I never should have said I would do it. More importantly, I should never have written it down. Now, the time had come. Time for my comeuppance.

I know I was rash, but I told everybody that I would be a best-selling author before our 10-year reunion. I even bragged about it in the school newspaper. And here we were. Ten years later. Oh, how I dreaded facing everybody. They’d surely remember my rashness. They’d surely know that I fell short. It would be awful. Ah, the humiliation.

“Hey Robert. Long time no see.” “Glad you could make the reunion, buddy.” “Whoa! You still have hair! I thought for sure…” “You still living out in the sticks?” “You living with your folks again?” “I saw your folks the other day. They look fantastic.”

And so it went. None of my buddies even mentioned my rash statement. It was as if they had forgotten. I had dodged the bullet. Phew.

Then, we had an outing the second day of the reunion. We were going to see the campus. Walk around the old place. When we got to the fountain in front of main building, the whole class had their phones out. My best friend Corey jumped up on the edge of the fountain. I knew the jig was up.

“Gather round all ye wonderful ladies and gents. Today, we have the comeuppance of our own Robert.” People clapped and egged me on. My friends pushed me toward the fountain.

Corey continued, “As you may know, young Robert would tell anybody and everybody that he would be a best selling author by…” He looked at his watch. “Well, by golly, by yesterday, the first day of our ten-year reunion. And as my mobile device says so clearly, he did not quite make it. Yes. He made a valiant effort. But there is no mention of our beloved Robert on any best-seller list.”

Everybody said, “Aaaaaah.” I was unconvinced of their sympathy.

“So today, Robert is going to undergo his own baptism in our beloved fountain.” Corey looked down at me from the edge of the fountain. “Robert. If you would.”

I tried to look reluctant, but I was actually enjoying the attention. I slowly walked to the fountain and stepped up to join Corey. Everybody cheered.

“No, no, dear friend. Into the fountain, you must go. And you must make sure to go under all the way on our signal. Grab a handful of coins or muck or whatever else is down there. But if you get any coins, you gotta put ‘em back.” Corey winked.

I stepped into the fountain. It was warm. And a bit gross. The ducks who had been in the water had flown away when Corey stepped up to make his announcement. A few of them had come back. But they were on the far side. Still, I knew what they had been leaving in the fountain for years. I sat down in the fountain. I saw everybody’s phones recording me.

“Okay everybody, on the count of three.”

Everybody shouted, “One… Two… Three!”

I leaned backward and dunked my head underwater. I was looking up at what I knew was the clear blue sky through the filmy, dirty, gross water. I heard the muffled cheers through the water. I stayed under for as long as I could. Which was not very long because I had to keep breathing out from my nose to keep the water and filth out.

I sat up out of the water to cheers. I showed my empty hands. No coins. Or muck. My classmates were still filming.

I stood and the water cascaded off my clothes. I stepped out of the fountain. My shoes were soggy. My head was dripping. Everything on me was drenched. Even my wallet and phone were wet. I had forgotten all about them. Ugh.

Corey was still up on the side of the fountain. He had more to say.

“Okay everybody. Now you can buy his book.” He looked right at me. “I think our class ought to put you over the top and you’ll be a best-selling author.”

Everybody cheered. And then they lined up for my autograph. I signed their copies of the article I had written in the school newspaper just over ten years ago.

I smiled. I knew the title of my next book. My Comeuppance or A Day Late and a Bunch of Books Short.

When I got into work on Monday, Terry tasked me with training the new girl. This didn't bother me. For starters, the new girl, Chantal, was very cute. Beyond that, training days were the easiest, seeing as I really didn't do anything. I accepted the task, and it actually made me excited for the day.

As I stated before, Chantal was an absolute knockout. Golden Brown hair, with the faintest wave, big eyes, and a stunning smile. She pulled a chair up next to me, and I immediately felt warm. Embarrassing, maybe even a little pathetic, but I did. I cleared my throat and gained my bearings.

"How's your morning Chantal?" I asked. Trying my best to sound confident.

She smiled again. That room illuminating smile. "I"m good. Everyone seems super nice here. Which is good."

I nodded and shrugged. "Eh they're alright."

Chantal smiled and nodded her head. I caught her attention fall to the tattoos on my arm. For a split second, I caught a funny little look graze across her face. It was so quick that if I'd blinked I would have missed it. But I caught it, and I think she was quick enough to catch my somewhat stifled reaction.

"You have tattoos." She said, almost in a whisper.

I nodded my head. "I do." I pointed to the one on my shoulder. "This was my first one. Batman, my favorite Superhero." Pointed to my outer forearm. "Spider-Man, also my favorite Superhero" And finally pointed to my inner forearm. "And this one is from The Simpsons."

