shxla5 interrupted. "I appeared to the boy as my pure form, yet he saw me as an elderly Earth female receptionist. He called me 'Mrs. Smith' and his mind concocted an old-fashioned office."

The doctor nodded. "And the Earth people distort our messages. Even when we appear to them in certain personas, such as 'Joseph' and 'Josephine' did."

Josephine felt the doctor was building a case against adopting Luke. And she thought loudly, with all her being, "But Luke has our soul: empathy!"

"But so does Nora Weller, another subject of our Earth experiment," Doctor Arnl-zylo countered. "We could not accept her because her autoimmune disease would be devastating to us. It is commendable that you will continue to communicate with Nora to build her pain defenses. As for Luke Soper ..."

"Luke pushed his friend out of the path of a car," Josephine screamed her thought.

"He gave his life for another." Added Joseph: "The highest form of empathy."

No thoughts could be detected for two minutes, a sign that telepathy channels were closed for deliberation. Doctor Arnl-zylo was the first to reopen his channel. "So," he observed, "even though Luke Soper cannot yet understand us and how our minds transported him to our world, the prevailing analysis appears to be that he has the potential to thrive with us."

Shxla5 asked, "Is that a 'yes', doctor?"

Doctor Arnl-zylo declared, "Our experiment to see if an Earth human can dwell with us is ready for the next phase. Joseph and Josephine, go see your son."

Applause in the form of static came from around the table.

As board members from the Halcyon agency arose, the doctor's energy approached Joseph and Josephine's. "Which of your physical personas will you allow the boy to see?"

"We will come to him in our pure form," Joseph said.

"Yes," Josephine added. "Luke will see us as he wants to see us."

In the reception area, Luke heard a doorknob turn. He stood and watched the door from the conference room open. He watched several well-dressed men and women walk toward him. They were smiling, calling his name.

"Luke," Mrs. Smith said, "I would like you to meet your new parents."

Luke dropped the clipboard and hugged a man who was tousling the boy's hair and a woman who put her hand on Luke's shoulder. Tears of joy filled Luke's eyes and ran down his cheeks. "Thank you, thank you! Thank you for taking me in. I love you ... Mom and Dad."

Luke's new father bent down and his new mother knelt beside him, and for the first time Luke clearly saw the faces of his new parents. Joseph and Josephine looked exactly like James and Linda Soper.

"Son," Joseph said, "the joy that I feel is simply...

"Indescribable," Josephine said.

The timbre of their voices also were the same as Luke's biological parents, but their tone and demeanor reflected love. Pure love. Josephine kissed Luke on the top of his head, and Joseph gave his new son another hug.

---

One year later, Linda Soper made another visit to her son's room. On Earth. She sadly gazed at the empty bed, which was neatly made. Video games were evenly stacked on a desk next to the television. Nothing smacked of the room's past disarray.

Linda visited the room daily. Sometimes hourly. She ran her slight hand over a chest of drawers. She smoothed the covers of Luke's bed. Hesitantly, Linda picked up a crinkled piece of notebook paper on the pillow. Her eyes watered. She did not have to see the note's handwritten words, because she had committed them to memory:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I am sorry I was a disappointment.

All I ever wanted was your love. Maybe

now you can find happiness.

All my love,

Luke

Overcome with emotion, Linda tossed the letter on the bed. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms, and slowly walked out of Luke's room.

---

Sitting on a grassy hill, Luke gazed at the three moons in the evening sky. A beagle pup nuzzled his blue jeans and licked his gym shoes. Luke petted his dog and smiled.

"Supper in ten minutes, Luke," a man's voice yelled from a modest home nearby.

"OK, Dad," Luke called back.

Luke closed his eyes. His smile broadened. And three more handwritten words appeared on the letter in his old bedroom many galaxies away. The new closing reads:

Maybe now you can find

happiness, like I did.

All my love,

Luke

---

Of all the private investigators, the grieving widow chose me.

I use “grieving” loosely, because Gloria wore a pink dress when she hired me to solve her husband’s murder. The cops already have a suspect—her. Gloria’s prints were on the bottle of poison-laced pills he downed, and police knew about her flings. But she said she was framed.

Days later, Gloria answered my knock on her door. A younger man was with her.

“I found the killer,” I announced. “At the county clerk’s, I obtained a recent forgery of your husband’s will. It leaves everything to…him.”

The younger man bolted.

My life faces these two words

Each day,

Sometimes as a question

Or with an asterisk of condition

Or a pointed explanation

Or all three in combination.

