Chapter Thirty-Two – The Front Lines
Mark woke up in his tent for the millionth time. Every morning was the same. He took down his tent in minutes and within 20, the entire army was ready to march. It was crazy how fast they could break camp, get in formation and march.
They had just entered a large plain. There was tall grass as far as the eye could see. Everything was peaceful. They continued marching. Then from out of nowhere, a single arrow came hurtling toward them. Another arrow followed a few moments later. The arrows kept coming until there were hundreds of them hurtling through the sky.
Some of them connected with their targets, most of them fell harmlessly to the ground. The army kept marching. Another wave hit, a few more soldiers fell, the army kept marching. When the army got to a certain point on the plain, the enemy sprang up all around them and attacked. The surprise gave the enemy an advantage, but the advantage didn’t last long. While the enemy did manage to kill quite a few soldiers, the ambush was quickly defeated.
The army continued to march. It started as a speck in the distance, then as it got closer, it got bigger. A huge boulder came hurtling at the advancing army. They managed to avoid being hit by it. Then another boulder came which also did no damage. Then several boulders at once came. It was too many to dodge all of them. The soldiers that were unable to get out of way perished. The army continued to march. More boulders came. The number of soldiers dwindled but they kept marching.
Finally, the source of the boulders came into view. Rows upon rows of machines that catapulted the boulders high in the air became visible. As the army got close to the machines, they stopped throwing boulders. The reason they stopped is because another army was there to oppose them.
The fighting was fierce, and Mark had thought that they had finally met their match. He didn’t believe there was an army that could oppose them, yet this seemed to be that army. Mark’s comrades began falling around him. He had to use all his training to stay alive. At a great cost of life, the army broke through the enemy’s defenses and destroyed the machines. When the dust had cleared, very few soldiers from either side were left standing.
Mark considered himself lucky to be one of them. The battle was a draw and Mark’s army retreated. They would have to wait for the new soldiers to arrive before they could make another push. It wasn’t defeat, just a delay of the inevitable.
They set up camp on the plains. Mark sat in his tent. He was tired. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Carla again. He wanted to tell her how he really felt about her. He wanted to know if she felt the same way about him.
The next day Mark woke up in his tent. When he looked outside, he couldn’t believe what he saw. In the night, the enemy had infiltrated the camp and had captured the few forces that remained. They were taken to a prison and locked up. The plan was to publicly execute them as enemies of the state.
Mark was barely given enough to eat to stay alive. Of course, there really wasn’t much point in feeding the prisoners at all if they are just going to end up being executed anyway, they just needed to be kept alive long enough to make it to their execution.
One by one, Mark’s cellmates disappeared and never came back. This took longer than you would think. The reason is because they had to make a spectacle out of it. They had defeated this huge threat that had bulldozed its way across the planet. Stopping this threat was a big deal. So, Mark waited for his turn. Mark never wanted to fight, and he certainly didn’t want to die.
Mark wasn’t sure how much time had passed; He didn’t have a window and he couldn’t see outside. What he did notice was the number of his comrades still in prison was decreasing. There were only a handful of them left now. The odds of his “turn” coming up were high. Mark wished he could have stayed in the future. He could have graduated from high school and made a career for himself. He could have lived a life in peace instead of war. Now that life was coming to an end and there was nothing he could do about it.
His day finally came, He was dragged out of his cell and marched outside. A guillotine was waiting for him. A large crowd cheered, and he was taken up to the platform where the guillotine had been placed. Before Mark was put to death, the King felt it necessary to give a speech.
“A great army came to take over our Kingdom. That army has been defeated. It was at the cost of great life. We honor those who have died by executing the ones who remain alive that have attacked us without cause.” The King finished his speech and gave the signal.
Mark was moved into position. His head placed in such a way that it would soon be removed from the rest of his body. The executioner swung his axe, which in turn cut the rope that was holding the blade in its position. Once the rope was cut, the blade made its downward trajectory toward Mark’s neck with the intention of slicing through it. As the blade nearly reaches Mark’s neck, the blade mysteriously stops, as if frozen in time.
The ropes that were securing Mark’s hands disappear and he is free to remove his head from harm's way. The executioner grabs Mark. A mysterious woman appears out of nowhere.
“Forgive me, your highness,” The mysterious woman starts, “This person belongs to me, and I cannot allow you to harm him.” After saying this, both Mark and the mysterious woman vanish.
My Love, My Mother
I grew up cold and blamed it on the shadow of my older sisters. Not because I am the youngest or smallest in the family, but because I felt a sense of not belonging. I wondered if I were an alien creature being studied on a planet of people who only resembled me in appearance, but the similarities ended there. My mother seemed to favor my sisters, with their baby pictures hung large on the wall of her bedroom where mine was forgotten on some far forgotten to-do list. I remember such feral anxiety at the thought of losing my mother still. I grew older and bitter, but still held that deep seeded need for security, attention, and affection. Even if I did not get exactly what I craved, I knew I should never wander far from my mother. She may not be the warm embrace of a homemade chocolate chip cookie, but she will always tide me over. I met a man and took a leap of faith on him and a thing called love, which helped me draw boundaries and take a step away from my family of origin. There was so much to learn about life and my sense of self. I value different things and support different politics. And then the day came that I dreamed of my entire life. 8.5 pounds of nothin' brought my life to a screeching halt. I have birth to human perfection. His hair was thick and dark and his skin a rich olive red. "Whose baby is this?" I wondered. I expected a pale bald or blonde baby that me resembled myself. I couldn't have been more prepared for motherhood and yet I was not prepared at all. The love, the ecstacy of the new baby smell, and the sheer terror at realizing I am responsible for this life and its every need. My child IS my love. I need to feed him when he cues, but first to learn his cues constantly varying. The long nights, the cry-inducing panic, and the distrust of my mother-in-law that made me reject assistance. Being a mother is horrific in the greatest way. It is living with the best peace of your soul split from your human form. Suddenly, I get it. I don't love it, but I get it. My mom was all but abandoned by my father for most of my childhood. She wasn't purposefully neglectful, she was spread thin. My older sisters were provided opportunities that I was not because there were not enough resources to go around. Instead of evenly distributing what my mom could, she tried to do it all, and all for my sisters prevented any for me. It wasn't intentional, and I never complained. I was so resigned to being hated and unwanted that I never dared to ask why I was being left out, why I was not loveable, why I didn't matter. I didn't know I could speak my truth until I met my husband, who said things out loud that shouldn't have been spoken at all. I grew into myself more away from my mother. I lost some love only to find it in my own son. My relationship with mom isn't as close as my sisters' seems to be, but my appreciation for all that she could spare has been tremendous. Pieces of me that shattered under the pressure of being less than have found their way to building something new. I am reborn after having given birth. My child will know he is wanted and loved in the ways I still yearn to feel. I will take charge of my relationships and my life as a whole. I am a mother now, and mothers have to build their children's world from the bottom up while the weight of the world presses harder and harder. Being a mom is thankless and all-consuming, but it is the closest thing to being a God there is. Creating life is the easy part, keeping the child alive is the never- ending challenge. We're all doing the best we can, so ask your mother the hard questions, love others the way you yearn to be loved, and thank your mom for keeping you alive!
