There she was, my target number 52. It was surprisingly easy to find her. Unlike my previous targets, it didn’t seem like she was trying to hide. She was just sitting on a rock at a park, out in the open. Someone else was sitting next to her, and they were talking. To a regular onlooker, she looked carefree. But I could see her tense demeanor and the way her eyes darted about. She was nervous.

      I was told she had been targeted at least 40 times before, and no one had ever finished the job—evidently. And no one new why, because everyone who took on the task of assassinating her had disappeared in the effort of trying. 

      This information didn’t scare me though. I knew _I _could do it. I was more experienced then them, and I believed I had the intuition and the wits to do anything I put my mind to. I mean, how hard could be? I could have shot any moment and she would have been none the wiser. Or so I thought…

      I was aiming and my finger was resting on the trigger. I had thought about what to do with my target’s friend. I had come to the conclusion that I would shoot her first, then him right after. There was no one around, and that would tie up loose ends. 

      I took a deep breath, and then she looked at me. 

_ She looked at me. _

      Her friend glanced my way, too. He whispered something to her. She mumbled something back.

      Her eyes pierced my soul. I knew she couldn’t see me, because I was wearing advanced camoflage gear and I was exceptionally gifted in hiding. But her stare still made me feel uneasy. I was sure she was just looking back in this area for a different reason. She wasn’t looking at me… 

      Her eyes flashed red. In the split second I had left I thought I had imagined it. But before I could think another thought, it felt as though her eyes really were peircing my soul. I felt a searing pain surge through my body. I dropped my gun and crumpled to the ground. 

      I stifled a cry, trying not to give away my location—for what reason I don’t know, for it was quite obvious now that she knew where I was. My tears started blurring my vision, and as I looked through the grass to my target, I realized she wasn’t on the rock anymore, and her friend wasn’t either. 

      She was now standing over me, her eyes glowing bright red, her face twisted in a kind of fear. Her friend was standing to the side, his eyes full of hate. 

      “I’m not afraid” were the last words I heard anyone say, and they were spoken with the very thing they claimed not to be. Her voice was shaking, and as I took my last breath, my thoughts were full of fear and shock. It happened too fast

_ What was going on?_

      The pain escalated to the worst I had felt in my life, 

and then all of it was over, and I was gone.

_This is a great day to walk to River Park,_thought Rhonda as she put on her socks and walking shoes. She packed a lunch of a ham sandwich, a banana, and a couple bottles of water. She put everything in her string bag and walked out the door.

Arriving at the park about 10 minutes later, she saw the usual sights--families picnicking along the shore, kids and grown-ups playing soccer, football, or tag. Rhonda followed the path along the river enjoying the ducks, geese, and other waterfowl and greeting people as she passed them.

She loved being outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine. A bird caught her eye as it landed on the river.  She heard rustling in the bushes behind her. She turned and noticed the bridge. Then she saw a tattered man sitting on the bridge eating dirty popcorn and scraps of bread. She pondered his presence and realized he was eating scraps of food that people had tossed to the birds. Her heart broke.

She said, "Do you mind if I sit with you?" The man looked startled, but then smiled and patted the deck next to him. Rhonda sat down and unpacked her lunch. She gave half her sandwich, half the banana, and the extra water to the man.

"My name's Rhonda. This is  one of my favorite places to spend the day. What's your name?"

"I'm Joey. Thanks for the lunch."

"I hope you don't mind me asking you a personal question, but how did you get here?"

"Do you mean here by the river, or here in these circumstances?

Both.

I got here today by walking. I live under the bridge by the freeway. Unfortunately, I have to scrounge for food occasionally. The homeless shelters aren't always available.

But, to answer your other question, my house burned down with my car in the garage with no insurance on either. I spent what little savings I had on buses and taxis to get to work. When I couldn't pay for transportation, I lost my job. I don't have family around to help me. So, now I'm looking for a job I can walk to. How about you? What's your story?

