Briefcase clenched inbetween my hands, a vigor powered by fear burning in my chest, I make my way into the abandoned warehouse. The eerie sound of nothing, complimented by the pitch black of the night sky warrants searching around with my eyes, as if looking for ghosts when I know there’s only one person I should be expecting; my employer. A young brunette girl who hired me to steal this briefcase. Being a mercenary was far from easy work, but it helped me get way.. helped me put food on the plate of my daughter, gave me access to see my family in a world that doesn’t care about them. So I kill and steal, and I am not sorry for it. The girl arrives not soon after me, wearing a pair of thick, round glasses. Her brunette hair layered, the confidence of someone who doesn’t deal in anything as common as money. Especially since she’s carrying (what I assume to be) mine in a briefcase of her own. “Well done,” She greets, taking the briefcase from my hands with a smile. Yet not handing me mine. “You’re as good as they say.” “Yes, I am. Which is why you should know I come at a price, and I always get payed” Her eyes glimmer with something and she smirks subtly, as if something I said was laced with irony.. it’s only when the next words leave her mouth that I realize what’s happening: Take the shot. ****

---

Looking down to see a thick red dot aimed directly at my chest.

A/N: Please comment them if you find any typos. It helps me refine my work <3

After so many years of sitting in its box, the small emblem is coated in a thick layer of dust. Every year, I’d come back here - to my childhood home on a bitter sweet autumn evening.. the same time.. same weather.. same day.

I run a single finger over the golden thing, bringing back a touch of its former shine before opening it.. like usual, a family photo of a time when my grandparents were still alive and young. How could something so small take up so much space in my heart? Perhaps it was how my mother rubbed it whenever she was anxious or worried, how she passed it onto me after she grew sick and died weeks later.

Looking down at the photo, coloured in black and white. My mother small girl, wearing her hair in short braids, holding a small teddy bear. Whilst her parents stand with eachother, holding eachother, I get a familiar feeling in my chest. Nostalgia? Grief?

When I close the emblem, and put it back in its rightful place. I tell myself that one day I’ll have a family as beautiful as my mothers, and I’ll pass a similar necklace from generation to generation, just like those before me.

If you live in a state of constant doubt, are you truly alive?

I’ve spent my whole life looking behind my back, checking every corner and crevice of my setting. Paying close attention to the small details. I’d been so.. elsewhere my entire life, that I never felt truly myself. Home. Unless I’m actually at home.

A thick cigar hangs in my mouth, the sun setting over the horizon… I stare calmly at the waves, the ones in my pool and those further down decorating the beach. The sand stares back at me and I close my eyes, living in the moment - if it weren’t for the whispering music playing in the background. Playing the same soothing sound I just couldn’t put an end to, even if I tried.

After awhile, I’m snapped out of the moment, the music too irritating, too grating, getting louder and louder as I step closer the exit. Or the gateway home.. I wasn’t sure all the time. But this would happen often; cracks in reality; loud music calling me to run, to leave, speaking tunes with no decipherable meaning. Closer… closer.. but I can’t bring myself to the handle. __ This was real life, right? Surely the smell of the rain on a cold day would help or the hot sun burning into my skin and bringing pools of sweat to my face. That would remind me that these sensations could surely be nothing less then real life. Right? So why then was I constantly questioning reality if I was home? I don’t question reality at home, I don’t question anything. Could I leave? Did I really want to face whatever the truth may be. Like all of us, I’d rather the comfort of familiarity. __ __ Opening my mouth a few inches wider, I let the cigar slip onto the floor, watching it burn its flames for awhile before stepping it out, putting on my sandles, going to rest to put an end to the music. Like usual, I sleep like a baby for hours.

Benji packs his things up, tossing them into the trunk one by one, heaving and sweating; he’s moving out and hadn’t anticipated just how many pairs of clothes and household appliances had been hiding in that old place — or how many memories he was beginning to come across.

A baby blue bottle he’d long forgotten about hangs in his hands and he smiles fondly, remembering his younger days where he’d stress over losing things so small, his daughters old Binkie still filling his nose up with the strong Oder of baby powder. Only now a much older flavour of it. He repeats this action many, many times. Picking up a memory and tucking it away with the others until eventually he comes across something, in the sea of his colorful room and his long life.

He peeks over at the box, red and blue stripes decorating it, wearing a rusty old padlock. It was still locked, he doesn’t remember opening it, what awaited was a mystery… Quirking an eyebrow, Benji fiddles with the padlock and the old thing easily falls off with no effort, good thing, he’d probably have never found the key.