the ongoing literary battle, but in 2024.
Bear versus man. The fight we never expected. Then again, perhaps it is.
Most of literature is written as Man vs. Something.
Man vs. Nature. Man vs. Man. Man vs. God.
It was about time for such a subject to pop back up within our society.
For all of those who may not know, what is the gist of this?
The concept is: if one's daughter, wife, or sister was lost in the woods and bound to encounter something, would you prefer that Something to be a bear or a man?
Naturally, several women prefer the bear, and when giving their explanations,
they fall into deaf ears to the point where several individuals
are now making the joke of choosing a lion in a cage vs. the concept of marriage.
Well,
I live in a country where there is an ongoing word like an echo, a screaming heartbeat
of outrage,
"Femicide."
Over and over again--
in the posters of missing women you know will never be found,
in the mind of every woman being followed street after street in the dark,
in the rushed heartbeat of every woman alone in a car with a man who tells her,
"My, you look pretty. Are you single? Are you married?
Do you have children? I'll give you a free ride if you agree to come home with me."
No one is arguing men do not go through violence, through hurt, through pain.
No one is arguing the insanity in this schizophrenic world does not somehow
inevitably go
both ways.
Hurt is hurt, no matter the race, no matter the gender.
There is a war going on and somehow we turn a blind eye because ultimately we know,
"What exactly can I do about it? What can I do about everything
that is going so, so wrong?"
Which is exactly the very problem; when we make jokes about what we do not
understand.
When we look away from the bleeding streets instead of doing whatever we can
to make it right.
When we turn against one another, wasting our time and our breath convincing someone that when a bear sees a human in the woods,
they will understand it is a human,
when most goddamn humans
don't.
Retirement
“Mortimer! You can’t just keep chomping down on ice cream like nothing’s happening?” “Sure I can, I’ve only got a few months left till retirement, why should I care?” “Because I doubt they’ll even grant it to you if you don’t nab those thugs.” The sound of a toilet flushing. His partner Pepe emerged from the police station bathroom and strolled over to Mortimer’s desk, where he had his feet up while indulging in a sweet vanilla ice cream in a glass cup. He clicked the TV remote, with an exaggerated grimace. “End of shift, catch you later,” he said, leaving nonchalantly. The TV blared news Mortimer wished he could ignore. “We confirm that five different branches of the same bank have been hit simultaneously. The masked bandits have made off with the loot, thanks to hostages that have left our police forces stumped. The heist has been pinned on the criminal gang known as The Quintuplets, who always strike in five different yet coordinated spots, leaving law enforcement authorities perplexed. Citizens are asking, why can’t our police guardians quell the chaos and...” Mortimer grunted and switched off the TV, annoyed by the report.
Mortimer thought it would be better to turn on the radio instead of the television, as he didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts that were echoing the weight of duty too loudly in his head. The old radio in his drawer remained there, undisturbed by the events unfolding in the evening darkness. “And now, we present to you the new hit from the Korean band composed of five brothers. Which one is your favorite? Let’s hear what their fans have to say about this band of quintuplets.” “No, not more quintuplets! Leave me alone!” Mortimer exclaimed, turning off the radio.
“Sir, we have identified additional individuals for interrogation. There are five actual quintuplets with a history of supermarket theft,” said Ronald, one of the officers.
“Are you serious, Ronald? Just because they’re called ‘the quintuplets’ doesn’t mean they’re actual siblings, they’re just a group of five. We shouldn’t be looking for real brothers, that won’t give us the answer,” Mortimer dismissed the idea.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be more refreshed. Let’s finish today’s shift and let the night shift take over,” Mortimer insisted.
“But...” Ronald tried to argue.
“There are no valid ‘buts’ in this situation,” Mortimer said firmly, asserting the authority he had granted himself, and he headed toward the subway to return home.
To avoid spending time with his inner self, Mortimer decided to pull out his mobile phone and start playing a monster and dungeon-themed RPG game. Despite his advanced age, he was an avid fan of video games and easily passed the first levels of the daily missions. “Here comes the boss,” he thought.
That day’s boss was the Lernaean Hydra, a creature with five heads, and its special move was splitting into five quintuplets of itself. “Oh, come on! It has to be a joke. They’re haunting me everywhere I go,” Mortimer complained, abruptly turning off the screen and losing the game immediately.
Suddenly, everything became blurry around Mortimer, and he woke up in his bed, disoriented and drenched in cold sweat. “Oh, it was just a dream, a nightmare, really. I don’t understand why quintuplets kept chasing me,” he muttered to himself.
“Grandpa, Grandpa! Wake up! You promised to play with us today!”
“Yeah, Grandpa! I want to go iguana fishing!”
“No! He said we would brush my dolls’ hair together and shave their heads with his razor!”
“He won’t be doing any of that because first he has to help me with my math homework. I don’t understand how this works! It says here, ‘How many candies are left if I’m given six and I’ve already eaten two?’ I don’t have any left because Mom only lets me eat two a day!”
“Grandpa, why are you looking at us like that? Come on, cheer up! You’re almost retired, and then we can always be together forever! Won’t that be great?”
And Mortimer understood why.