Jake had quite the eventful morning. He was awoken by a smashing noise somewhere outside of his room. Which caused him to jump out of bed like a surfer who heard the weather forecast said there would be some knarly waves! As he fumbled around putting on his clothes, another noise came from what he had now determined was the kitchen. Like a panther on the prowl he had made his way to the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. The intruder was one of "The Unfriendly". They had been given this name because every single one is an outcast, having been shoved out by the community to the outskirts of town. Shaking his head he had remembered they were still trespassing no matter how bad he felt, so he had gone to approach them. However when he made a move to get closer, the girl ran away with her hair flowing out from under her hood. Jake was intrigued at that point so he made the decision to follow her. Eventually they made it to the only secret spot left in the whole town. Jake had found it years ago and as far as he knew was the only one who had ever gone there much less knew about it. When the girl sat down, Jake followed and sat down quite a bit of distance away just to keep her from being uncomfortable and running. Then they had just sat there watching the fish swim by and listen to the crickets go crazy. Not a single word was spoken between the two, not that she could have spoken at all anyways. See, "The Unfriendly" as a punishment had all of their tongues removed. But it was the most peaceful time Jake had ever experienced and when it got dark he told the girl he would be back tomorrow and if she wanted to join him that would be super cool! And she nodded with a smile as he smiled back and left for the evening. Who would've thought that "the unfriendly" could still create relationships!

What could it be? What might they be thinking now?

These were a few questions that occupied our minds since they sat on that bridge.

Well, let me tell you, we are fun filled teens from a desert village and we see tourists like this sometimes a year. And every time, only one question comes to our mind — why would somebody intentionally subject themself to the hardships here!

Anyways, humans are crazy, us included! But this is the first time that we had other questions.

This Bhaiyya (brother) and probably his girlfriend, started out nice and happy. Hand-in-hand like some wanna be celebrities, they were whispering something to each other.

My friend chotu says it must have been something related to their previous girlfriend and boyfriend. But we were too far to hear, so he gets the benefit of doubt.

And then later, sun turned his heat a notch up, and she started getting crazy. Now Bunty says it’s due to heat and that seemed logical to us.

But then immediately, she started giving all weird poses and he took out his phone to click. Heard that bhaiyya saying something like Instagram. I looked around my friends, and even they had question mark on their faces. Must be green gram paratha ( stuffed bread made of green gram), another friend Chintu supplied.

Now we were nearing to the oasis, and still following them. They went on that bridge and we were about to warn them not to jump with their clothes on. We have honesty stuffed inside our every pore. Else, which crazy person does that!

But then, they sat on that bridge and started talking. Since an hour!! What couldn’t have waited that it needs to be talked under the sun! On our sacred bridge! So that’s how we were left with those questions. If you know the answer, let us know too, my friends and I are waiting eagerly.

“Do you ever question it?”

He leans further backwards.

“No.”

The silence extends between us.

I want to say more, but I sense further probing would be detrimental.

The water of the stream gently flows underneath, accompanying the moment with its constant ripples.

Why does he do this?

“Well, I question it.”

He says nothing.

“I question it because what kind of father abandons his children? Mother needed him. I needed him. Maybe you didn’t. But I did.”

“Father was abducted.”

What?

“Abducted?”

“Prisoner of war. He made me swear to tell no one.”

I-I had no idea. Father was taken?

“You knew all this time?”

“Yes.”

We sit mere centimetres apart, but the distance feels miles away. It was impossible not to feel a twinge of betrayal hearing this.

“You should have told me.”

“You would have run after him.”

Yeah, probably. Then I would have been a prisoner too.

“Well at least I would have been with him instead of here.”

“You mean alive and well instead of tortured and humiliated?”

I was old enough to understand he was right. I was speaking irrationally, allowing my rising anger to control my speech.

I slowly unclench my hands that had curled up as I spoke.

“You’re right.”

My brother turns his head, looking at me indirectly but pointing some of his body in my direction.

“I’m telling you now because we are going to find him.”

