Everything was calm. Too calm perhaps. A creeping sense of unease. Building to a crescendo as your hand fell sharply on the brass knocker. BANG! BANG! BANG! A sound that reverberated through the crisp leaves and stout mortar.

Bumpa dumpa da. Bumpa dumpa da. Clumsy feet rushed towards the door. You could only assume that is what was happening. After all you could only see severe black paint staring down at you. Fidgeting with the cool leather handle of your suitcase, you wondered if this was sensible. House sitting in the middle of nowhere? Excellent idea!

Alarmed the panel flew open, revealing a wild haired woman. Coils of flaming rust bounced in every direction. Picking out emerald jewels with ease. Flashing brightly with every blink. Blocks of freshly cut ice dazzled you, when ruby lips were pulled back in greeting. “Ah hello! You must be the house sitter! Very good, come in,” each word rang clear like crystal glass.

Shuffling awkwardly past the tall wiry owner, you set your bag at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting for any further instruction; which there was not. She simply placed a lacy bonnet atop her wild birds nest and strolled out the door. Yelling, “If you ride, speak to my groom!”

With no clear boundaries you took a slow tour of the mansion. A typical English mansion. Severe, cold and detached. With no seeming logic in the decor. Towering ceilings fit for a giant, though the low hanging flashing chandelier might prove to be fatal. Exposed boards, carpet or tiles were found in various rooms, depending on their function. The overall lighting choice was gloomy, long shadows and secrets; artistically scattered across the dappled walls.

Shivering slightly, you stepped out of the airy drawing room. Absorbing the warm welcoming rays of liquid gold, you tilt your head up like a lizard. A slow smile graced your lips. Sweet, heady, strong; the scent of freedom.

Booted feet pushed you forwards, egging you on. “Excuse me? Are you the groom?” Words tumbled from your lips.

“That’s me,” a well dressed gentleman looked up, in his arms a well waxed saddled, “You want to take Raven for a ride? I heard you could ride.” Sincerity glowed in his chestnut eyes.

Nodding eagerly you grinned broadly, muscles aching at the movement. It never occurred to ask how he knew that you could ride. Something that looked like relief rippled across his brow. Following the pointed nod you entered a small well lit room. Jodhpurs, boots, warm coat and hat waited patiently.

Wrestling the items to bend to your will, you exited the space. A magnificent mare gazed at you from sloping almond eyes. Sculpted ears flickered- always listening. Powerful muscles defined under her liver coat that shone with every twitch. Lowering her arching neck she snuffled at your face. Blowing back you returned her greeting. Satisfied she allowed your gentle touch to smooth her velvety nose with a fleck of white.

Swiftly you stepped from the mounting block onto the powerful animal. Gathering the reins neatly you prepared to leave. “Beware of the water goblin in the lake!” A final warning ranging with the clatter of hooves.

Gravel crunched. Tack creaked and jangled. Rise and fall of steady trot. Each exhale caught by invisible hands, studying and turning before quashing the gossamer ball. You start a soft patter of commentary with Raven. Occasionally, she replied with a snort, nicker or bob of her graceful head. Reaching where the path faded into a track. A track of soft mud and grass.

Raven halted, pranced on her toes as if the ground was infected by nibbling beasts. Mouthing and playing with her bit, she shook and tossed her head. Kicking Raven on and with words of encouragement only seemed to make things worse. She bunched up, wheeling around desperate to flee. Deciding not to fight with the terrified creature, you let her take a narrower path just to the right.

At last content, her breathing evened out. Asking with the loosening of reins and swift kick, you let her go. Breaking into a rhythmic canter, her hooves drummed out. Calling to the critters that lived without borders. Clumps of dirt flew into the air. Ears pricked forward. Joy coursed through her every fibre. Standing slightly in the stirrups you gave her the freedom to stretch out. Flying through the rippling tunnel of trees, that flowed past like molten lava.

Spirit hands teased and rugged at your very being. Wind whipped across your bare skin; painful yet exhilarating. Bursting out into the open, your eyes latched onto the vast expanse of glittering slate. Sitting and reeling her back gently, you begged Raven with a stiff “Whoa!” to stop, by the grace of morning light she did. Skittering and cavorting she hopped to a halt.

Sidling forwards on anxious steps the water goblin loomed into view. Releasing a shrill dissonant scream Raven threw herself backwards, pawing the air with lashing hooves. Landing heavily, the jolt launched you clean out of the saddle. Desperately, you tried to snag the flapping reins but to no avail; Raven was gone with a flick of her tail.