Four Pages
“Phew, there’s so much dust here,” James complained as he coughed, opening the sealed boxes that had been stored for quite some time. “These books are from when I was a kid. What do you want me to do with them, Mom?” “Take the ones you want for your kids, and we’ll donate the rest. They’re just taking up space here, and I was thinking of renovating this storage room, even if your father disagrees. You understand, Brian?” “But Mom, I don’t even have kids. I’m just moving in with my girlfriend,” he grumbled, knowing that the battle with his mother was lost, so he decided not to waste any more time and started going through the books. Suddenly, a marble glimmered in one of the boxes, catching his attention to the box full of comics. His restrained laughter echoed, filling the gloomy space as he left the first box of books open, his attention now focused on the comic-filled bundle.
In the first box, a collection of four thick books lay inside. “Has anyone seen my pages?” asked the book titled Autumn, shaking a bit. “I think I’ve lost some.” Its attention turned to the Spring book that should have been beside it, but instead there was an empty space. “Hey!” it exclaimed, seeing the Spring book at the bottom of the carton, activating a music box and dancing to a famous classical tune. Balancing skillfully, its sheets moved to the rhythm, and pages filled with pink petals and spring flowers flipped rapidly like a movie.
On the other side of the box, the Winter book remained still, receiving a breeze from the Summer book fanning it with its pages adorned with sunny vacation landscapes, attempting to lower its fever. “I think I have yellow fever,” Winter said. “Look at my pages, they’re yellowish.” Summer replied dismissively, “Nonsense, that’s just because you’re old. Mosquitoes are more attracted to me. You just have a common, run-of-the-mill cold.”
“Are you cold, Winter?” asked Autumn. “No, my hard leather cover keeps me warm. But what I need right now is to get this fever down, thank you for your concern,” Winter replied. “Actually, I was wondering if you used my lost pages to keep warm since winter nights can be chilly...” Autumn clarified. “My plastic cover wouldn’t help much, but you can have it if you want,” Summer offered without stopping the fanning. “Would this bookmark create more wind for you? I found it in my last pages,” Spring said, bringing over a fuchsia piece of cloth with a keychain-like finish.
“You see, I’m missing pages, not many, but it’s strange and I don’t know, maybe a wicked being like a witch or a vampire took them,” Autumn said, playfully pretending to shiver in fear. “That’s the influence of Halloween for you. You shouldn’t read yourself, that’s the first rule of the book’s decalogue,” Summer rebutted. “I don't read myself, but I like to look at the pictures. Observing flowers is beautiful, they celebrate it a lot in Japan,” Spring said, spinning around so the others could leaf through its decorated pages.
“If you know that, it’s because you’ve read yourself, caught red-handed!” Summer exclaimed. “I bet your content is boring, just surfboards and beaches,” Spring teased, making faces. “Of course not, there are also bonfires, fireworks, and in some countries even Christmas celebrations,” Summer retorted with a smile, but soon realized its mistake. “Oops.” “Christmas? Oh, don't take away my best part!” Winter stuttered. “Don't say that! What people like the most are gifts and that happens at birthdays too. There are a lot of those in the summer,” Summer rebuffed. “There are also a lot of birthdays in the spring,” Spring chimed in.
“Wow, it looks like I tore out pages from another book to use as bookmarks for the comics. Where is the bookmark I stole from my mom? Oh, I think I left it in the Spring book, I never finished it,” Brian mumbled to himself. “And what book were these pages from? Let's see, Mid-Autumn Festival, Day of the Dead, Thanksgiving… these must be from the book about Autumn! Although this page… ‘After autumn comes winter, don't miss the next book about winter…’ This promotional page would fit better here,” he said, placing it inside the Winter book. “Ouch, it’s hot! Ah, now it’s cooling down,” he remarked, observing the other books in the boxes.
“Brian are you finished?” his mother asked, entering the room. “Yes, Mom. All of those can be thrown away,” Brian said, pointing to one of the boxes. “Are you sure? They were from when you were little, how sweet,” his mom reminisced. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just skimmed through the comics. Won’t be reading them again. I’ll just keep the ones about the four seasons.”
“You’re going to keep those, even though they’re so old? I thought you’d take the comics or the shiny ones that are better preserved,” his mother said, surprised. “That’s unconditional love right there,” she laughed as Brian played with the pop-up elements of the four books. When placed together, they formed a complete silhouette of the Earth divided into four parts, each representing a different season.
A letter to my mother
A few days remain until Mother's Day, and as I sit down to write this letter, I can't help but wonder: what significance does that day truly hold? None at all, if throughout the year one doesn't cherish their mother—this day won't change that. It's akin to cramming for an exam the day before, it might yield results, and with luck, you could even deceive the teacher, but you can never deceive yourself. As I pen this letter, I can't help but feel ridiculous, because why can't we humans express ourselves freely as we desire? Due to our own limitations, embarrassments, traumas, and inner conflicts, we resort to using cards and physical gifts as a crutch, instead of seizing the moment to openly share our feelings on any given day. But since we're already here, I'll embrace the sentiment of this card.
In my day-to-day life, I don't often express these types of things—attribute it to any excuse you'd like: being busy, lacking time, or simply not being in the right mood, but deep down, none of these reasons suffice. The truth is, we find it difficult to express love, yet find unwavering strength in voicing our opinions when angry or upset, in fear of being trampled upon. But expressing love terrifies us. We are afraid of not being loved, afraid of not having a mother who cares for us, and when we have one, we’re afraid of losing her.
Because let's admit it, we all love our mothers—not solely for the immense sacrifices they've made in raising us amidst adversity. That's not what matters, as every mother faces her unique challenges and deserves our love, regardless of her journey. So, I won't tell you, Mom, that I love you because you've given everything for me, because yes, of course you have, but that's not the reason. It's not for what we've been through together or the things you've done—it's for who you are, because you're my mother. And I didn't have to attend any school to learn how to love you.
Lifelong lessons hold no sway when it comes to loving and caring for you, Mom. A mother's love for her child remains steadfast, even if they've gone astray or fallen into the darkest of paths. Because everything learned and all the morality one believes they possess would vanish in an instant, without a second thought, if their mother is in danger. It doesn't matter what must be done or how many heads must be trampled, no matter how terrible we know it might be, and certainly, if it were for ourselves, we wouldn't do it—but for our mother, who gave us life, yes, without a doubt.