My heart leaps out of my chest.

“Really? We are actually going? You better not be messing with me because if say that then we are really going to g-“

“Yes, sister. We will find him, we will return him and bring honour to our people. If anyone could do it, it is us. The time has come. We will strike soon.”

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

I watched them from the grass, hidden from their view.

Not that it mattered anyway. I was behind them.

I was on edge the second she said she was going to meet a friend. When I asked the name of this ‘friend’ she’d responded that his name was Alex. I had followed her to this pond.

Now she and Alex are sharing some donuts and fruit. Watching them share the chocolate glazed and eat strawberries, my suspicions grew.

They were sliding closer together. Avery reached out his hand onto hers. They stayed there for a bit, watching the moons reflection ripple across the water.

Then they started talking in quiet voices to each other. I couldn’t catch the words, but the subject of confessions and love were prominent.

Avery said something that made her laugh and say yes to something. I saw them lean close to each other and turned away at the last second, but the sound of their giggles carried across the water. I heard it loud and clear.

They sat together a bit longer, each wanting to stay but knowing they would have to leave soon, so they were just soaking up every moment with each other.

Finally, she said something and they started getting up to go. Waving to each other, they went in opposite directions.

Grumbling to myself, I stood up and followed my daughter away from what had obviously been a first date. What’s the point of being a father if they don’t follow the rules of not kissing a boy until they turn 45?

Day 147, the time, irrelevant. I have been here day after day waiting for the same person to arrive. How is it possible to have been sitting here for this long with still no sign of Mariah. But these two are new. It’s been 16 days since anyone has come to this cross way. I wonder if they knew this was here to begin with. I wonder if they know each other is on the other side. Why is it that only a select few of us can see the truth of this spot. No one ever completely crosses over the bridge, they always seem to stop just before mid stream. I always knew I was different growing up, but to be able to see things that others cannot never fails to amaze me. This job has become daunting and depressing. People coming here never realizing they are at the brink of a different timeline broken off. My crew and have posthumously named this lake “the crossover” because if either one of these people were to continue walking completely across the bridge, they would soon enter another reality. I work for Enigma, a military branch of the time space continuum. A classified branch, similar to the O branch that deals with aliens, which are real by the way. I’m not sure if I’m from Earth or another Earth from a different dimension, all I know is where I come from there are many different skill sets people have, mine is the crossover. Only a select few of us have it, and we are all recruited at an extremely young age. I suppose you could say we are the military’s secret weapon. I’m able to visit the past, present and future, and because of this, we always have the upper hand. But even with this short explanation, there is still no way to fully understand how any of this is the slight bit possible. It’s just one of those things you grow to accept. But some days, I don’t want to accept it. I just want to be like them. Oblivious to all the things around me and enjoy the scenery. To just have one day of not skipping around dimensions, lost to who I am or who I could be. Just one day. I wonder if they would find me if I left for just a moment. Would it even be worth it? Would they kill me? My life has to hold some sense of value. Why am I to wait for Mariah? Are they even real? Day after day of waiting here I’ve begun to have more questions than answers. Mariah, Mariah, Mariah. How many times must I say your name before you appear. Please, show me who you are.

she always liked the creek and pond the lake 2 it was always her thing the crickets would sing for her and so would the bullfrogs sumtimes she would catch one and hold it if it was cold she would “ warm it up “ creek was sumwhere where she would stay as a kidd with her dad shes afraid of the ocean has never been in one but she likes the sound she doesnt like talking about stuff that scares her bcus she hates being weak or being seen the way she loves animals and babys i guess thats her thing 2

:3

This year’s drought was rough and I was ravenous with hunger. Days had passed without so much as a morsel of fruit - which wasn’t my favorite. But if a pear was to drop in front of me right now, there would be no hesitancy to consume. My feet were tired from days of walking without finding any sustenance, and my eyes strained to see something, anything, in the distance. I could begin to feel my body failing and it worried me.

