Lauren and Lucy are best friends. They do everything together. Go to high school together. Graduate together. Watch sappy romcoms together. Longingly listen to love songs together. They both made the smart decision not to date in high school, but with graduation being three years in the past, both girls commiserate on not having found Mr. Right. Until one day, Lauren captures the attention of not one, but two boys. The first is a very sweet, very talkative, aspiring college history professor. The second, a former military soldier with a love for books and 80’s music. Lauren experiences insecurities about both boys putting her on a pedestal, as she struggles to keep her house clean. Hilarious shenanigans ensue as Lucy tries to help, and live vicariously through, her friend as they embark on a new adventure. They may find the course of true love really never did run smooth when you have to get right down to the nitty-gritty.
I didn’t know this at the start That day of my school class she became a part She sat by me because I wasn’t scary The only other girl in the class was popular And the boys were big and hairy That’s where it started, sitting side-by-side Now as adults, in each other we confide Oh, a true friend who can find!
Friendship is about balance Being adventurous is her talent She helped me come out of my shell I’m introverted and reserved As anyone can tell
We are both prone to overthinking But when we talk to each other Our problems seem a little smaller It’s always better doing life together
“I’m a spinster. I never wanted to be. When I was young, I would fantasize about what my wedding dress would look like. Whenever I would play dolls with my best friend, I always wanted to be the bride. All throughout high school I was boy crazy, with numerous crushes. But I’m also an introvert. Because of this, I never told my crushes how I felt. In my young adult years, a few men did try to court me. Perhaps they took the fact that I occasionally prefer to be alone as a sign that I did not like them. Whatever the reason, those relationships always fizzled out.
I found that I wasn’t very good at maintaining relationships for long periods of time. And that’s how I became a spinster. That’s why I’m here.” Gwen took a deep breath. It felt good to finally get all of that off her chest.
Mavis, the woman Gwen had come to see, paced the length of the massive Persian rug that graced the center of the ornate drawing room. The Persian rug, unlike most of its kind, was not red, but deep blue in color. Flashes of gold thread in the rug matched the gold color of the sofa Gwen was now sitting on. Golden embroidery also glinted on the dark purple robes Mavis wore. The robes billowed around her and framed her emerald green dress as she continued to pace, thinking.
“Sometimes we fall in love with ideas, not people,” Mavis began, “You are prone to daydreaming, and therefore are in love with the idea of being in love. When someone actually shows interest in you, and they do not conform to your daydreams, you are disappointed. Also, self-loathing plays a part in all this. You don’t want anyone to know you have a double standard. You expect nothing short of dreamland perfection from Mr. Right, whom ever he may be, and yet commit many of the bad habits that would you deem as dealbreakers.”
Gwen gaped. How could this woman know more about what she hadn’t said then what she had? It was like she was reading her mind. With a jolt, Gwen remembered Mavis probably could. Mavis was called a prophetess after all. She probably had a third eye of some sort.
“Can you really see everything?“ Gwen asked breathlessly.
“I do not see anything,” Mavis retorted rather hotly, “I’m only particularly proficient in theorizing about all possible outcomes of a certain event. While my predictions are usually quite accurate, there have been times when I have been blindsided by a situation. Time is a unpredictable thing. A series of events may tend and follow a foreseen path and yet one single event can derail the whole thing, taking it in a direction no one thought possible before.”
“But everyone calls you the town prophetess,” stammered Gwen.
“A nickname based on hyperbole,” Mavis replied, raising a dismissive hand, “I’m right about things more often than not and so my predictions have earned rather high respect. When you’re immortal, you learn a thing or two. However, people sometimes forget even I can make mistakes! I’m still human after all! No matter how many times I tell them, but no one ever listens!”
“You’re immortal?” said Gwen, incredulously. She had known almost nothing of the woman when she had arrived that morning. Yet, Gwen was slowly starting to forget her own troubles as she became consumed in curiosity over this exotic woman by the name of Mavis.
“Yes,” Mavis responded with a sigh, “One out of one, I’m afraid. Would not recommend. Not that I really had much choice in the matter anyway.”