And again, no, I'm not grateful for being alive, I don't owe you my life because I didn't ask to be here, you chose to bring me into this world. This letter isn't about gratitude, it's about justice, it's about truth. At this point in the letter, I feel power and bravery, but it soon turns to tears and emotion—damn it, I didn't want to cry. Anyway, let's leave it here, because watching a child cry isn't the best gift a mother could receive, though I know that when you read this, you'll cry too.
The example you've set for me has taught me that I didn't need it at all. I didn't need a role model to follow to become as great a mother as you, I only needed your love, and that is more than enough.
If there's something I don't understand or don't agree with, I'll tell you. If there are things you do that I believe aren't correct or aren't good for you, I'll tell you without hesitation, only to try and help you. So, isn't this the most unconditional love of all, not needing to cite anything specific to justify that I'll always be by your side?
Mom, Do You Remember…
Dear Mom,
Do you remember the Mother’s Day cards I gave you when I was little? I hope not. Because when Dad was grocery shopping, he bought them from a discount rack, and gave them to me and my brothers to give to you. And I don’t know where he got those vats of cheap perfume that he gave you. But you always thanked us.
That reminds me. Do you remember that you always made me thank an aunt for sending a gift? You would call one of your sisters on our rotary dial phone and say that I wanted to tell her something. I would take the receiver and cram all my words together – “Thanks for the present. Here’s Mom.” – and give the phone back to you. My brothers did the same thing. But you never stopped making us say thanks.
Do you remember picking up the phone and dialing a number when my brothers and I were bad? You said into the receiver, “Hello, Bad Boys Home, I have a pickup.”
Do you remember pounding meat on the kitchen counter to stretch the slab into meals for ten? Do you remember giving us haircuts in the kitchen to save money? Do you remember playing piano in the living room and calling out chords so we could strum along on guitar? Do you remember holding grandchildren?
Sorry for asking all these questions, but when last I saw you in the memory wing of the assisted living home, sometimes you did not remember your sons’ names. I just wonder if you got your memory back after you passed away.
That’s okay if you do not recall all these events. My brothers and I are keeping your memories for you.
Love,
Sandlot
Summer Sojourn
As the shower handle turned, water began filling the space, running through the grooves of the aged emerald green tiles on the floor. "Damn, it's freezing!" Evan complained, feeling the cold water on his sweaty body.
“Don't complain. You need to wash off that pigsty smell, man,” replied Madden, who was showering right next to him in the communal showers of the capsule hotel in Japan where their group of friends was staying during their summer vacation.
Madden grabbed the plastic bottle of soap he had left on the wall shelf behind them, along with the towels, and pressed the dispenser to squirt soap onto his hands. His once curly, blonde hair now hung down his back, straightened by the water. Meanwhile, Evan's short black hair swirled around his forehead as he closed his eyes, trying not to focus on the cold water caressing his features.
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Evan asked, shivering under the icy stream.
"I heard there's a karaoke bar nearby," Madden replied, lathering up his hair. "Could be fun."
Evan cracked an eye open, smirking at his friend. "Oh, yeah? Can't wait to hear you butcher some J-pop songs."
Suddenly, soap began oozing from the bottom of the bottle, making the floor slippery, like a sticky gel. Madden held the bottle as the soap flowed toward Evan, who still had his eyes closed and started to notice something slippery beneath his feet, causing him to lose his balance and nearly fall. Evan's eyes shot open, searching for something to grab onto to avoid falling, but there was nothing. A potentially dangerous slip seemed imminent. But at the last moment, he managed to shift his weight forward and regain his balance.
"Nice save! You looked like an ice skater there," Madden laughed.
"Very funny," Evan said, breathing a sigh of relief. "What were you trying to do, make me fall?"
"What are you talking about, man? The bottle was broken, I had no idea. Why would I do that?" Madden said in an exaggeratedly offended tone.
"Why? I don't know, maybe you're still upset that your girlfriend left you for me," Evan speculated.
"That's water under the bridge," Madden dismissed.
"It was just a week ago," Evan pointed out.
"Yeah, and what's your point? It's worse for you, you ended up with someone who can't be faithful," Madden argued, but Evan just laughed.
"Come on, if you go by this logic, nobody would change partners if we couldn't upgrade to a better partner when we see one," Evan reasoned.
"Are you implying you're better than me?" Madden said, now getting angry, as he grabbed both towels from the ledge and stormed out of the showers.
"I meant that I'm better for her... hey, you took my towel! Damn it!" Evan shouted, only to be met with the sound of the door slamming. Just then, a hand holding a grey towel appeared in front of him.
"Here, take this, and let's go. The girls are waiting for us," a voice said.
Evan took the towel, recognizing the slender silhouette of Jonah. His hair was tied in a not-so-neat ponytail. The geek rarely cared about his appearance, unlike Evan and Madden, who were always at the gym perfecting their bodies.
"Thanks, man. It's that idiot Madden's fault," Evan grumbled as he dried himself off.
"I figured as much," Jonah replied with a shrug. "You two are always bickering like an old married couple."
Evan couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, well, that's what friends are for, right?"
"I suppose so," Jonah said with a smile. "Now, hurry up. We don't want to keep the ladies waiting."
Jonah might not have been as outgoing or athletic as Evan and Madden, but he brought a sense of balance to their group. His intellect and calm demeanour often acted as a counterpoint to the more impulsive and competitive nature of Evan and Madden's friendship.
"Does this top look good on me? I don't want to overdo it either," Leah said, smoothing out the wrinkles on her newly purchased piece of clothing.
"What are you telling me? If you're trying to impress Madden with that, forget it. Ever since he and Mia broke up, he doesn't seem interested in relationships," Remi replied, not taking her eyes off the horizontal screen of her mobile, frantically moving her fingers.
"You haven't even looked at me! Can't you take your eyes off your Summer Hunting Event for a minute and tell me if this color suits me?" Leah insisted.
"Besides, I didn't say I came on this trip to try and hook up with Madden. I know it's still fresh, but he'll have to get over it eventually. We're too young to be suffering for love," Leah continued.