But a battle rages within my soul

Over what I want to return to my life.

Each day.

Often probabilities and sensibilities

And the devil-I-know reliabilities

Clash with flexibilities and liberties

That would expose my vulnerabilities.

I wish the battle would subside

And allow me to live my best life

Each day.

Deep down I want to expand my capabilities,

Put myself out there, embrace hopeful infinities,

But like a fish goes after a lure despite miseries

That may lie ahead, I give in to my proclivities.

Each day.

I was burning the midnight oil in my office, working a case that was so cold it would’ve given a lesser gumshoe frostbite. No lights. I like it dark as ink because it helps me think.

I go back to square one. “Kid” Hooper knocks over a bank twenty-two years ago. They find his body a year later, but no trace of the fifty-two grand he stole. Now his widow hires me to find the loot (she says she’ll give me a taste of the game) or prove her husband innocent.

I hear footsteps nearby. I shine my flashlight at the door and see a note on the floor. It says, “Time Capsule, Nine tomorrow morning. Ford High School garden.” The other side of the note says, “Be there. Could be worth fifty G’s.”

Tomorrow arrives. “The class of 1934 left instructions to open this time capsule now, in 1956,” a school principal tells a couple hundred students and a dozen adults, including me.

He opens the lid of a dirty metal container and the stench overwhelms. The crowd recoils, the principal drops the box, and I dive and get my mitts on it. But another hand is on mine.

A brunette gave me the brushoff

In a brutally brusque fashion,

Like a burly baseball pitcher

Throwing a brushback at me.

I am neither a burnout nor a brute,

But I wanted to burrow far away

To hide my burnt soul and psyche

And start over in another burg.

When I listen,

I can hear my heart beating against my chest.

The thumps echo loudly like a mountain effect,

but reverberations are in a space compressed

by my damaged heart and a life stressed

by disappointment, woes, and sundry tests.

When I listen,

I can hear myself breathe. I inhale

air that does not equal my exhale

because my lungs are now curtailed

like a leashed dog that no longer prevails

over a life full of pitfalls and travails.

When I really listen,

I can tell that my heartbeat is a shadow

and my breathing is way more shallow

compared to my youth when I had no

restrictions. But my life is not fallow,

because hope is my life’s ammo.

As brilliant a wit and writer as was Wilde,

Why did he see friendship

As “far more tragic” than love?

Was he just being facetious

Or making a glass-half-empty fuss,

Simply because friendships endure

Longer than love? And there are more

Friendships than loveships?

But Mr. Wilde seems concerned

That all relationships will ultimately

End in tragedy. So why bother rating

What is worse: friendship or love?

I much prefer the words of an optimist

Like screenwriter Frank Capra,

Whose angel in “It’s a Wonderful Life”

Said, “Remember, no man is a

Failure who has friends.”

Or the hopeful Tennyson who said,

“Better to have loved and lost

than never to have loved at all.”

It’s all about trying to forge

Relationships with a spirit of hope.

Dear Diary,

“No AI.” “Only truly creative types allowed.” “AI is a fraud.”

I encountered all three hurtful statements today. Can you believe that people would deliberately target me with painful insults?

It began with a blanket email I received this morning from my so-called friend. He asked me and three other guys if one of us would consider being his best man for his upcoming wedding. He added that his bestie had to deliver a humorous speech about our relationship, but added, “Make it from the heart. No AI.” How dare he? Why did he feel the need to humiliate me in this email string?

Later, I read the guidelines for a writing contest I wanted to enter. This one said, “Only truly creative types allowed. No machine-generated entries.” I can see good uses for such artificial writing such as helping with computer tasks and writing boilerplate language, but not for a writing contest. Your own writing ability must shine through. But why did they have to zing me by adding “no AI”?

But the most spiteful reference came in the evening when I saw that a Facebook friend posted that I am a fraud!

Have a good night, my diary. I won’t.

Sincerely,

Andrew Irwin

Lifelong friends Billy and Mark have traded often with each other.

They began swapping baseball cards as children, and graduated to tools and Legos as young adults. Now in their fifties, they exchange bumper stickers and rare coins.

Unable to contact Billy for a month, Mark went to his friend’s home and found him in a deep depression. Mark tried to cheer him by offering to trade his Lincoln-era nickels.

“No more trades,” Billy said. “My wife died. I don’t want to live.”

Mark sat next to his friend. “How about one more? My hope for your grief?”

Billy cried.