“Why did you have no choice in the matter?” Gwen queried.
Mavis stopped her pacing. She gave Gwen a sidelong glance, a playful twinkle now in her eye. “I thought you came here for my help, not my life story.”
Gwen gave an apologetic smile.
Mavis brushed some of her curly, raven locks away from her face and resumed her pacing. “I’ll have Davidson take you to your room. We’ll begin training in the morning and—“
“Training?” Gwen repeated, confused and startled at the same time. She’d only expected Mavis to give her some sort of prediction or anecdote in order to transform her lackluster love-life. She hadn’t packed anything for an extended stay.
Mavis pivoted sharply on her heels to face Gwen, her purple robes twirling. “Yes, training,” she answered as if it was obvious, “If my predictions are correct, you’ll be ready to meet you soulmate by the end of the month.”
“But I didn’t pack any—“ Gwen protested.
“Don’t worry,” Mavis interrupted, “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Couldn’t you just tell me your prediction and then I can go?” Gwen asked softly.
Mavis paused, looking Gwen up and down. “If you don’t want to change, then yes, I can tell you with no training. But then it mostly likely won’t come true. You seem like the kind of person who wants to better themself. If I sense rightly, training is a must. Some people can be changed by a sentence, but you are changed by action. Am I correct?”
Gwen nodded reluctantly. For someone professing to not have any special powers of prophecy, it still seemed Mavis could read her thoughts and, more unsettlingly, her very character.
Satisfied, Mavis moved swiftly to pull a blue tasseled cord on the wall. A second later, the butler entered the room.
“Davidson,” said Mavis, “Take Gwen to the Emerald Guest Suite. She’ll be spending the month with us.”
“Very good, m’lady,” answered Davidson with a bow and a smile.
Gwen had no clue what was in store for her, but allowing the butler to usher her away to her new quarters was one of the best decisions she ever made.
I walk down the lane Slightly self-conscious of my Average appearance
Soon an old woman Meets me on the lane and blocks My way forward
She greets me with a Warm smile, grasps my hands, a Strange look in her eyes
“What is the deepest Desire of your heart, child? And I will grant it.”
The old woman said I felt she somehow knew my Answer already
“More than anything I wish my appearance was Irresistible.”
The lady placed her Hand on my face, suddenly I Felt a strange tingle
“It is done,” she said She bade me farewell as I Continued toward town
As I entered the Town’s gate, people stared at me Like never before
Their mouths were open Eyes wide and the crowds parted As I passed through them
I began to fear That the old lady had done Something terrible
What if she had tricked Me and made me ugly? That I had to see
Passing a window I gazed at my reflection Which looked quite the same
But I soon realized, I could not pull away my Eyes from such a sight
There I stood looking For hours upon hours No one could move me
There I stood gazing My mouth open, my eyes wide Staring at what was
Irresistible
I have never been more excited to visit a post office before! Today was the day I’d get the letter, though. It had to be today. It had been three weeks since I’d sent my letter, and this was the longest I’d waited for an answer. Was something wrong across the pond? No, today I’d get a letter—
“James, wait up!” My younger sister, Nora, yelled from behind me.
I hit the brakes on my red bike as she pedaled her blue one level with mine.
“I can’t believe my school assigned pen pal has become your girlfriend!” Nora grumbled.
I felt my cheeks burn.
“I said before, she’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we haven’t even met.”
“Yet!” Nora interjected pointedly.
“We just like writing to each other,” I continued rather weakly.
“You only ever started writing to her because I dared you to,” Nora retorted with a mischievous grin. She then became very serious, as if a sudden thought had just hit her.
“It’s been a while since we heard from her last. Longer than usual. You don’t think something might’ve…” Nora’s voice trailed.
“Course not!” I responded as the two of us started pedaling down the street again. But the thought that something might’ve happened had been on my mind for days. Today was the day I’d get the letter, though. It had to be today!