Groaning you brushed yourself down. Edging closer to the lake edge, where curiously shy hands investigated the tacky shore. You observed the water goblin. There was nothing untoward, just the average garden feature. A hulking grey lump of stone, textured by a mottled camouflaged coat of flaking lichen. So why had the groom warned you about the water goblin? Why had Raven spooked?

That’s when you heard it. A great grinding groan. Growing into something horrifying. Somewhere between bones forcefully being broken and ricocheting dice. Spinning in an endless circle you tried to identify the sound. Only when a rough hand curled around your shoulder did you really see.

Dread inched through your veins, freezing your blood. Breathing hitched. Heart hammered. Limbs shivered. Teeth chattered. Salvia dried up. Nothing but leaping in trepidation remain.

Covering your mouth with a monstrous paw, the water goblin smirked. Jagged triangles glared down at you, gnashing in anticipation. Their conical head carved to terrifying proportions. Beads of pearly sweat ran in rivers from their hulking frame. Arms swayed like ancient tree trunks in a gale. Thick legs held up the mighty beast, barely quivering at the colossal weight; steady as pillars. Before dragging you backwards. From your domain to theirs.

The news the next was flooded with reports of a missing person. Last seen by a passerby entering the property of a highly respected woman, to house sit for a week. Last seen by the groom riding away into the estate. Last seen by dull dead eyes as it enjoyed its meal. No one suspected the water goblin perched on its pedestal. Only the groom had an inclination of what might have happened.

Several days later when a furious storm whipped the water into a fray. Howling and screaming with all its might. Did the water goblin rise again, through lashing whips of silver over the jade grass it strode. In its fist a human skull was clutched. As the mourning bells rang out across the valley, a skull was hurled at that stout black door. Repulsed the panel deflected the object, sending it smashing to the cold stone step.

Shards, splinters and flecks scattered; a gruesome discovery waiting to be made. All the while the water goblin escaped back to its lake, nothing changed except for a scowl turned upside down.

Everyone in the castle was running from room to room dusting, sweeping, and mopping. It was reported that King Leon and his procession was spotted near the capitol and the castle staff knew they did not have much time left. Lines were replaced on bedding and the black drapes were removed from the windows. Down in the kitchen cooks began prepping the ingredients needed for this evening’s meal. Some of the finest and rarest produce and meats were brought to the castle in anticipation of this moment. Each cook knew there would be few chances to show what the kingdom had to offer. All of them were startled when trumpets and drums rang through their kitchen. They all froze as the sounds grew closer before they vanished. Individually the cooks slowly returned to their task until the kitchen was bustling again. Once again their preparations were halted by sound drawing closer, but this time it was the slapping of footsteps on stone. Looking up at the door the head chef watched as a page boy stumbled into the room. The boy righted himself before taking a deep breath.

“King Leon has arrived at the castle. Our great and wonderful King Everet is requesting dinner be served in the main hall in two candlemarks time.”

“Please let the king know we will prepare a feat worth of this kingdom.” Nodding the page boy turned around to leave when he bumped into a maid. Off balanced, the page boy stumbled backward into another chef caring a tray of meat. Everyone watched as the tray fell from the chef’s hands and the meat flew out the window. Silence once again permeated the kitchen, disbelief was on everyone’s faces. The chef rounded on the boy, stepping close and grabbing his shirt.

“Do you know what you just did?” asked the chef. “That was prized beef from the Catskal providence. Do you know how much it cost or how hard it is to get?”

“I’m sorry.” the page boy answered, trying desperately to free himself. The chef did not let go and began to shake the boy.

“You’re sorry. Sorry, will not fix your blunder. That beef was…”

“William, that is enough.”

“But head chef he ruined tonight’s main course.”

“That may be true, but you are wasting time terrorizing the boy instead of figuring out an alternative dish for tonight.” William let go of the boy, who did not take long to run out of the kitchen. “Now since our original plan for tonight has been hindered, does anyone have a suggestion for the main dish.”

The head chef scanned the room and watched as one by one the other chefs would not meet his eyes. Just as he was about to give up a lone figure in the back, standing by a crate of eggs spoke up.

“I have a dish that I believe could work without having to change the whole menu for tonight.” The head chef motioned him forward.

“Well come here?”

“Jacob, sir.”

“Well come here Jacob and tell me of this dish.”