She did it again. That funny little look. This one lasted a bit longer. She looked at the tattoos, then directly at me. It looked as though she were studying me. I was starting to get nervous, and for all the wrong reasons.

I cleared my throat again, I could feel the hint of preparation on my forehead, just at my hairline. "Is everything alright?"

Chantal smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It's nothing."

I gave her a little frown. "Alright." Something was still off. The preparation increased.

I started to show Chantal the ins and outs of her job and she picked everything up rather quickly. We talked about our past a little bit, I learned that she was just a few years behind me in terms of graduating High School. She lived across the country in New York for most of her life before coming here to California. We shared a fair amount of interests, not all, but a good amount. Overall, she seemed like a very sweet girl, and again...I found her to be absolutely ravishing.

But ever so often I'd catch that strange look of what appeared to be curiosity. I caught it on numerous occasions throughout the day.

And then, abruptly and out of nowhere. She said something.

"I know you from somewhere."

I frowned. How was this possible? I for one had never seen this girl before (I for sure would have remembered her).

"How?" I questioned.

Chantal's eyes darted to my tattoos, then back to my eyes, she smirked. Her eyes darted to her left and right, assessing our surroundings for co-workers. Her voice lowered to a whisper. I drew my head closer to hers.

"I saw you on that site. Years ago. I forgot what it was called but it was one of those anonymous live cam sites."

My blood froze. The sweat rained down my forehead and into my eyes. I felt my body tremble, the world around me became muffled and distant.

I'd completely forgotten about my days on Chat Roulette. Those were dark days...hell they were the darkest days of my life. Even back then I was cautious, making sure I never showed my face. I knew I couldn't do much about the tattoos, who the hell would remember tattoos? I'd only been on there a handful of times, and I'd only had one viewer.

One.

And that one viewer was sitting to my right.

"I recognized the tattoos. I couldn't place why they looked so familiar." Chantal let out a nervous giggle. "Took me all day, and then it just clicked."

My jaw fell open as I searched for the words to say, but I couldn't speak. My brain had gone numb. And then Terry returned.

"Hey, Chantal! How was your first day?"

Chantal smiled. "It was great. Thank you for asking."

Terry smiled. "Alright, well it's clock out time. We'll see you tomorrow."

Chantal smiled at me once again.

"See you tomorrow."

I watched her leave, kind of. I peered nervously over my shoulder as she neared the exit. And just before she pushed through the exit doors, she peered over her shoulder. Looking at me with that funny little look of hers.

The music was too loud, like a thousand off-key sirens blaring into my ears. I weaved between dozens of figures I barely recognized, their laughter echoing off the walls, blending with the music in a serenade of mockery.

I needed to get away before someone figured out what I had been doing before this.

“Whoa there!”

I paused and glanced up. My vision was already blurring, and I had to wait a second for my eyes to focus. “…Oscar?”

My childhood friend stared back at me with a sly smile. “The one and only.”

Relief flooded through me. Thank God, one of these faces finally had a name.

“How are you holding up?” Oscar asked cooley, stirring the cherry in his drink. He took me in, his gaze trailing down my stained collared shirt and untied tie. Wait, was I swaying? I couldn’t remember.

I stumbled a little, and Oscar caught my arm. “I think you need to sit down,” he murmured into my ear.

I shook my head determinately. “No. I need to—“ I paused and doubled over, the contents of my stomach churning dangerously. “Okay, maybe I need to sit down,” I croaked, reddening. “But please, I need… away from here.”

Oscar took the hint and helped guide me through the masses. I tried to smile weakly if people waved, but there’s no way they didn’t notice the condition I was in.

Excellent.

Once we got to a private room, Oscar quickly shut the door and flicked on the light. I looked around and realized we were in a small, dim parlor, with two mahogany chairs and a worn-out carpet.

“Take a seat,” he said.

But, embarrassingly enough, I doubled over again and missed the chair. He quickly grabbed a tiny trash bin in the corner and tossed it to me.

The contents of my stomach all came out at once, in one horrifying, disgusting sound.

And then… two more times after that.

Once I was done, I collapsed on the floor, panting heavily. Oscar bent over me. “I didn’t realized you’d had that much to drink,” he muttered.

I shut my eyes. “No,” I croaked. “It wasn’t the drinks. I was… Casting…”

“C-casting?!” Oscar spluttered, backing away.

Oh shoot. I forgot I had never told him about my powers. My sister Ethica was right. It hadn’t been good to keep so much from so many people for so long.

