She didn’t know that

she could fly

at that time, wings folded…

Warm.

Nestled in and safe

didn’t know until too late

that it was time to…

Launch

And the wind came closer

whispering, little bird

don’t linger…

Step off.

And her eyes so wild

responded, but if I do

I may not survive or ever…

Come home.

If I survive, can I go home? For trust me I would love to roam And be among my family Live a life of humility

I’ll trust and always do my best As I conspire on my next quest Loving animals and green plants And sometimes I may try to dance

I will show love to my neighbor For the Lord God is my Savior He will help me through many days Oh Lord how I can count the ways

If I survive, can I go home? Where I will love and I will roam I’ll spend time with my family And live life with humility

"Cool it with the makeup, friend. You haven't got much face left."

"Ugh!" Tilda's Ravish Raspberry lipstick rolled beneath the sink. She shot me a dirty glance before stooping low to inspect the even dirtier bathroom floor. Her voice sounded tinny against the pink and yellow tiled walls. "When I get nervous, I cake on the CoverGirl. You know that!" With a small gasp she crouched even further, attempting to weave her arm through low and exposed piping.

Straining, she said, "I've already been confused for a hotel housekeeper three times today!"

I leaned against a hand dryer and crossed my arms. "I mean, you ARE clumsy," I said. "Maybe people keep finding you...picking things up off the floor."

Tilda snagged her lipstick. After a silent beat, she exploded with what sounded like a mix between a growl and a yodel. She avoided my furrowed gaze and washed her hands. "Why is this my life?" she sniffed, inspecting her eyeliner in the mirror.

"Forget about those doofuses! You're a writer at a writer's retreat! Childhood dream accomplished! Now you can work on your audition tape for Dancing with the Stars."

Tilda made that horrible sound again. "This retreat is KILLLLLING me!" My maker's voice rose to an uncomfortable octave. I covered my ears and watched with disgusted awe as she applied her lipstick while screaming once more.

She reached for her Plum Plush blush and began dabbing at her cheekbones. "I have zero inspo, HM. ZERO! Like, what even is there to write about?"

"Well-"

"Please, no snark right now, HM," snapped Tilda. She checked her face one more time in the mirror. Shrugging, she said, "I just don't fit in here. I'll never be a real writer. I'll probably pen some garbage and go home in shame...you know, the usual." She stood a little taller, forced a smile, and marched out of the restroom.

I sighed and slouched. I paced about the room.

"Think, HM, think!" I said. "There's got to be something you can do."

Plink.

Tilda's lipstick. She'd forgotten to take it with her. I crouched down and uselessly grabbed at it. For the first time in my life, I lamented being imaginary.

"A small plastic vial," came a frosty voice in my ears. "An inaccessible want. Your fingers scratch and scrape, like bellowing ghosts on unbelieving ears. Heard and brushed aside."

"H-hello?" I said, still compelled to reach for the lipstick.

"So close, yet still inaccessible," the voice continued. "Your outstretched hand begins to quiver; tendons groaning, straining under unjust commands. Still the sulphurous yellow tile taunts you, its derision pinning the tube of waxy wine into the corner. Inching forwards, stoic fingers lean towards their goal.

A stretch too far... Always too far... Just like your dreams... Past, present and future..."

"Wh-what?" I stammered.

"Then, like your dreams your acromioclavicular joint buckles under societal pressure. Muscle fibres extend before fraying like abused ship ropes. With one final groan the twisted strands of drowned hair recoil violently with a resounding snap. Rendering the arm useless, just like your future hopes."

I took a quick break from screaming. "NOT MY FUTURE HOPES!" I said.

"Indeed your future hopes will crumble before your eyes if you just stop believing... Which you will, when I have finished with you."

I gulped. "If I survive, can I go home?"

"Go home where?" asked the voice. "Do you even have a home? I'm sure I can find you a nice corner of Hell to reside in, I mean, it's warm. You'll never get cold in winter again."

"Do imaginary friends even have an afterlife?"

"Everyone has- wait...what? You're a what?" The figure fiddled around the pockets of her streaming inky gown. She pulled out a pair of glasses. "No..." she said, returning them to her left side. She picked up another. "Fun, but...nope." She dug once more. "Ah!" She placed her glasses over her draping blonde hair. "Forgive me, I didn't have my glasses on."

I blinked.

"Now I can see you," said the voice.

"See me, huh?" I said, in a size 3 font.

"I'm surprised you can see me considering I'm so dark," she laughed.

My hollow laugh trailed behind hers. My words abandoned me.

"I am Dede," said the woman, slightly nodding.

"Nice to meet you DD," I shivered. "Does that stand for Dark Disco?"

Her laugh was as sage as it was soft. "It's Dede, friend."

"That's what I said. DD."