"Just because we're not 40 doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to be dumped. Besides, don't you think it's weird wanting to hook up with Madden? I mean, we've been friends since we were little, in that beach town where we used to vacation.
It's almost like hitting on your brother," Remi said, still focused on her favourite game's hunting event, "Run & Hunt."
Leah sighed. "Look, I'm not saying I want to jump his bones right away. I just think maybe there could be something there. We have a history together, and we get along well."
Remi paused her game and finally looked up at Leah. "I get it, but be careful, okay? You know how guys can be, and Madden's always been a bit of a wild card. I don't want to see you get hurt."
"I know, I know. Don't worry, I'll tread carefully. For now, let's just focus on having a good time on this trip. I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to test the waters with Madden," Leah said with a hopeful smile.
Remi nodded, returning her attention to her game. "Sounds good. Just promise me you won't let this whole thing with Madden ruin our vacation, alright?"
"Cross my heart," Leah promised, making a crossing gesture over her chest.
"Now tell me, doesn't my blonde hair perfectly match this pink tank top?" Leah insisted.
"Yeah, I suppose it does. I guess us brunettes can't pull off pink," Remi teased.
"If you ever let your hair down, I'd know whether you're actually a brunette, but you always keep it in that bun. Don't you want to attract someone?" Leah asked.
"I want to attract this zombie, kill it, and move on to the next stage in my game. That's all I want," Remi said, sticking her tongue out in concentration.
Just then, Leah's phone beeped with a message notification. "Where are you guys? I'm looking for you, and Remi's not replying to my messages," the message from Madden read.
"Remi, did Madden send you a message?" Leah asked.
"No idea, I have notifications turned off. I'm in an important event, you know? I can't exit the app to check chats," Remi explained.
Leah sighed. "So he only messaged me because you weren't answering him?" she thought out loud, glancing out the window of the beach clothing store they were in.
Leah typed a quick reply to Madden, letting him know they were almost done shopping and would meet up with him soon.
Just as Leah hit send on the message, a beach ball came flying through the open window at full speed. Leah managed to dodge it just in time, leaving Remi exposed on a sofa behind her, which would cause the ball to hit her directly on the head. Upon seeing this, Remi instinctively raised her hand holding her mobile phone and stopped the ball with the device.
"Damn ball, a zombie got away because of you," Remi grumbled.
Leah looked out the window at the Okinawa beach, which was bustling with tourists playing ball, volleyball, and swimming. "Someone must have lost their ball. Sorry for moving away, honey. It was just a reflex," Leah apologized.
But Remi didn't pay attention, she was too busy trying to fix her mistake and catch the escaped zombie on her game. "For the record, I would've caught that zombie if it weren't for the beach ball attack. Wait, someone stole the loot of cartridges I had while I was distracted for a moment?! Who the hell is this player Dolly?" Remi complained.
"That wouldn't happen if the game wasn't cooperative and you could pause whenever you want to continue later. This would keep you more grounded," Leah said, rolling her eyes.
"This character has come straight to steal from me. They had to know my ID, or else..." Remi trailed off when Madden walked in triumphantly, holding up his mobile and a bag of clothes, whistling.
"Dolly beat you, little one!" he said gleefully.
"It was you? Damn you, dude!" Remi complained.
"It was too easy," Madden chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.
"Ugh, I can't believe I fell for that," Remi grumbled.
"Where's Evan? Wasn't he with you in the showers?" Leah asked, closing the distance between them.
"Uh, yeah, he should be coming soon," Madden replied, eager to change the subject.
"Anyway, I need Jonah to tell me how to reprogram my bot. I can't leave the game unattended while we're diving. I'll lose all my loot," Remi said, still focused on her gaming dilemma.
"You know, sometimes I think your love for virtual reality outweighs your appreciation for the real world," Madden teased.
"Oh, please. The real world is just one big game with less-predictable rules. At least in a game, you can level up and have fun doing it," Remi quipped back.
Remi's expression turned somber, as if remembering something painful. "Well, we can go eat now. No need to wait for fools like Evan," Madden said. "Who's in?"
Leah smiled, secretly happy about the idea of having more of Madden's attention to herself. She had always found him attractive, but lately, with his regular gym workouts, his physique had become even more alluring in her eyes.
"I'm in. If Evan doesn't come, nobody will notice anyway," Remi said.
"Well, well, someone hasn't gotten over the incident," Madden said, emphasizing the word 'incident' in a dramatic tone.
"Still bothers you, huh?" Leah asked, looking at Remi's foot.
Remi glanced down at her foot. "Sometimes, but it's nothing," she said.
A few years ago, during a rugby game, Evan had made an illegal tackle from behind on Remi, applying excessive force on her foot and twisting it into an abnormal position. The physical contact resulted in a severe ligament injury, forcing Remi to quit rugby and other high-risk sports. Since then, she had turned to video games as her new hobby.
"He didn't do it on purpose, Remi. He didn't even realize it was you," Leah said, knowing that everyone was thinking about that incident.
"I know, I know," Remi sighed. "It's just hard not to think about it sometimes. But let's not dwell on the past. I'm starving.”
Madden put a hand on Remi's shoulder. "You're a champ, Remi. And Leah's right, it was an accident. I'm sorry it happened."
Remi gave him a faint smile.
The shop assistant at the souvenir store finally emerged from the back room and, in broken English, tried to tell them that this wasn't a bar and they either had to buy something or leave. The shopkeeper's continuous and nervous shuffling seemed to activate the creaking they heard above their heads, and a strip of flag ceiling gave way. Leah, who was holding onto the clothes rack she was trying on, stood right below. Leah didn't even see the sudden attack coming. When suddenly, a pair of arms pushed her away from danger. The wooden board fell loudly beside her, as if dividing the area between them. Leah found herself on the floor but safe and sound.
"You weigh a little too much for these things," Jonah complained from beneath her. Leah blushed slightly and quickly got up, helping Jonah to his feet.
"Thanks for the save," Leah said gratefully, brushing off her clothes. "Talk about a way to kick us out of his shop! Seems like he’s not fan of Americans."
Madden and Remi joined them, looking equally shocked and amused. "Let's find a proper bar where the ceiling doesn't try to attack us,” Madden laughed.