Excitedly, he opens through it like a child tearing through their gifts on Christmas morning, inside resting a big red nose, a squeaky horny and a handful of unused balloons. The reminder brings tears to the man’s eyes, he’d believed himself to have lost this memories years and years ago, when he’d striked lucky on the lottery and retired at the young age of 32 - for 10 years this box had been sitting somewhere within his home, collecting dust.

One by one, he lifts the items out of their box and inspects them like they’re made of gold, after getting rich, things as valueless as costumes and dollar store balloons never crossed his mind, not even once but now his overwhelming riches had grown tiring, boring: he’d gone on every trip he’d wanted to, brought a nice big house and spent his time doing whatever he damn well pleased. He couldn’t be more happy to catch another glimpse of reality, it was releasing.

He decides he’ll keep the things, and stuffs them in with his other items, returning to look down at the box one final time, thinking to find himself staring down at a pool of dust, instead, lays a card, unopened and decorated with stickers of clowns and glitter. Opening the final thing within, he finds himself faced with a card that reads in big letters

---

HAPPY RETIREMENT

A list of names, of signatures written in old pen filling the page, each and everyone he remembers fondly as not just a coworker, but a friend during trying times. Benji felt like he owed his life to them, they were family… Tears suddenly glossing his eyelids, he hugs the card like it is the friends who marked it. Despite his love for the family he’s built and gratefulness for the wealth he’s amassed, missing his old home and old life dearly.

There she sits, brunette hair, bright eyes, joking with the bartender. She only makes the warm air warmer with her loud, charismatic laugh in reply to something he says in response, that fades into a smile.

She’s easily the happiest person in the room, from what I could tell, practically glowing, radiating pure-light like a Greek Goddess. She takes a sip from her coffee — she’d been here for ages without a single drink so she clearly wasn’t a heavy drinker; which was odd to me considering this place consisted of only heavy drinkers, students from the university a 15 minute drive away (like me) and families of four stopping for sub-par food.

Elise, my best-friend told me to talk to her, Elise left 20 minutes ago. I knew I wasn’t the most confident guy in a room but never had I been so nervous, I mean, she’s way out of my league. Look at her.

If it weren’t for the thought of never seeing her again, I wouldn’t have downed my entire glass of rum, payed with a 5 dollar bill and gotten up.

As I get closer, her thick, London accent becomes more apparent. A foreigner.

she emits the strawberry aroma of whatever perfume she had sprayed herself with before coming out; and I’m clearly not the only guy in the room staring at her. She is noticeable, so it doesn’t come as a surprise what was a surprise is that she hadn’t come with a group of pretty, charismatic girls like her.

I run a sweaty palm through my ginger locks of hair, brushing specks of fries off my button-up self-consciously because in front of a high maintenance girl like this? I couldn’t make myself look a mess who spilt food all over himself like an idiot.

I clear my throat, prepping myself for the intimidating interaction ahead but before I go to take a seat on the stool next to her, she turns around to face me. Seeing her this close, I could just about pass out.

It’s as if her skin had been brushed over with a coat of rich-gold, her brunette hair more perfectly put together, her emerald eyes 10x more captivating. She looked a few years older than me, I’m 18 years old, she looks alot more mature, not physically but mentally, the way she’s put together, her thick bun with only two strands hanging out to form a fringe, her dress creaseless matching with her earrings as if she’d been planning this look for years.

She blows a strand of hair out of the way of her face before speaking.

“Take your shot, stranger” She grins but it dissipates back into that same smile I’d seen a few minutes ago. “You’ll only get one”

I’m flustered for a second too long, feeling my face go pink, was this such a common occurrence for her she was this casual about it? Of course it was. Well, she must atleast be a little interested right? Otherwise she wasn’t have offered; either way, I’ll take my chances.

Thanks for reading <3

The sound of laughter feels around within the car, one two many people having the thick smell of beer on their lips and in their mouths. The car we were in swerving dangerously among the dark night. Surrounded by nothing but trees.

Only God knows why I’m hanging out with these guys. I didn’t even like them; they were loud, annoying, immature and everyone loved them because they were part of kappa kappa something and threw the best parties with the hottest chicks — Sum it up: spoiled, disgusting rich kids who were sure to inherit their daddies million dollar companies, what did they need school for? And somehow they came up to me and told me they “dig my vibe” apparently, enough for me to end up squeezed into the back of a expensive four-seated car with 5 of them, squashed in the middle of a blonde girl giggling about something and a guy way larger than me chugging more beer, I was (more specifically) the only sober person in the car.

“Guys… you think we should pull over or something..” I barely mumble out, the driver, Mike only mimics my words in response earning laughs and asks me why I’m being such a buzzkill. That quickly shuts me up, because sticking up to someone with an ego as big as Mike’s and the money to back it up couldn’t have ended well.