A few minutes later, my sister and I walked through the door of the general store that doubled as a post office for our small town. The bell on the door rang out alerting a tall boy behind the counter to our presence. The boy’s name was Toby Dawkins, one year my senior in school. He just recently been hired by Mr. Davey, the owner, who at the moment was no where in sight. Nora and I made our way to the front counter, passing shelves stacked with victory coffee, a shipment of the newest food stamp booklets, and walls plastered with military recruiting posters.
“Where’s Mr. Davey?” I asked.
Toby frowned. “Well, how do you like that? Not even a — Hi, Toby — before you start asking questions?” Then he spotted my sister behind me. “Mr. Davey stepped out to deliver Widow Kennedy her groceries and left me in charge of the store,” Toby puffed himself up and gave a meaningful look at Nora, “Said I was responsible.”
Nora and I exchanged an exasperated expression.
“Has the mail come in yet?” questioned Nora.
“Yeah,” answered Toby, “Expecting something?”
“A letter from England. Mrs. Peters assigned us an English pen pal at the start of the school year,” Nora continued. She knew I wasn’t keen on asking Toby for the letter myself.
“Well, I can check, but the post from England has been awfully slow because—” Toby was going to say 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳, but broke off suddenly as he paled.
I remembered with a pang of guilt that Toby’s older brother was currently MIA, presumed dead. Even though I thought Toby was pompous and annoying most of the time, the war was real for him in a way I hoped I would never experience. Toby cleared his throat significantly and began to rummage through the bags of mail behind the counter.
“Here’s a letter for you, Josh, from…” Toby squinted at the return address, “Nony?”
My heart did a painful drum roll in my chest. She had never addressed the letter to me before. She had always addressed them to Nora and simply included a letter for me. I glanced at Nora. Her brows were furrowed in curiosity as Toby handed me the letter.
“What kind of name is Nony?” remarked Toby.
“It’s short for anonymous,” I answered, not caring at this point what Toby thought of me, “It’s a nickname her grandmother gave her because she’s so shy.”
I tore open the letter. Nora came up behind me in order to read over my shoulder. The letter read:
𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒥𝑜𝓈𝒽, 𝒜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶. 𝐼𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝐸𝓃𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇, 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶. 𝑀𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝐸𝓁𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒷𝓊𝓇𝑔, 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓃𝓈𝓎𝓁𝓋𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒶,𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎, 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉'𝓈 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒.
𝒫. 𝒮. 𝐼 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒. 𝑀𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒥𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓂.
“Jane,” Nora breathed behind me, “How beautiful!”
My eyes flicked to the address at the bottom of the page and smiled with excitement, “She’s going to be living right next to David!” My best friend! After all the doom and dread of the war overshadowing this past summer, this turn of events was shaping up to be a chance at a fresh start.
“Leaving room for errors always seems wise, Until there are mistakes sleeping on every sofa in your house.”
That’s what everyone says these days. They think I’m too stuck in my old-fashioned ways. The trend is to let mistakes just walk out the door, So as to have plenty of room for more. Or gifting them to others it’s also their aim, They’ll do just about anything to shift the blame.
As for me, I keep my mistakes here in the house, And visit their rooms when my memory needs a douse Of that bitter sweet liquid called wisdom Which is far less painful than ever repeating them.
Corsica heard the rush of wind, soft at first. Suddenly, the wind was all about her, roaring in her ears and whipping her dress. Her small apartment melted away and Corsica felt her feet leave the ground. Or perhaps the ground had simply disappeared in the same way as the familiar four walls around her faded into obscurity. Either way, Corsica didn’t like it. She wasn’t afraid of heights, just falling from them. And that is exactly what this sensation now felt like; falling from very high up. Corsica hadn’t screamed since she was a little girl. She wasn’t even sure she could still do it as an adult. But she was screaming now. Screaming as the wind jostled her about and colors swirled around her.
