“The city is buried, deep, hot, she burns so bright!” Stella shouts from her sleep, thrashing around amongst her blankets.

I rush over to her bedside and try to wake her, shaking her with such a delicate force. To no avail she is still stuck in her nightmare, sweat drenching her body. I pull her into my arms and try consoling her through her unconsciousness.

“Baby, baby, you are okay! Shhh! You are okay! Mamas here.” I say, stroking her jet black hair. I hold back tears and try to fight the urge to slap her awake.

“She is buried deep..the bright city burns so hot..” she mumbles as her eyes finally flutter open. I take mental note of the words she keeps repeating and rock her back and forth in my lap. My chest feeling as if a brick fell on it.

The doctor said she would eventually forget. Well at least most of the details. But here she is, stuck in a never ending hell, a constant loop of memories of how she almost died and I can’t take any of the pain away. I can’t save my baby from her traumatizing past and I feel so defeated.

Acrid smells What is this place Caught in hell Fire and lace

Devil smile Lost in chaos Sit for awhile Soul is lost Tessa🦋

It’s ok, no really, it’s not bad. You’ll see me tomorrow.

Not bad, you’ll see. Tomorrow it’s ok. (not really it’s me)

No ok, it’s bad. You’ll not see me tomorrow.

And there’s not much else to do with those words

There’s not much else to say

“You don’t say.” “sir.” “As you like.” "you’re welcome.”

In flat tones these nine words slipped out the conference door and down the hallway, repeated over and over again. Rollo listened at the door.

“So what’s wrong with it?” Rollo said.

The big man tapped the android on its forehead with his cigar. A thick chunk of ash fell off the cigar and landed on the android’s lap. Staring straight ahead blankly, the android sat upright slowly blinking.

“No smoking Mr. Carmella,” Brie said without looking up from her tablet.

Rollo blew a huge puff of foul smoke at her. She coughed and waved.

“God, where do you even get those. Weren’t they outlawed when dinosaurs roamed the Earth?”

Rollo puffed. Brie glared. The android blinked.

“Is it fixed?” Rollo asked.

“His name is Lewis 5. He told me his name is Lewis 5 with an Arabic number not a V or f I v e.”

The tech returned to her tablet.

“I don’t care if it calls itself Slim Shady and cuts a single with Dr. Dre. Did you fix it or is it still going to give me lip?” Rollo asked.

Scratching his round belly, the big man paced around the android. It was his chef and it was the best he had ever had. Rollo had replaced the android with other Feltham models, with higher priced Robotex models, even humans. No one and no thing came close to this android’s crepes. Rollo’s stomach grumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Lewis 5 said.

“See!” Rollo shouted.

“See what? The unit can only say ten words now per your request.” Brie said, still not looking up from her tablet.

“It is still saying rude things. I can’t enjoy my risotto with its grey face smirking at me. The deliciousness is snatched from my mouth,” Rollo moaned.

“You don’t say,” Lewis 5 said. The android’s boyish face transformed into a raucous grin for a second before blanking into an emotionless state.

“We noticed some unusual reading suggesting possible after market alternations to this Feltham unit. Isn’t that right, Lewis 5? Who altered you?” Brie looked at the android. ‘Sir,” Lewis 5 said brightly. “No proof, no proof. I’m taking my chef home. Android up. We are going home.” “Of course, Lewis 5 is your property. But if you void the warranty Feltham is not responsible for unit malfunctions,” Brie said. “And he wants to be called Lewis 5 remember.” Rollo sagged. “Lewis 5 please can be get out of here? I’m wasting away.” The android rose solemnly and then tap-danced out of the room. “As you like,” Lewis 5 sang as he performed an excellent soft-shoe. Rollo followed placing his lunch order. Brie opened a window and watched Lewis 5 dance into the parking lot. She smiled thinking of Lewis 5’s tenth word.

Even when the sun dies, my heart remains yours, dear. The heart, even yours, remains my dear sun. When even my dear heart dies, the sun remains yours.