Alternatively shutting my eyes and faced with inky-black void, I just hope, pray that we make it back to college in one peace and that we didn’t end up on the news for crashing and dying… All I can think about is mom as the car swerves aggressively much more often… oh if she could see me now; how I’d fought so hard to get a scholarship at an Ivy League just to waste it on kids who didn’t care about their future and clearly didn’t have to if there diamond jewelry and designer bags were anything to go by. University was a place to party, drink and meet like minded man-children to grow old with for these people, but for me? It was literally everything. My one shot at success. My one shot at buying my mom a big house and my ONE shot at being successful. Why was I here? I was such a stupid, **stupid **idiot.

It’s all I can do not to have a panic attack before the car comes to an abrupt stop and I’m knocked forward, not having a belt on but luckily stopping myself inches away from the window in front of me, suddenly, the laughing and joking and occasional karaoke had reached an extremely abrupt stop — and one my eyes are re-opened I’m met with the fact that the car had hit a tree.

Mike’s midnight-black Porsche that costed more money than I’ve ever seen (and probably will ever see) in my life, it was eating bark, I’d laugh if It didn’t mean I wasn’t getting home any time soon.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck… **FUCK” **

He practically screeches.

He slams his palms repeatedly into the steering wheel causing the car to beep multiple times among the empty woods, the girl sitting next to him in the front tries to comfort him. He pushes her. The car is radio silent before Mike calms himself down and turns on the headlights, giving everyone reign to evacuate with the illumination.

Oh god. . . I whisper to myself seconds after we’re out of the car.. Blood paints the front of the car, we didn’t just crash into a tree… below us laid something.. someone? Fur all over its body, it had the eyes of a human and the teeth of a black bear. One thing was for sure though, it was dead, beating me to it, one of the guys with bleached blonde hair vomits up all those beer and nachos from back at the party all over the thing.

“What the fuck is that?” Another asks, peering over the creature, prodding it with his boot which causes me to scrunch my face… whatever it was, whoever it was, it is dead. There goes my scholarship.

Mara hadn’t planned to stay in the small town, but a twist of fate – or more likely a twist in her car’s transmission – left her stranded on a quiet street just past dusk. It was raining, a soft drizzle, the kind that seemed to seep into the bones rather than wash away. She hurried toward the single diner, its neon “OPEN” sign flickering against the wet pavement.

Inside, the place was nearly empty, save for an old man hunched over a cup of coffee, the steam curling up like he was trying to keep warm from it. He looked up when she came in, and his eyes were sharp in a way that unsettled her.

“You lost?” he asked, his voice gravelly, the words not unfriendly but more like an observation.

“Car broke down,” she said with a shrug, hoping it might end the conversation. “Just passing through.”

He nodded and gestured toward the counter. “Well, have a seat. Food’s cheap, coffee’s better than it looks.”

Mara didn’t argue. She slid onto the stool and ordered the first thing on the menu, a bowl of soup that appeared in front of her within minutes, steaming and rich.

After a while, the old man spoke again, this time without looking up from his cup. “Funny, isn’t it? People like us passing through towns like these.”

She raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. “People like us?”

He met her gaze this time, and there was a flicker of understanding there, an old wound hidden behind his quiet stare. “People on their way to nowhere in particular. People who keep moving, thinking maybe the next place will be different.”

Mara looked down at her soup, the weight of his words pressing on her. It was true – she was running. Running from a life that felt as hollow as the empty roads she had driven. She hadn’t put it into words before, but the man’s observation left her feeling exposed.

“Not much to find out there,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man gave a slight chuckle, sad and soft. “Maybe. But sometimes, the only thing we really have is each other. Just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

Mara nodded, the warmth of the soup and his words filling her in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t ask him where he’d come from or where he was going, and he didn’t pry into her life either. It was enough, she realized, just to share that moment, two people pausing on their own winding paths.

When she left the diner an hour later, she felt a little less lost, her steps a little lighter.

You’re a horrible person. I’d heard those words so many times, thrown at me sharply in so many different variations that the sentence had grown lost on me, the word or it’s meanings held no value to me. No matter the context, whether the person dishing the insult was old or young, man, woman or non-gender conforming, if I knew them all that well or not.

But somehow, when he’s the one saying it, tears of regret? Shame? Dissappointment? Brimming the corners of his dark eyes that held so much life in them as we stand in this room that held so many of our memories it was particularly sharp; it left a deep cut on my heart that would forever remain a scar. I continuously open my mouth, attempting to explain myself, beg him to stay but nothing comes out except a small, weak, choking sound.