To Corsica’s great relief, she did not crash into solid ground upon re-entry as she had begun to fear. Her feet simply realized that stable ground had returned just as mysteriously as it had vanished. As the wind and whirl of colors slowed, Corsica could just make out her unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a forest with soft moss and wildflowers beneath her feet. In the distance, the large stone remains of what was once a grand castle reflected the amber rays of a setting sun. Corsica saw two figures who apparently had been bathing in the waters not far from where she stood. They had seen her, had hastily dressed, and where on their way over to her position. Were they going to capture her? Or were they running to her aid? Corsica didn’t know, nor did she care. For at that very moment, she fell to the inviting earth and passed out.
Stay tuned… to be continued!
I love you You don’t know it but I love your smile The way you say hello I admire from afar For I know you will never love me And I will never tell you I have sharp edges
I have sharp edges And I will never tell you For I know you will never love me I admire from afar The way you say hello I love your smile You don’t know it but I love you
“Get out of my house!” Drogo said in a voice of deathly calm. Drogo fixed Lefwin with a piercing glare.
“But you have to teach me,” Lefwin protested weakly, “the prophet told me…”
Drogo interrupted with a mirthless laugh, “So, you’re the newest product of Prophet Sigor’s vindications. What is not commonly known is that… I was one as well. I was about your age when that confounded, immortal prophet filled my mind with promises of victory over the tyrannical monarch. Sound familiar?”
Lefwin shifted uncomfortably to Drogo’s obvious satisfaction. He continued, “I believed him and inspired my wife, my best friend, and a hundred of the best people I’ve ever known to join me on my prophetic quest. Sigor said nothing of the price we’d pay. Every last one of them died believing I’d be victorious just as the prophesy said.”
Drogo paused. He took a few steps back from Lefwin and sank into a chair near the square wooden table in the middle of the room. His eyes misted over and he appeared to be lost in horrific memories.
Lefwin stood rooted to the spot, shocked. Being subject to Drogo’s wrath had been concerning, however not wholly unexpected. But seeing Drogo’s immense grief took Lefwin completely off guard.
“You were victorious, correct?” replied Lefwin uncertainty.
“Oh yes, I was successful,” muttered Drogo darkly, “ I slaughtered the tyrant and those most loyal to him. I oversaw the coronation of a new king, who vowed to rule with the utmost wisdom. So he did, and so did his son. And now three short generations later, a corrupt monarch once again sits on the throne.”
Drogo pounded his fist on the table as he stood abruptly, “Don’t you see, boy? I sacrificed everything! Blood was spilled, lives were lost, and for what! So Sigor tells you you’re destined to restore peace to this kingdom; in a few years time, everything you fought for can vanish quicker than you will die of old age!”
“Aim for the mouth, men!” roared the general in front of me, “Aim for the mouth right after the creature fires a blast! It’s where they're the most vulnerable!”
“Easier said than done,” I shouted at my friend, Davis, to my right, “It takes, what, five seconds for a Scricrod to recharge its salivary glands! You’d get fried by its blast before you could aim a shot.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not making much of an impact shooting its exoskeleton!” retorted Davis as the both of us dodged a slashing attack from two out of the eight razor-sharp legs of the Scricrod, “So unless you’ve got a better idea…”
I didn’t have a better idea. I cursed the planet Egov, the homeworld of the Scricrods. The creatures were like locusts. They went from planet to planet devouring everything edible and destroying everything else. Not to mention they had the resiliency and invincibility of a cockroach and looked just as ugly. Our elite unit had one mission: total Scricrod extinction. This was supposed to be the last planet they would ever destroy. We had to hold the line, but we definitely wouldn’t succeed in our mission if the Scricrods killed us all first.
The Scricrod screeched so loud it interrupted my thoughts. A second later, Davis and I dove for cover behind a nearby boulder as the creature vaporized our front line.
A weakness, the monster had to have some kind of exploitable weakness other than its super-charged mouth. All creatures have a weakness. That’s what the big-brained scientist back home had been trying to discover for the past two years, I reminded myself. If the best and brightest hadn’t found a weakness in two years, how was I supposed to find one in the next few seconds?
I peeked over the top of the boulder to survey the ashy remains of our front line smoldering in pink fire. We were now all that was left of our unit. The Scricrod was advancing.