But then - one day - them, there, on the rocks over a small pond. Water wasn’t calling to me, because there had been much of that on my recent travels through this area. But they were. Two bodies, breathing, waiting to be hunted. They were sitting, as if they wouldn’t even put up a fight. I was used to taking down big game - gazelles, zebras, tigers, even - not these … things. What were they even? They were speaking to each other about something I didn’t understand. I didn’t care, anyway.

I watched them from behind some shaggy, dead grass. Not even the grass was thriving here anymore. There was some green in these lands, but not much. The food on the rocks seemed to be admiring the greenery. I would put an end to that soon. I licked a dry tongue over my sharp, predator teeth and readied myself to pounce. The lion would eat tonight. The drought was over.

“So you don’t eat fish?” Rylee asks, leaning forward on the log.

“I don’t eat fish. I already told you,” Ravi rejects, leaning away and making a face.

Minnows swim around their bare feet, tickling the soles as they dart around, hiding. Rylee smiles, watching them play.

“I don’t like fish much either. Once we went to this buffet, super expensive and shit. I found a glassy eyeball in the fish meat. Black- silver on the back.”

“You did what?” Ravi says, turning to Rylee, laughing but also a little weirded out.

“I mean… I didn’t eat it. But I have an uncle who ate the eye- well this was a crawfish eye. Solid black,” Rylee shrugs.

“Gross.” “That’s what I thought.”

The sun warms their backs as they sit, enjoying the day. Rylee had come to India to see Ravi’s hometown. She liked it so far. India is a beautiful place.

Rylee had done a wonderful job of only snapping at four people. She hasn’t punched anyone… yet. So she gives herself a pat on the back for that.

Minus the stares people give her as she walks down the streets with Ravi, she likes it. Especially being with him and seeing everything- his town and home, where he grew up. It makes her feel special, like he’s a green goblin sharing his gold.

Ravi’s friends speak in broken English and flourishing Hindi. Rylee likes to sit down beside Ravi and listen- although she hasn’t a clue what they’re talking about. Ravi often waves his hand when Rylee asks, and tells her it’s “grown up talk”.

Which is bullshit since Ravi is only three years older. Either way, Rylee pouts and stares at the nearest boy until he blushes and looks away. It’s a game of hers. Make them scared and uncomfortable, then grin about it.

She thinks the boys are talking about her with the way they laugh and smile at her while talking to Ravi. Like they’re sharing a secret. Her nosy side hates that.

Sometimes she hears them say, “bahen”. Which is Hindi for sister…. She thinks.

Still- Rylee loves India. She might even abandon America for it. It’d be awesome to write and distribute her books from India. After all, a white girl walking the streets of India is bound to catch an eye or two.

While Rylee ponders the thought of India, Ravi takes her hand and leads her back into town where he’s prepared a wonderful dish of rice- that Rylee has agreed to try.

If, that is, he tries it first. Ravi is truly a horrible cook. And when someone tells you; “I’ve never even cooked this before. How much rice does it say?” And you say: “I can’t read it, Ravi… remember?” Then it’s best if the cook tries his masterpiece first.

“Don’t die though. I don’t know Hindi all the way,” Rylee says as Ravi shovels rice and spices into his mouth.

He makes a face, spitting out the food and turning away, “I don’t think I can either. I didn’t follow the instructions, that’s for sure.”

Rylee picks up a piece. “Last time I remember rice never crunched.”

“What?” “Your rice? It’s crunchy. It’s hard.” “What?” “Did you cook the rice?”

He laughs, “It didn’t say cook rice. It said add a cup of rice. I’m not stupid!”

“You didn’t cook the rice?” “No!” “Ravi…” “What? What?!”

Rylee holds in her laugh. “You cook the rice first. Then you boil the vegetables. Then you make the sauce in another!”

“It didn’t say that. It literally says, ‘add in the rice’,” Ravi looks over at the pot. “You don’t know Hindi.”

“Just… let me do the cooking. Alright?”