“As in, casting a spell casting?!”

I stared at the ceiling with a solemn expression, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you…”

We lapsed into silence. I watched Oscar’s expression, shifting from terror to shock to utter disbelief, like all those I had told about my magical powers always did.

That was part of the reason I had kept this secret from him. It was all just so overwhelming, for me and it would’ve been for him. Oscar was a good kid. He didn’t deserve that kind of weight on his shoulders.

But here we were, 10 years later, and I was watching feelings of betrayal stirring in his eyes.

“I thought we were friends,” Oscar began.

I shook my head and sat up a little. “It’s nothing like that—“

“Than what is it like?” he said sharply. My mouth went dry. I had never, in all those years we were friends, heard him speak like that.

“I-I—“ I searched for the right words. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. It would’ve been a burden of a secret. You know how people around here feel about magic…”

“I was your best friend!” Oscar shouted. “How could you not have told me?!”

“Oscar, I was sixteen. People make mistakes at that age—“

“Not ones like this.”

I went quiet. He didn’t understand. He could never understand, what it was like to have a power like Casting, where the people of the Woods called on you to protect them and you couldn’t refuse. That was my duty, in exchange for the gift of magic.

His parents weren’t from the Woods. He didn’t get it. But everything in my body still felt regret.

“I came here to help you,” he said icily. “I thought this was just another of your uncle’s miserable parties. But here you are, using your magic and having all the fun without me. Nice to see you again, by the way.”

And he stormed out.

Almost a decade ago I dated a beautiful girl. She had bright blonde curly hair and the sweetest smile. She was a few years younger then me but we fell in love immediately. I took her to meet my family. My mom showed her pictures of me as a little boy. I met her parents. Her dad loved my jokes. We would sip coffee and talk for hours. I took her to my sister’s house. We sang in the car on the way there, I almost ran the red light. I was just mesmerized by her beauty. We would stay up late and dance around the kitchen.

One day I told her it was over. She was just too young and too different from me. I moved on with another girl, also young and beautiful. Eventually I was reminded to mail back the first girl’s things. As I went through each item I was reminded of every memory. Then I found her scarf. The scarf she forgot at my sister’s house.

Things didn’t work out with my new girl so I called up my old girl. Realizing I never told her I loved her I reminded her. But every time we tried to get back together I wouldn’t commit. Soon she stopped replying. All I had left of her was the scarf. The scarf she left at my sister’s house. I remember that moment and every moment all too well.

I thought about her all the time. Through every relationship, day, month, year, everything. Then the news spread she wrote a book. A book about our short lived relationship. Now everyone would know the story, yet no one would know my regrets. I am now left to be alone and grow old slowly, with nothing left of her but the scarf.

(Inspired by Taylor Swift’s all too well)

As she left the house, Sarah’s partner Alex brandished a piece of toast at her.

“Eat it,” they told her, leaving no room for argument. Sarah nodded with a smile, knowing they were right; she had skipped both breakfast and dinner the past two days.

She picked up her purse and threw it over her shoulder as she rushed out the door.

As she neared the bus stop, she quickly scarfed down the toast. Thankfully, the bus seemed to be running late.

As she waited for it, she put her light brown hair up into a high, somewhat messy ponytail, finishing just as the bus pulled up.

She smiled and boarded the bus. As she made her way to an open seat, she took a moment, as she often did, to wonder how she’d gotten so lucky, how her life had turned out like this. She had a house, and Alex, and a job she absolutely loved, even if it wasn’t particularly high-paying. She had a few friends — her chosen family — and all of those precious moments with her young, adorable godson.

After all she’d done, and all she’d gone through, she’d still gotten all of this.

She felt tears burn at her eyes, as they were apt to do. She sat down, and she smiled to herself, and wondered, not for the first time, if she hadn’t died and gone to Heaven.

Then, the person next to her turned his gaze away from the window to look at her — and time slowed down.

An earbud fell away from his tired face as his dark eyes widened. Sarah froze as she stared at the scarred visage from her past. A single tear trailed down her face, for a very different reason than for which it had originally formed.

In his eyes, she saw Hell, a Hell of her creation.

In my defense, I was four years old at the time, and I should not have been left unsupervised. And nobody ever touched the colorful boxes of puzzles on the bottom shelf, they just told me not to touch them. How was I supposed to not play with something that everyone told me not to touch?

When Aunt Bea caught me on the living room floor surrounded by puzzle pieces - stacked, spread out, shoved around into lots of interesting shapes that did not at all match the lovely family photo on the front - she made a big fuss about getting all the pieces back into the box RIGHT NOW, and ended up doing most of the work for me, really.