“I’m going to go for the mouth,” Davis muttered grimly next to me.
A stab of adrenaline pinched my chest, “What? No way! It’s suicide!”
“I just got a message from base,” Davis answered, tapping his earpiece, “two more Scricrods are heading this way from the north. We need to terminate this one as soon as possible in order to have time to regroup.”
“Why didn’t I get the memo?” I groped for my earpiece and took it off to examine it. It was completely smashed. “Well, I guess that answers that question,” I threw the useless gadget on the ground.
Davis took a deep breath and prepared to stand.
“Wait!” I said, grabbing his shoulder, “You’ve got, what, a fifty-fifty chance of actually aiming a laser down that monster’s throat and a one hundred percent chance you won’t live to talk about it! We’ll think of something else!”
“We don’t have time!” Davis yelled at me. I didn’t let go of him. I’d lost so much on this mission, I wasn’t going to lose him. Not like this. My brain felt sluggish under the stress. With my peripheral vision, I spotted the Scricrod about to shoot a blast in our direction.
“Move!” I barked, yanking Davis to his feet. We had only cleared the boulder by a few inches when it exploded from the Scricrod’s blast, the force of the explosion pushing us face first into the dirt.
I must have been unconscious for a few minutes because when I opened my eyes and looked around, I was now several feet away from the crumbled remains of the boulder. A strange pool of boiling yellow liquid was oozing out of the rubble as well. The Scricrod was now standing where Davis and I had been hiding a second ago. I saw Davis crouched on his knees a few feet in front of the Scricrod. He had his extra-precision viewfinder mounted to his gun. He was going to go for the mouth.
“No!” I croaked weakly, but my head began to spin. I held my head in my hands for several seconds in order to clear it. That’s when I realized that my hands were wet and warm. I dropped my hands to my lap and gazed at the thin coat of crimson.
A sudden hissing sound caught my attention, and I looked blearily around for the source. The Scricrod was slightly retreating now, screeching in pain. The hissing sound was coming from one of its back legs which was dipped in the yellow liquid oozing from the boulder. The liquid was smoking like acid, eating through the Scricrod’s exoskeleton.
‘Thank the maker!’ I thought, ‘A weakness!’
“Give me some cover!” I yelled at Davis, who actually looked surprised and relieved that I was still alive. Davis powered down his extra-precision viewfinder and began pelting the Scricrod with his lasers. The Scricrod retreated farther, protesting incessantly.
Leaving my gun behind, I ran to the crumbled remnants of the boulder which still bled with the yellow liquid that was our only hope. I scanned the liquid’s atomic make up with the sensors in my combat gloves. The results of the scan soon popped up on the screen inside my helmet. The scan confirms that the yellow substance is, in fact, gold. Melted gold? Two years of this war and the best scientists on earth haven’t figured out that this overgrown cockroach’s weakness is melted gold?
Suppressing my bubbling anger at the thought, I picked up a large rock covered in the precious metal. I reverted all power to my arm that held the rock. I was extremely vulnerable with my shields down, but if I could throw this rock hard enough it would do a ton of damage.
As I pulled my arm back in preparation, A random memory passed through my mind’s eye. I was seven years old, and my younger brother was five when our parents took us to our very first baseball game at Fenway Park back in Boston. When we got home, my dad spent the rest of the day teaching us how to catch and throw a baseball. My father’s instructions echoed in my head, ‘What you want to do is aim the ball at the other person’s chest.’
I hurled the gold covered rock at the Scricrod, directing it straight at the creature’s heart. The rock hit its mark. The acid-like hissing sound erupted again. Before my very eyes, I saw the rock completely melt the monster's exoskeleton and sink deep into his chest. The Scricrod howled in pain before falling to the ground, unmistakably dead.
My head began to spin again as relief washed over me. I overbalanced and would have face planted if Davis hadn't caught my arm from behind.
"Nice shot," he said, grinning uncontrollably.
"Not exactly what I thought I'd be using my pitching skills for," I responded.
The two of us laughed. It had been a long time since we'd laughed like that.