Working tirelessly, the chefs prepared each dish, until it was time to serve. One at a time each course was arranged on plates, then placed on carts that carried them to the main hall. Jacob ignored the commotion of the people coming in and out of the kitchen. His focus was on his dish and getting the timing right for the most important ingredient. Taking a deep breath Jacob pulled twenty-one objects from the water. Cracking one he let out a sigh of relief, it was perfect. Quickly assembling the rest of the dish in its bowel, Jacob placed the last item on as the page boys were rolling their carts toward him. He watched as the last of the carts disappeared through the door. It was over and now all there was to do was to clean and wait. Jacob pushed up his sleeves and began to wipe down his area and tools when a commotion at the front caught his attention. The king’s seneschal was speaking with the head chef.

“The king is demanding that the creator of the last dish be brought to the main hall immediately.”

“We will send him right away.” The head chef looked over to Jacob. “You come here now, the king has summoned you.”

Jacob wiped his hands on a rag and followed the seneschal out the door. He was led down a narrow corridor until they came to a door. Before opening the door the seneschal turned back to Jacob.

“I will introduce you, but do not speak unless asked to. Also do not forget to show proper respect to his majesty and his guest. Do you understand?” Jacob nodded and the door was opened. Stepping through the door it took a few heartbeats for Jacob’s eyes to adjust to the brightness. Once they did he regarded the main hall with wonder. The light was reflected off crystals hung from the chandeliers and tapestries bearing the king’s crest covered the walls. Jacob was not given long to gawk before he was prodded forward. He was led to the front of the table where King Everet sat with King Leon to his left.

“My Lord, the chef of tonight’s main course.” The seneschal bowed and Jacob followed suit.

“Thank you Snyder for bring him, you may return to your post.”

“At once my lord.” Snyder bowed once more and left. The king starred at Jacob not saying anything for a while.

“So you are the creator of this dish.” The king gestured to the bowel in front of him.

“Yes sir, your majesty.”

“You seem to be quite young, have you been at the castle long?”

“Not long sir, just a little over two moon cycles.”

“That is a short…” A voice interrupted the king.

“Everet you are scaring the poor lad. Besides you are not asking the right questions.” King Everet turned to King Leon.

“And what questions should I be asking?” King Leon leaned forward.

“How did you make it lad?” King Leon asked.

“Make what sir?”

“The creamy yellow nectar that we poured over the dish.”

“It was an egg sir, with the yolk not fully cooked.”

“An egg.”

“Yes sir.”

“I have never seen eggs of that size before.”

“They come from Spotted Monos that live on the cliff faces in my home providence.”

“That is located where?”

“North of here sir, the providence of Polymer.” King Leon sat back and began stroking his beard.

“Polymer providence, Everet I have a proposal for you.”

“Let us wait until the meal has finished.” King Everet turned back to Jacob. “You may leave.”

Jacob bowed and quickly made his way out of the room. Passing through the door that led to the kitchen, Jacob made it a few feet down the corridor before he leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Bring his knees up Jacob just sat there, breathing in and out.

There you are, By the lemon tree Ever still, The garden moves, Too many thoughts Drying the grass Where your prints
Followed me to The alley Slowly And you demanded Affection I’d roll my eyes What a brat How nice it was

I see many people walk by. Working people, students and old people. It’s funny how, when I became a permanent resident of cardboard fortress on a disused couch that I somehow became an unspeakable and invisible topic. I would see all sorts of people using the alleyway of which my home sits to do all sorts of things. This one time, a drunken couple were making out after the clubs had closed and they actually broke and entered my home and to everyone’s surprise I became visible as I yelled bloody murder. They ran away faster than I could tell them they had dropped their misplaced phone. Oh well.

Another time, I heard shuffling of feet. Feet that were irrationally loud as they stomped and echoed the alleyway. I’ve lived here for a long time and I know what stray cats sound like and even large rats. Shameless large rats sniffing me and judging me. At least I’m visible to them so as long as they stay out of my home. I’m all hunky-dory with them. Anyway, as I mentioned these feet, they were running feet. They stop and a bag of some sort comes into my home. It slaps me on my empty belly. I stare at it with curiosity. More feet outside and it’s the cops. They are shouting and from the sounds of things they stop the stomping. The police are searching bins and uprooting discarded rubbish bags and yet they don’t approach me. I am invisible in my cardboard castle. Moments later, the alleyway returns to silence. I take a look in the bag and find bundles of money.