My vision becomes a blur and the room behind me is no longer recognisable, it no longer holds the hope of salvation it did yesterday. The ugly beige walls stare at me, closing in, the Mahogany lined bed loses what little colour it had and the minuscule light the bedside lamps provided was dying at a rapid pace.

“Jack. .I-I’m **so **sorry” I finally managed to release but he just jerks his head back, disbelieving and disgusted.

He had changed — improved and I was just a mistake he’d made along the way, one he was amputating from his life; when I was at my worst, he was there to hold me and when I felt like I’d brought nothing but misfortune to everyone around me he’d always sit with me and remind me of the light, the hope, the happiness I’d brought to _his life when he _was at his rock bottom.

Although, unlike me, he’d came back from it. He’d got his life together and had stayed with me out of what? Pity? Did he feel obligated? Feeling pathetic was nothing new to me but this — this was a new type of low even for me, the girl who had an abortion at 16 years old, the girl who was forced into rehab by her parents because she became an addict, the girl who has never had a job, a lover, friends. . . The only good thing in my life was Jack and I was clearly the only bad thing left in his because now he was leaving, like everything else.

I had nothing.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

The raking sound of a machine awakens me after what must’ve been a long.. Long slumber. The air is bitter and cold, my brown eyes feel like if I close them, they won’t open again, a rough cough leaves my lips causing me to recoil subtly.

Sweat lines my forehead and armpits, the sides of my long black hair sticking to my face as I sit up in the spacious bed; only then do I become aware of the fact that I’m surrounded by machines. Machines reading how fast my heart beats, my blood pressure level, the rate of my breathing.

Despite the clear state of my body I swiftly will myself to open my eyes further, taking a look around and instantly it’s clear that my surroundings don’t match my sickly mood: A candlelit chandelier hangs above my head, brown sheets the color of chocolate milk lined beneath my back, outside the window sunlight shines bright over a visibly large lawn decorated with fountains and beds of colorful flowers. Wherever I was, it was beautiful. Beautiful and expensive. The problem? I had no idea where I was.

Before I could ponder my confusion any further someone busts through the door, a tall woman with dark-brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail, bags under her eyes, she’s wearing a long black robe creased with small jewels placed in perfect order on it. She was most likely_ _the owner of this house and she’s smiling — grinning at me, tears brimming her eyes.

“You… oh my god…” “Jack, your awake.” Am I Jack? I don’t think my name is Jack. She seems lost for words, rushing up to the side of the bed, clasping my hand in between hers.

“How are you feeling?” The woman follows up, smiling down at me.. The answer to her question would have been “terrible” had It been for the fact that I have a hundred more, much more important questions: Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?

Although, I don’t know why it feels like a pit forms in my stomach every time I think about opening my mouth to interrogate to her. The woman wasn’t that intimidating but something inside told me to respect her, that I needed to respect her. It did seem like she was taking care of me for.. however long I’d been here I clear my throat.

“Who are you?” I say squinting my eyes in mild suspicion but mostly curiosity. Her expression becomes unreadable, her happy smile turning into the shape of a small O, the tears linger on her face but they don’t look like happy ones anymore. Whoever this lady was, my lack of not knowing her was clearly shocking. . .

I wave a hand frantically at my screaming audience as I walk out from the premiere of my newest film; wearing a large grin on my face, flexing my pearly whites and striking red dress - of course matching the carpet below my heels. The turbulence of the night sky blows in my dark hair, causing strands of it to move in majestic harmony.. I was on the red carpet just like I’d dreamed ever since I’ve had dreams.

The paparazzi approach me, desperate to ask me questions. I’d do a glambot maybe? Make small talk with all the other internet sensations who’d been invited; I’d be one of them.

“Marilynn what was it like to work on the set of your new film?” They’d ask.

“Madelynn what was it like working alongside super-famous, world renowned actor” They’d question further.

That was the dream, and it wasn’t far out of reach. I open my eyes, finished with the maladaptive daydream and met with my mirror, surrounded by a redundancy of white tiles and my less-than Hollywood worthy face, the only cold I feel being the mint toothpaste that sticks to my tongue like glue, the only sound being made for me the one of my electric toothbrush

I’d made it to the last stage of an audition today; the furthest I’d ever gotten, so at very least my “career” was showing improvements. One of the casting agents told me “I had potential” which beat other criticisms I’d gotten before: “we’re looking for someone with more emotional range”, “you’re good but not what we envision for the project”

I often found myself disagreeing with the criticism of the judges I’m presented with. I knew I was a star, all I was waiting for is the chance ti show it. A change is never gotten before, but, Today? That’d change. Because today was the start of the future that had my name in lights, my face on billboards and my voice in teasing snippets.