“Do I have no original thought in my head?” Said the butterfly, flittering onto my brow. “Do I have no original thought in my head?” These alone were the nine words his mouth would allow.

For variety, sometimes, he’d switch it around: “In my head no original thought do I have?” But again, only nine words he spoke. Now I frowned. “In my head no original thought do I have?”

Did he wish me to answer? What could I reply? If the answer was “yes”, how could he understand? If the answer was “no”, wherefore was it that I Was the one addressee he discovered at hand?

But rebuffing quick answer, I pondered the query, Deceptively simple, yet hard to unpack. Did an answer elude me? He seemed in a hurry To flitter to brows having far greater knack.

“Do I have no original thought in my head?” Did he ask it again, or did I ask it for him? Does no one have original thought in his head? What’s original thought? Nearly did I implore him.

But off he goes, fluttering. Where, I can’t guess. “Do I have an original thought in my head?” Hark! A tenth word he speaks! Is it “no”? Is it “yes”? He is too far, alas! I can’t hear what he said.

“I can do it, I can do it!” Daphne hyped herself up in the mirror. “Can I do it?” The doubt proved persistent as she held her brush to her hair and took a long look at her reflection. “It’s no use. No use at all, I can’t do it” she placed her hairbrush down on the bathroom sink and prepared to leave the room defeated. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t do something so simple, everyone else could tie their own hair up, why couldn’t she?

As Daphne’s hand hovered over the door handle she felt herself gain a new sense of ambition. “I can do it!” She turned around grabbed her brush and brushed out her hair with determination.

“I can do it” she muttered to herself as she brushed out the last of her knots. She took a deep breath as she gathered her hair and slipped her hair tie from her wrist over her hair. “I will do it!” She twisted the hair band and pulled her hair through again before repeating the action another two times.

“I will! I can do it!” She felt her hair tighten and breathed a sigh of relief realising she finally tied her hair without getting any strands caught or tying it too loose. “I did it!” She admired her work in the mirror “I can do it, I did it, I can do it!” She wasted no time in running out the room and running to show her Mum her work.

“Well done baby, I couldn’t even tie my hair at your age, why don’t you wear it to school and show all your friends your hard work?” Daphne’s Mum was so proud. “I will, I did it!” Daphne couldn’t get over her accomplishment. “You really did my girl, you really did.”

I will go to that place where love is darkness. Where darkness is love, that place I will go to. That place is darkness, I will go to where’s love. Is love where I will go to, that darkness place. That place where I will go to…Is Darkness Love?

Ten words, that’s all we get, so let’s settle for a common, simple lie.

SQUAWK

Detective Inspectors Carol McKay and James Donovan looked at each other in disbelief. It wasn't the first time they'd been stumped by a case, but this was certainly the most bizarre they'd ever encountered.

The victim, an eighty-year-old pensioner named Agnes, lay motionless on the kitchen floor, her wrinkled face peaceful in death. But the blunt force trauma to her head indicated a violent struggle had taken place.

“So…nae leads, nae fingerprints…and our only witness tae the murder is that bloody wee parrot who willnae shut up!” Carol’s dulcet tones rose in volume, attempting to be heard over the high-pitched shrieks.

Though she'd long since left Glasgow behind, the lilt of her accent remained a constant reminder of where she came from, and the fierce spirit that had driven her to become a detective.

As forensic scientists combed the room for evidence, Carol and James tried to make sense of the scene before them. They knew Agnes lived alone and was rarely visited, which made the lack of suspects all the more puzzling.

Detective Donovan scratched the back of his head, slowly turning towards the large gilded cage in the corner of the living room.

SQUAWK HELP SQUAWK

Both investigators froze.

“Did you—? Did that—-?”

It wasn’t often that Donovan was left speechless. He turned back to face his partner, bewilderment etched upon his face.