As if on cue, Evan burst through the door, slightly out of breath. "Sorry I'm late, guys. Madden and I got into a bit of a towel fight in the showers. Don't ask," he explained, chuckling sheepishly.
"Well, we're all here now," Madden said, giving Evan a slightly unfriendly look. Jonah was smiling at Leah, and she turned away, somewhat embarrassed, while Remi kicked the wooden board that the shopkeeper was now picking up.
"Let's get going to the karaoke bar then," Evan suggested, breaking the tension. "We don't want to miss out on a night of terrible singing and some repulsive uncooked food."
Everyone laughed, and they made their way down the bustling street.
"Hey, just wanted to make sure you're okay after that close call. Jonah's pretty quick on his feet, huh?" Madden approached Leah.
"Yeah, he saved me from a potential concussion. Thanks for checking in. You ready to show off your karaoke skills?"
"Born ready! Though I doubt I can compete with Jonah's heroics."
Leah smiled, though she felt it wasn't entirely genuine. She had thought that if Madden paid attention to her, she would be happy. But now, seeing him seemingly jealous of Jonah, for some reason, she didn't feel that way. Perhaps deep down she knew that Madden wouldn't have been the one to risk saving her, maybe he wasn't the strong and brave man she had romanticized. Maybe Remi was right and she should forget about Madden, perhaps focus on someone else? Her gaze shifted towards Jonah who was enthusiastically talking with Remi about programming a bot for gaming. Evan was walking on the other side of Remi, observing everything around them.
They entered a karaoke bar called "VocaPunk." Inside, the place was filled with panels simulating holographic robots, one for each table, that acted as servers. The panels could record orders and even give the private capsule number for singing on the floor above. The Japanese waiters were busy at the bar and attending to other tables.
Leah was immediately drawn to the futuristic ambiance and watched as a holographic robot greeted them in a mechanical voice, "Welcome to VocaPunk. May I take your drink orders?"
"This place is wild," Madden commented, glancing around in awe.
"Agreed," Remi chimed in. "I wonder if they have a gaming section. Imagine playing VR games while eating!"
Evan, who had been taking in the sights, nudged Jonah and gestured towards the stage where a group was singing a lively Japanese pop song. "Looks like the competition is fierce up there."
The group sat down at a small but cozy table, where the napkins were made of transparent plastic with a very cyberpunk style, and lit up when they were lifted. Together, they ordered several typical dishes, including tempura, prawn crackers, ramen, and yakisoba chicken.
"No soy sauce for me, please," Remi said in strained Japanese. "Shoyu nashi de onegai shimasu, allergy ga aru desukara."
"We've come to a great place for a summer vacation, considering someone with so many allergies," Madden teased. "You're easily poisoned."
"Shut up, I'll poison you with this knife," Remi said, raising her utensil while the waiter looked at her fearfully, but then smiled, pretending to catch on to the joke. The waiter, having regained his composure, took their orders and left the table.
The group that was singing on stage came down and approached their table, handing the microphone to Jonah. "Oh no, I can't sing," he protested.
"Come on, Jonah, don't be shy!" Madden exclaimed. "We all know you have a hidden talent."
"Yeah, Jonah, don't chicken out on us now," Remi added.
Leah watched as Jonah's face turned a bit red. He hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Alright, fine. But you all better sing with me."
They cheered as Jonah reluctantly made his way to the stage. The group huddled together, browsing through the song selection on the tablet provided by the bar.
"How about something classic?" Evan suggested. "Maybe 'Don't Stop Believing' by Journey?"
"Ooh, that's a good one!" Leah agreed, and the rest nodded in approval.
Jonah took a deep breath and started singing. Much to everyone's surprise, he had a great voice, hitting all the notes perfectly.
Leah's eyes sparkled. "He's an avid hacker. I'm sure he's activated the auto-tune on his phone,” Remi whispered to her. The group started eating while Jonah continued singing, as their food had already been served. Suddenly, Remi began to turn blue and her throat started to swell. Leah's eyes widened in horror, frozen and unsure of what to do.
Jonah, with his eyes closed and fully immersed in his singing, belted out the song at the top of his lungs, unknowingly performing a deathly symphony. Madden began to shake Remi as if trying to dislodge something stuck in her throat. "Remi, Remi! Don't leave us!"
"She's not choking, it's anaphylaxis. She must have eaten soy!" Evan exclaimed, rummaging through Remi's backpack until he found an epinephrine auto-injector and forcefully injected it into her thigh.
The bar fell silent as everyone's attention turned to Remi, who started to breathe more easily as the medication took effect.
Jonah opened his eyes, confused as to why the cheers and applause had ceased. He looked around, only to see the worried faces of his friends and the still-pale Remi in Leah's arms.
"What happened?" Jonah asked, rushing over to them.
"It's Remi," Leah replied, her voice trembling. "She had an allergic reaction. Evan just gave her an epinephrine shot."
Jonah's face drained of color as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I... I didn't know," he stammered, guilt and worry written all over his face.
"It's not your fault, Jonah," Evan reassured him. "You were focused on singing, and we didn't notice anything until it was too late. But she's going to be okay now."
Jonah nodded, approaching her with shaking hands. He knelt beside Remi, gently taking her other hand. "I'm sorry, Remi. I didn't mean for this to happen."
Remi managed a weak smile. "It's not your fault, Jonah. But hey, you were great up there. But be honest, did you use auto-tune?"
"Yes, yes, I activated it with my phone," Jonah admitted in a strained voice, as if it was forced out, with hypochondria taking over.
"Hey, waiter!" Madden exclaimed, banging his fist on the table. "Tell your boss we're going to sue! We told you no soy, and this girl almost died!"
A Japanese man in a suit emerged from a door and approached them with his hands clasped behind his back, bowing respectfully. "We not add soy, as asked. Probably girl eat plate not for her," he said, attempting to speak English.
Leah's face reddened with embarrassment. "Madden, stop it. It's not their fault. Remi could have accidentally eaten something from our plates with soy in them. We should just focus on getting her to the hospital."
The Japanese man nodded, relieved that Leah was calming the situation. "I call already. Ambulance on way. Please wait."
The group fell silent, anxiously waiting for the paramedics to arrive. Remi's breathing had stabilized, but her skin was still pale and clammy.