Turns out when a homeless man approaches you on the street and asks what you want, the answer “surprise me” will end up with him gifting you a jumbo Sharpie marker.

I turned the giant marker over and over in my hands as I continued down the street. Why did he even need this? Well, obviously he didn’t if he decided to give it away. Why did I need it? I didn’t.

I was about to chuck it in the trash when I looked up and saw a vandalized street sign. I gasped.

“Your a piece of garbage” it said. Wow. Creative.

I turned the Sharpie over in my hands once more. Huh.

With a smirk I uncapped the marker and added the most vital piece to the gorgeous art on the sign.

“Haha, nice.” I capped the marker and pocketed it. Maybe I’d keep it around a bit longer.

“You’re a piece of garbage” the sign spelled out. As it should.

Her pen is moving across the page. Her penmanship is flawless and her words flow freely. She bites her lip, reading over the essay in her head. “It has to be perfect,” she thinks to herself. “I have to get into Stanford, just like mom and dad.” She couldn’t bear being a disappointment to them. She’s fought her way to the top, and she’s going to stay there.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a drawn smiley face at the top of her paper. “I must be really tired. I wouldn’t draw a smile on my college essay.” She goes to touch the smile to snap back to reality. Instead her finger makes contact, she feels dizzy. Like she’s about to crash

Everything goes black until she hears a piercing scream. She’s somewhere in a park, and she’s standing but ahead of her she’s sees her body. Being stabbed by a man in a dark red hoodie, her hand slams on the sidewalk as she takes her last breath. “What the hell? How can I be here, when I was just at my house? How can my body also be over there?!” Her head is swirling and reeling with everything that just happened. She blinks , than finds herself yet again at her desk. Her moms hand on her shoulder.

“Thank God honey are you ok? What happened?! It’s almost like you were hypnotized or something. Obviously you are over tired, maybe you should get some sleep.” She just nods her head as her mom walks out. But how can she sleep, when she just watched herself die?

"Start.” Miss Becker, at the front of the classroom, shouts to us all. Her glasses fall down her pointed nose but she quickly pushes them back to sit up right. I look down at the jumbled words on the clear, white paper. My mind is already frazzled and I haven’t even started to try to work out the impossible questions and analogies. I shift my legs to get more comfortable on the unstable chair. My water bottle slides from my lap and before I can catch it, it drops to the floor with a harsh bang. My eyes shoot up to see Miss Becker, who was once lounged back in her seat and is now as straight as a plank of wood. ‘Sorry.’ I whisper and soon the other students look away from me and continue writing out their answers to impossible questions. Miss Becker waves me off but gives me a glare that I know means I’m on a warning.

I reach for my water bottle and place it on the corner of my desk table. The pencil in my right hand is upside down, rubbing out the answers I know I’ve got wrong. My head spins when the black letters blend into one, long ink stain. My hands shake so I flatten them on the desk. The water bottle jogs but stays in place. An idea pops into my head and an evil grin creeps onto my face. I know what Miss Becker will do, I know what she’ll say. So I purposely knock the water bottle. It drops to the floor and makes a hideously loud noise in the quiet classroom. “Clever girl.” a deep voice chuckles from behind me. Before I can turn to see who it is, Miss Becker slams her hands down onto the front table and pushes her chair back. “Principal's office.” she seethes. “Now.” I grin to myself. Not to be dramatic or anything, but that water bottle saved my life.

After the earthquake, after the fire that followed, life became a matter of survival. So many had died, so much had been destroyed, that survival of the fittest became more than just a cliche. It became our life.

Peter and I were a couple of the lucky ones. The destruction and death was so random, and while we lost family and friends we were still standing when the chaos settled down. There was little left of our city; all around us were just piles of bricks and twisted metal where once tall buildings had stood. The streets had buckled leaving great gaping fissures that opened up deep into the earth.

Every day we spent our hours figuring out how to survive. We joined the groups of scavengers and banded with several others to scavenge for food once all the fresh things had finally rotted and the stench of it hovered everywhere. Today we were making our way into the former grocery district to collect what we could find.

Peter spotted it first. “Grace! Look!” He was pointing at a sign hanging crookedly off a building. It was a Whole Foods, or what was left of it. Most astonishing, though, was that the glass doors and windows seemed almost intact, which gave us hope that it had not yet been ransacked by scavengers.

“Oh my gosh. Do you think we could be this lucky?”