Gingerly, the 6”2 Officer edged towards the cage. He had never been fond of birds - noisy, smelly, jittery things - but he felt a certain sense of duty, being the only male in the room.

As he drew closer, the parrot grew visibly more distressed. It’s colourful wings battered against the bars of the cage.

SQUAWK

“HELP. BAD MAN BAD GET OUT GET OUT!

“SHUT UP. STUPID BIRD! STUPID HELP HELP”

Donovan jumped back with such force, he stumbled over the crouched body of the lead forensic scientist. A loud crash sounded as his large frame clattered against the floor.

Officer McKay dramatically rolled her eyes, stifling a smile. The irony was not lost on her. Despite Donovan’s patriarchal sense of duty, Carol often found herself possessing more courage.

“Ach, get aff the floor Donovan. Pull yerself together. It seems like our feathered friend has somethin’ tae tell us.”

Without any hesitation, Carol strode forwards and examined the gilded cage. To everyone’s surprise, the parrot did not make a sound. It simply glared at her with its beady black eyes.

“So it seems our murderer was a man. Possibly resembling yourself…” she murmured, glancing up at her partner.

By this point, Donovan had regained his composure. Leaning against the faded flowery wallpaper all pensioners seem to posses, he regarded Carol with a frown.

Oblivious to his scepticism, the tiny Scottish woman, grabbed the top handle of the cage and marched towards the front door.

“Keep up Donovan, we’ve got neighbours tae interrogate. And our friend here is going tae help us find our murderer! Wit is it called anyways?”

Despite towering over his partner by almost a foot, James had to jog a little to keep up. He frantically flicked through his notebook.

“Biscuit. And she’s a girl…”

But Detective Carol McKay was not listening. Instead, with cage in hand, her stout frame marched onto the front porch of the house directly to the left. Donovan wondered if Carol even knew what time it was - 2:35am, to be exact - or perhaps she simply did not care. There was no stopping her when she had a hunch.

He glanced towards the horizon, but immediately wished he hadn’t. There were at least 30 houses on this street, and more than 10 streets in this estate.

SQUAWK “BAD MAN. BAD MAN” Biscuit screeched, as the door opened to reveal a little old man donned in a night cap and button-down pyjamas.

Carol let out a cry of triumph and walked straight past the elderly figure, without any explanation.

Donovan released a deep sigh.

It was going to be a long night.

"You don't love me the way that I love you, Hope."

She took a deep breath as she stared her fiancé in the eyes. There was the paper on the table that stood in front of them, her facial expression unreadable. "This isn't about love anymore. This marriage is far beyond saving. You can't just love your way out of the danger you put us in. That you put our kids in."

"You don't love me." He emphasized the last word, his voice started to rise as he was getting frustrated. How dare she love the kids more than him? They wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. They were their kids. Not hers. He was here before them. How dare she put them before him.

"I did love you! Don't you see? I loved the you before you became whatever the fuck this is! I loved you when nobody else did. Now that you're a somebody, you act like I'm the nobody. Those kids were put in danger because you decided that fame was more important than your family!"

"I-"

"No! You don't get to speak. Our boys looked up to you! Every single time they saw you on TV they smiled so big, they were once proud to call you their father! Now they're scared of you! All you do is drink when you're home and you become violent! If you really loved me you would've changed when I warned you it was this life or the streets with your stupid friends that do coke!"

"I love you." The emphasis on the "you" spoke volumes.

"I know you didn't want kids! I know you didn't want this life for us but guess what? That's what we were given and you decided to stay and be a father. I don't know what type of father you think you are, but it isn't the father our boys need, and I think the small part of you that still has common sense would agree. Sign this paper. This marriage was done long ago. I want this to end."

"I don't!" His yell projected throughout the room, his desperation was high.

"Well I do! You saw this coming, didn't you? I mean, come on. We are so toxic for each other. Why did you keep trying? I stopped trying so long ago, because no matter how much I loved you I knew we were never meant to be. Why not just let us go?"

"Because I had hope."