Jonah excused himself and headed to the bathroom. As he walked away, Leah watched him. She wondered if he was okay, knowing how shaken up he was about Remi's allergic reaction. Evan followed him with his gaze, then turned to Leah and Madden. "I think we should cut the night short. It's not right to continue partying when Remi's in this condition."
Madden sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. "Yeah, you're right. It wouldn't feel right without her."
Leah nodded in agreement, her mind still on Jonah. "Do you think we should check on him? He seemed pretty upset."
Evan stood up. "I'll go. He might need some space, but it can't hurt to make sure he's okay."
As Evan walked towards the bathroom, Leah hoped he would be able to provide some comfort to Jonah, who clearly needed it. Back at the table, Madden leaned over to Remi, whispering something that elicited a weak smile from her, while Leah watched them closely with a serious and scrutinizing expression.
Jonah locked himself in a stall in the men's restroom, trembling. He pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled a number, sweat trickling down the sides of his shaved face. The person on the other end answered promptly, though they didn't say anything initially.
"This has gone too far, I can't do this anymore," Jonah said, his voice shaky with nerves. "The stuff with the showers and beach ball was one thing, but this is too much."
The person finally spoke, their voice calm and collected. "Relax, Jonah. Only two have passed the test so far, the others don't qualify. You're doing well."
Minimal World
"That'll be $7.98," the woman, her gray hair peeking from under the bandana around her large, angular face, said as she bagged the watermelon and handed it to Luciana.
"I'll pay with my phone," Luciana replied.
The woman nodded, gesturing to the payment terminal on the counter. Luciana tapped her phone against it, and the transaction went through seamlessly.
"Thanks," Luciana said, taking the bag of fruit. "Have a great day."
"You too, honey," the woman called after her. As Luciana turned away, she gave her a once-over, it wasn't the first time she had seen her.
As Luciana walked out of the small market, she felt the heat of the sun beating down on her. It was a scorching summer day in Wisconsin, and the first thing Luciana did upon arriving home was to place the bag containing the watermelon on the table. The wicker tablecloth absorbed the impact of the heavy watermelon as Luciana sat down on the wooden piano bench and began to play. The fabric of her white dress with blue floral print rested on the walnut stool, doing little to alleviate the heat.
As the notes flowed, the painting displayed on the kitchen table was the sole listener, and Luciana its sole observer. Entitled "Minimal World," it depicted a greatly simplified landscape with clean lines and soft colors, featuring simple geometric shapes and ample negative space. The idea was to convey the beauty and serenity of a world reduced to its essentials. Not much is really needed to find happiness.
Luciana contemplated her thoughts to the rhythm of the melody. Her paintings, once ignored by the general public, were now appreciated by a large majority, allowing her to make a living from her art and exhibit it in galleries, museums, and even in official or private advertising campaigns. Did she really deserve this? Her art was minimalist and simple but encompassed a great sense of love for the world and society, infused with what she considered to be positive and important messages that invited reflection.
Still, for a long time, no one had paid attention to them, perhaps for some reason. She wondered if her success was fair. While many other artists, probably much more skilled than her, were living on the streets begging or creating very accurate portraits of the obliging people who stopped in front of them in the subway. Most people didn't have the time or inclination to truly appreciate the work of these artists. They hurried past, fixated on their own lives, rarely sparing a glance at the the artists that worked tirelessly, hoping that someone would acknowledge their talent and offer support.
Luciana's fingers glided effortlessly across the piano keys, and the music filled the room. The minimalistic painting seemed to absorb the melody, as if it were part of the artwork itself. Outside, the sun continued to beat down, just as Luciana beat the piano keys.
While Luciana played the piano in her sunlit living room, the library behind her suddenly opened without her even turning around. Her expression remained impassive and pensive. A blinding light, unlike anything compared to the sunlight filling the room, emanated from the space between the two now-separated bookshelves, and a six-meter-tall being entered the room, crouching to fit. "There's the watermelon, take it before it spoils in this heat," Luciana said dispassionately.
The otherworldly being floated towards the table, picking up the watermelon that seemed like a grape in its enormous hand, and checked its freshness by bringing it close to its wide mouth, which served as a nose and eyes—a sort of universal analyzer. "It's fresh," the being said. Luciana’s artistic career depended on that fruit, and no, she wasn't drawing watermelons.
Luciana stopped playing, having fulfilled her purpose: to summon the being, whose names were not spoken but played as melodies. They had taught her the melody during their first encounter.
"Yes, it's from the usual store, they have the freshest watermelons, just the kind you like," Luciana said, her eyes still fixed on her painting. "The fresher they are, the more citrulline," the being said, attempting a smile, which for its species meant opening its mouth to the sides—a somewhat intimidating appearance that Luciana had learned to ignore.
"Is something wrong?" the being asked, noticing her distraction. "It's just that, I don't know, do I really deserve this fame? I mean before meeting you, before meeting your race, no one noticed my paintings," she admitted. "Of course you do, that's why we fixed that little problem. Your paintings deserve admiration, they just needed the push that we give them. By the way, have you painted any new ones? So I can add the final touch?" the being said. "That final touch, it's like you hypnotize people..." Luciana hesitated. "Well, we just make them notice what they should notice, how amazing your creations are, that's all. And in exchange, we only ask for you to provide us with watermelons. I thought you were okay with it."
"I understand that Earth was your creation, just another ship of yours, and you signed an agreement with the Space Federation to give it up for experimental purposes, giving rise to the human race. That same agreement prevents you from intervening directly and disrupting the natural flow of our society or forcing anyone, which is why you chose this small action. And the fact that I’m the chosen one because, well, you didn't say it like that, but basically because I'm weak, a nobody. And I had a frustrated dream that made me easy to manipulate. Besides, who would believe me if I told them? An artist who imagines things wouldn't be anything strange. But couldn't you really get citrulline from somewhere else?" Luciana said, starting to sweat from the very act of speaking.
"It would be difficult to obtain watermelons in any other way. If we contacted someone with access to a watermelon field, it would be too obvious, and we don't want to cause any shortages or draw attention to ourselves—we don't want to be investigated. Besides, watermelons have the highest citrulline content on Earth. Citrulline is our source of energy, a powerful vasodilator necessary to make our machinery work, which essentially functions like your human body. That's where you came from, after all. Our reserves are running low, and our source was Earth until we signed the agreement. Of course, when we signed it, we didn't expect to encounter supply problems, but it's too late to go back now," the being said, and Luciana couldn't see any expression on his face, although the tone of its voice conveyed a deep sense of sadness.