I didn’t see any need to mention that all the pieces she could see on the floor were not all the pieces of the puzzle. I’d been playing hide and seek with the pieces that had people’s faces on them.

And here I am now, ten years later, at my grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary. When they finally decided to take out those old puzzles that had been their wedding present, with photos of long-dead family members. It was a big to-do, everyone sitting around the dining room table, telling stories and helping each other put the pieces together.

And the closer we get to completing the puzzle, the more nervous I get, because along the way I realized that nobody in the picture is going to have a face when we’re done. Grandma and Grandpa’s precious puzzle cannot be completed.

Because I have no freaking clue where four-year-old me hid the pieces. And it’s not like I can admit to it NOW.

As I lie awake in bed My mind comes to rest On something stupid said Years ago. It lays on my chest, Even now I feel the dread…

“When’s the baby due?” I asked, enthusiastic. 5 pounds had just been shed too! I left before her fury became drastic…

as i walked out out of the shop, i got a feeling that something was off. i just continued on with my day though, but i just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. i racked my mind for something that i could of forgotten at the house or maybe it’s someone’s birthday. but right at that moment i felt someone put their arm around my shoulder. “hey babe, i haven’t seen you in so long it feels like years”. he says. it’s my husband. “max, it’s you?” i whisper in a confused tone. “you say that as if you didn’t just see me. oh my gosh you’re so pale! you should get that checked out, you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost”. he whispers in my ear.

I turned the pocket knife over in my hands, running my thumb over the intricate design of its handle. Though the knife had long been cleaned, there were still times that I swore I still saw red lodged between the depressions of the wooden handle; times where I swore that I could see her reflection peering over my shoulder when I stared too long into the mirrored edge of the blade.

“Sir, are you ready?”, Grant asked. I nodded quickly and slipped the knife into my pocket before he could see it.

Grant, a tall man with broad shoulders and a black tailored suit cleared his throat. He stared at me awkwardly for a while before hesitantly speaking.

“Nervous?”, he prodded, fiddling with the watch on his wrist. Grant was the guard who was tasked with the job of dropping me off at my home today. He was a huge wall of a guy and seemed to prefer quietness over conversation, but I appreciated that he checked in on me now and again.

I forced a smile on my face. “I’m seeing my kids again for the first time in ten years, of course I’m nervous”, I replied, looking in front of me at the familiar dark oak door of the home I haven’t seen in years.

The last time I saw Olive and Aaron, they were both barely six years old, with ruddy pink cheeks and messy blond curls. That was ten years ago, the night my wife, Matilda, and I left them behind. We dropped them off at their aunts and two days later, we were at the space station, geared up and prepped for the greatest mission in recent years. Mati and I were about to embark on a exhibition that most astronauts could only dream of fulfilling. We would do a round trip to the new, unidentified planet that had recently been spotted in our solar system and bring back soil samples. As far as we could tell from observation, its atmosphere seemed perfectly liveable and after years of sending rovers to the planet, it was now deemed ready for human exploration. The trip would take 8 years and the ships resources would only be able to sustain 2 people, but Mati and I were the best in our field and were easily first choice for the task. Complications along the way ended up extending the trip by a whole 2 years and Mati and I were away from home longer than we anticipated.

Mati had insisted that her sister move into the house to care for the children while we were away . She thought it important that they grew up in their childhood home, but I knew she wanted to be able to come back to it after the trip. She loved this home like a second skin. It was unfortunate, really, that she never made it back to see it again.

I took a deep breath and turned to Grant who gave me a reassuring nod. I raised my fist and knocked.

Almost immediately the door swung open and on the other side there was a tall, willowy girl with a heart shaped face and high cheekbones. Her blond hair are less messy and her body a lot taller and slimmed out, but those eyes- those bright green eyes she inherited from her mother, were still the same.

The girls eyes widened in surprise and she froze, unable to move as her breath caught in her throat.

“Olive?”, I said hoarsely as I looked at my little girl who was now only a few inches shorter than me.

“D-dad?”, Olive stuttered, unfreezing and pulling the door open.

“Aaron, he’s here!”, she screamed over her shoulder before lunging towards me and wrapping her arms around my torso. I pulled her into me, hugging her as if ten years of not seeing her grow and change could be solved by squeezing her tight enough. Her face nuzzled into my neck and I could hear her whimpering, leaving wet tears that soaked through my shirt.

Movement from behind her caught my attention and I looked up. A broad chested boy, still dressed in his football uniform looked up at me. His blonde hair had been cropped short and he looked much different than he did before, but there was no denying who he was.