Our small group approached the doors, and with some brawn from the men, we managed to force open the doors. Inside, except for the smell of rotting food, the shelves were still stocked in places. We picked our way carefully through the aisles and whooped like we had discovered gold.

We huddled together after a few minutes and made a plan. Grabbing every grocery tote we could find, we divided up into smaller groups and started loading up with non-perishables. Peter and I said we would would check out the canned goods and we gingerly walked up and down the aisles making sure to only take healthy stuff that did not need to be cooked. Into our bags went canned meats, vegetables and fruits. It didn’t take long to fill up those bags since we were trying to get enough to,feed six people for as long as we could.

We were talking and actually laughing when suddenly Peter said “Uh-oh.”

“What do you mean by an uh-oh. Please. No bad thing right now. Let’s just revel in our good luck, okay?”

“Can opener?”

“Uh-oh.” He was right. I yelled at the others who were busy loading up their own bags. “Hey guys! Do we have a can opener back at the shelter?”

No one replied. We were all professionals who had lived lives that included electric can openers. So here we were with a great stash of canned foods that could be our life saver, and it appeared no one, not one of us, had a simple thing as an old fashioned can opener.

Eventually, over the next couple of days, Barry had managed to find the remains of a Dollar Store and found a manual can opener. It literally saved our lives for a couple of months before FEMA managed to get us out of the ruins and moved us all out of San Francisco. The city was gone, destroyed as it had been in 1906, but this time the decision was made not to rebuild.

Peter and I still have that can opener. I used it yesterday to open a can of black beans and as usual I remembered how sometimes it is the most mundane things that can mean the difference between life and death.

I used to have a coworker from Japan Who’d walk into the office with a mask How quaint and funny, we’d gossip Why does she use that, we would ask.

No winter would ever go by That she didn’t use that accessory She wanted protection from germs And we’d say, how exaggerated our Kaori.

Well, look at all of us now Masked every time we go out And this object we thought was odd Is something we can’t be without.

It was astounding that this man could make her feel decades younger. Even the way he’d casually grabbed her hand as they began their walk made her blush like a schoolgirl. The evening came complete with a riotous group of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach a few hours ago.

“I’m glad you liked the restaurant,” Mark said as they strolled through the park, “I know Thai food is a bit of a risky pick, especially for a first date.”

“It was fun - I don’t get out to enough new places anymore. Don’t get me wrong, that menu was terrifying and I didn’t recognize a thing on it. But once we got the food it was much better.” Susan smiled at him and he returned it easily as they continued to chat and amble through the park. The summer evening was warm without a cloud in the sky, giving the couple a perfect view of the sun as it sunk lower and lower on the horizon.

“You know, I never managed to skip a pebble when I was a girl,” she heard herself saying as they passed the pond nestled at the edge of the park.

“Well let’s fix that,” was his reply as he led her down to the patch of rocks and gravel that separated the grass from the pond.

Stooping down Mark grabbed a couple of stones and began to explain the basics of rock skipping. She listened quietly as he explained the kind of rock you need and the basic motions; evidently it was all in the wrist.

After demonstrating and getting his stone to skip three times he turned to her saying, “Alright Susan, now it’s your turn.”

“Don’t go getting your hopes up, if I couldn’t skip a rock 40 years ago I doubt I can do it now,” she replied with a chuckle, accepting the stone he handed to her.

She wound up and threw it at the pond just like Mark had. Well, it must not have been just like he had since hers immediately sunk instead.

“Told you.” She began to turn back to the path but felt him grab her hand.

“Wait a moment, you have to try again. Here, I’ll help this time.” And just like a teenage girl learning to play baseball with a “helpful” boy standing behind her as a guide, Susan suddenly found herself with a pebble in her hand and a man warm against her back.

“See here’s where you have to be careful,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek. “Make sure you’re holding the stone level with the ground. If it’s uneven it’s going to cut right into the water.”

His hand gently guided her’s into the right position. “Ready?” He asked, and she mutely nodded, feeling her hair catch on the stubble of his cheek. Together they threw the stone and watched it skip twice across the surface of the water.

Susan found herself leaning back into Mark with a wide grin on her face. “Thank you, I can’t believe that actually worked.”

They both stood there for a moment, gazing at the water as the sun set. By unspoken agreement they soon turned and walked back to the path to head back to the car. But Susan lagged behind for a moment and quickly grabbed one of the pebbles Mark had dropped. She tucked it into her pocket and hurried to catch up, already planning to ask when she could see him next.