The being approached her and placed its enormous, two-fingered hand on her shoulder. "The fact that you're concerned shows the goodness of your soul, and that's enough to deserve your paintings being appreciated. So don't worry about it, we're not harming anyone. You're a successful painter who purchases watermelons, and we get to keep our ship running. It's a win-win situation." The being's reassuring words and gentle touch brought some comfort to Luciana, but a lingering doubt remained in the back of her mind. Was this really a fair arrangement, or was she being taken advantage of in exchange for a taste of success?
The being disappeared the way he came, and this time Luciana didn't bother to bid farewell. Instead, without even checking that the library had closed properly, she headed to the bathroom. She thought that a refreshing shower might help clear not only her body but also her mind.
Luciana checked her mobile phone and saw a message from Matthew, her boyfriend. The last message they had exchanged was a sketch that Luciana had sent him for his opinion, and he now replied that it was impressive and that she should continue with the painting. In Luciana's eyes, that sketch was terrible. She thought to herself, "Not you too!" This was all she needed to decide to end the pact she had with the aliens.
She quickly sat down at the piano, playing the melody to summon the being, but no one appeared. Perhaps it hadn't yet returned to the ship. Unable to wait any longer, Luciana focused on the library, noticing that it wasn't sealed shut as she usually made sure to do after the visits. She pushed forcefully to open it, revealing a blinding light in the shape of a tunnel. She followed it, reaching a door, and on the other side, she could see what looked like spaceship pilot controls. She also heard voices, which scared her, so she hid in the doorway. Luciana saw another being similar to the one she had always dealt with enter from one side and hand a polka-dot backpack to another being. "Seriously? Another watermelon?" the other being said as they threw the backpack down a tunnel labeled "Waste for Shredding."
Chapter Thirty-one Prison
Carla was bored. Carla was bored out of her mind. She had been forced to stay in the castle in the princess’s own room and had not been allowed to move about freely. The servants brought her anything she wanted and while it was a lot more comfortable and a cell in the dungeon, it was a cell, nonetheless.
Carla missed Mark. Carla missed Toby. Carla even missed Gina. Before she had felt like she was in control of her destiny and now that control had completely vanished. The days wore on. The servants treated her like royalty. Several times she was tempted to use the secret passage to escape, but each time she thought about it, she decided to stay where she was. She tried to get information about what was going on outside, but each time she asked one of the servants a question, they would give a polite non-answer.
Then one day, she got a visitor, and it wasn’t just anyone. She had attracted the attention of the guy in charge and not just the guy in charge of this area, she attracted the attention of the guy in charge of everything, everywhere. He was old. Carla couldn’t be sure just how old he was, but she could tell that he had been through a lot.
“How are you my dear?” The leader asks.
“I’m okay. I’m kind of bored though.” Carla answers.
“That’s understandable.” The leader continues, “I hope you will accept my apologies for keeping you ‘locked up’,”
“It’s better than being in the dungeon.” Carla offers.
“It certainly is.” The leader agreed, “My second in command thinks you are a natural born leader. He can read people in moments, and he is never wrong. I have come to trust and rely on his judgement. We need leaders, leaders who can bring about the greater good.”
“Is that what your war is about? Bringing about the greater good.” Carla asks.
“I would hardly call it a war, but yes. What you say is correct. We are uniting the world under one system of government. A system which benefits all the people, not just a select few.” The leader explains.
“Why do you get to decide what the greater good is?” Carla asks.
“Someone has to decide, and once people get used to this new system, they are willing to fight to the death to keep it.” The leader adds.
“But why is it you?” Carla asks again.
“Because it’s my vision for humanity.” The leader responds, “and in my vision, you can use the talents you have to benefit, not only yourself but everyone else instead of wasting them because you lack opportunity.”
“What do you want me to do?” Carla asks.
“I want you to use your talents for leadership, to inspire people and get things done.” The leader answers, “You don’t know what’s going on outside because you have been here for weeks. Allow me to give you a tour, so you can see what I am talking about.”
Carla knew she didn’t have a choice. The leader and Carla left the castle and entered the city. The fires that had been burning the night of the attack were completely gone. The buildings that had been destroyed had been rebuilt. In fact, if you didn’t know that a battle had taken place, you would never know unless someone told you. Carla marveled at how ‘back to normal’ everything seemed and how happy everyone looked.
The city was clean and tidy, and everything seemed to be in place. Carla felt like there had to be something wrong, but if there was, she couldn’t see it.
“Now tell me, my dear. “The leader asked, “When was the last time you saw this place in a better condition than you see it now?”
“I’ve never seen this place in a better condition than it is now.” Carla had to admit.
“Pick any random person and ask them how they are doing?” the leader ordered, “Go on. Ask them anything.” Carla stopped a young woman who seemed like she was in a hurry.
“Excuse me.” Carla said to the young woman, “Why are you in such a hurry.”
“Haven’t you heard?” The young woman replied, “The bakery two streets over has baked the best tasting bread anyone has ever tasted. I’m hurrying to get some before it’s all gone for the day.” Before Carla could get in another word, the young woman was off.
“See, didn’t I tell you. Now ask someone else.” the leader prompted. Carla stopped a young man.
“Excuse me.” Carla said, “I would just like to know how you are doing today?” The young man stops to answer her. “I’m doing great.” The young man replied.
“Why is that?” Carla followed up.
“Before the attack, I was out of work. I was hungry. I didn’t know what I was going to do. They rounded me up and a bunch of other people and I thought they were going to throw me in the dungeon but instead they gave me a job. They said no man should suffer the humiliation of not being able to provide for his family. This attack was the best thing that ever happened to me.” The young man’s face was beaming with pride.
“Thank you” Carla said. Carla couldn’t deny what her eyes were telling her. Things were better. Things were better for everyone. The leader was right, who would want things to do back to the way they were before?
Carla couldn’t help but think there had to be some kind of catch, only she couldn’t think of what that catch was.