He dropped the helmet that was in his hands and raced towards me. Olive had just enough time to pull away from me before he pulled me towards him, hugging me with so much force that I almost toppled over. He’s a whole head taller than me now and I found myself enveloped in his scent as he engulfed me.

When he pulled away I see that his eyes are damp.

“Dad…I…I missed you”, Aaron said, his words raw with emotion. I pulled Olive towards me and kissed the top of her head before pulling Aaron into another hug.

I nodded, my head too clouded with joy to say anything else.

They guided me further into the house and I turned quickly in time to see Grant walk out and shut the door behind him. He’ll likely be waiting in the car until I called him to let him know he’s dismissed.

The twins immediately launched into conversation, asking me question after question and filling me in on everything I’ve missed.

We didn’t mention what happened to their mother, but her absence was a heavy presence in the room. Olive and Aaron, as well as the rest of the world, believed Mati passed away when the auxiliary vehicle she was using to fix the outer hull went awry. According to the story, the tiny one person ship meant for unsuitable environments and outer ship repairs had somehow lost fuel and floated away from the ship, taking Mati along with it. With her body out there, floating somewhere in the vast unknown, there was no evidence to disprove the story…the story I had made everyone believe.

A knock at the front door interrupted our conversation and I went to open it. Grant stood on the other side. Breathless and heaving.

“Grant. What…what’s going on?”, I asked.

“Get in the car now sir, we have to go”

I frowned at him and looked over my shoulder at the kids who were still seated on the couch.

“Can this wait? We were just about to watch a movie”

“Unfortunately not sir, the station called. They want you there urgently”, Grant replied.

I crossed my arms, irritated that they couldn’t even give me one day with my kids after a decade of not seeing them.

“No I’m not going anywhere with-“

“Sir, please. It’s very important”, Grant interrupted, his eyes screaming with urgency.

“What do they want now?”

Grant hesitated for a second then sighed, deciding that the only way to get me to go with him was to tell the truth.

“I-I don’t know how to tell you this but….Prime Helper 673 just landed. They have a team on site now but there’s confirmation that there’s one living body on board”

If possible, I stopped breathing completely.

No, no, no.

That’s wasn’t possible. Mati was the only one on the auxiliary vehicle. It would be impossible that she survived all this time alone on board the tiny ship without resources.

That’s not the only reason it was impossible she was alive though.

Mati was dead, this I knew. I had been the one to stab her and stuff her dead body on board the Prime Helper 673. It was impossible that they had found a living body, absolutely impossible. The pocket knife burned in my pocket, as though it wanted to sear right through the cloth and confess what it had done.

Just then Grants phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket, eyes scanning over a text message. His face went impossibly pale and he looked up at me with wide eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen the stoic man so spooked.

“Sir, we have to go right now. They have just confirmed that the survivor is Matilada Greenwood. Your wife”

The warmth of his hand crawled through her body, making the soft tears dripping from her chin a bit sweeter. It was torture, there was no relief from the way her heart beat between her ribs. After everything that they had felt together, what they had gone through, it was not fair that she had to feel like this. They were destined to be the ends of Orion’s belt, she thought. They would never touch, forever some distance apart. No matter how desperately they clung to hope, it would not have mattered. The one decision that could’ve changed everything was now well and made. The future of her realm decided by three simple words. Ten years of nightmares. Most had ended by the end of the ninth. She was nestled in a sweet little village with him, going up to the mountain springs every few days to practice the muscles she would need if her past ever caught up to her. She had expected armies, cruel hunters, giant beasts. What she had not expected, what she had received from the gods, was a small boy at her doorstep. He was not what she thought of when she pictured a prince. Fourteen, tall, and gangly, with hair that seemed as untamable as a stormy sea. She had quickly learned, however, that he was the legacy of her brother in arms. Her king. And now, he was seeking safe haven. With the mismatch group of peasants he led at his heels, he had requested a place in their lofts, sworn to them that he would bring no trouble. Even with the risks she knew hung around him, it had never been an option to reject him. So, slowly but surely, the distance between her and her husband closed. They spoke of the war much more often than she had on her own, and though the memories were painful, somehow she felt a remarkable joy in them. He looked so much like his father at times, and as he grew, there was no doubt he was fit to be a king. With his distinctly noble nose and high cheekbones, she grew worried that he would be recognized. Still, he stayed just as childlike as he had always been. “Come on, auntie, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He often teased her “If that bastard shows his face, we’ll just lock him with the pigs and wait until they eat his robes.” She was not as convinced. The blood she had seen would never just disappear. They had made it so far already, she could not see them beheaded. Not like what had happened to the king.