She sighed, blond hair rippling where her mouth must've been hiding. She said, "You're saying it right, but thinking it wrong. Add e's to your d's."

"...DeeDee?"

Another sigh. A shake of the head. "I know you've more pressing issues, fellow Imaginary, so, for now, that will have to do." Her laughter surrounding the words "pressing issues" made me blanch.

"You don't know my ‘issues,’ pal," I said.

"Oh?" she waved a hand as though batting at flies. "Your maker is on the brink of giving up her craft." With a shrug she added, "You die, if your maker gives up..."

"Shhhhh! No one asked you to creep in here spewing truths and whatnot," I spluttered. "Keep the 'd' word on the down low."

"I'm a Gwisin, friend. I think about death every day."

"SHHH!"

"I'd offer to help you on one condition," said DeeDee.

"So... will you help me?" I asked. "I'm too pretty to die!"

DeeDee's heartless laughter whooshed through my self-confidence.

With narrowed eyes, I said, "And your condition is...?"

"My condition is my condition and you will have to figure it out sooner or later. Or you'll have to become familiar with my Knife of Decision."

(Cowritten by HM & Dede)

Born of an egg, but not of a chicken. Rather a soft, silky opalescent gathering of pearls. Soft shelled yet not easily broken. Those bodies emerge and know only hunger. They munch and they crunch, their lives one long lunch. They slip and they slide. At first, always afraid, their constant question:

           "If I survive, can I go home?"

The very young ones don't know that they're already so close. With their heads and necks, they are halfway there. Only when there is the dark wing of a sparrow and the threat of a sharp beak do they come to know the shadow of death. It is then that they pull in their heads and save their necks. They find that their home had been there all the time at their back. They carry on, they have learned their lesson. With their tiny trails on leaf and rose, are they trying to tell us something?

The sound of gunshots are still ringing in my ear. I hold the hand of the little boy whose mother’s dead body lies in the sunken earth as we run deeper and deeper into the maze, nothing but moonlight to guide our way.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like there’s no way out of this maze, and the only thing that’s waiting for us, whichever path we choose, is death from one gun or another.

We stop running as soon as I feel the little boy’s little feet starting to drag. He has no energy left, all the adrenaline leeched from his body like the light from his mother’s hazel eyes.

He looks up at me, his eyes like a puppy who doesn’t know he’s about to be put down.

‘Mister … If we survive, can I go home?’

My mouth opens and closes. What can I possibly say to this child who has just watched his mother get murdered, who doesn’t understand that we likely only have moments left to live?

I bend down to his level and tuck a stray strand of hair behind his head, clasping his face as I do so.

‘Yeah buddy. If we survive, I promise I’ll get you home.’

A gun fires nearby, startling us both. We look into each other’s eyes, embers of defiance glowing between us. And so we run, praying for survival.

The noise was so loud that I had to cover my ears with my hands. The only other times I’d heard noise that loud was when ambulances rushed down our street or our smoke alarm went off because Daddy was burning bacon again.

There was no ambulance here though. And no daddy. Just them. Lots and lots of THEM.

I looked around me, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Everything was bright and rainbow coloured, but I only really like blue. Green is ok. I look down at the clothes Mum helped dress me in this morning. Yellow. Who thought yellow was a good idea? It reminded me of sick and banana ice cream, which is basically the same thing.

It smells funny in here too. Like cleaning products and not the nice sweet one my mummy uses. It smells like a hospital. I don’t like hospitals.

In the corner, one of them is crying. She is all alone. I feel my heart start to beat quicker. This is a really scary place.

I turn to Mummy and whisper in a small voice ‘If I survive, can I go home?’ Mummy tips her head back and laughs so loud it makes me jump a little.

She bends down so that her eyes are looking right into mine and says ‘Sweetie, you will only be here for a few hours and then you can come home.’ ‘But I don’t know any of them…’ ‘You’ve played with children before Freddie you have lots of cousins.’ She smiles at me and brushes my face with her hand. ‘But can you stay with me?’ ‘No sweetheart. It’s your first day at big school. You will have far too much fun without me.’ I wrap my arms around her and give her a huge hug. ‘Look’ she says into my hair. ‘That girl has a dinosaur teddy. She seems sad. Why don’t you go and talk to her?’

I pull back from my mum and look at the crying girl. Sure enough she has a diplodocus under her arm. I try smiling at her. She smiles back. One of her front teeth are missing. ‘I wonder if she has met the tooth fairy?’ Mum laughs and says ‘only one way to find out.’ She gives me a little push in my back and I walk over to diplodocus girl. All of my cousins are boys and I’ve never met a girl who likes dinosaurs before. Actually, I’ve never met a girl before. But this one seems ok. I think she’s going to be just like me.

“If I survive can I go home?” My voice is barely a whisper, a broken rasp, a shattered sentence. My entire body aches, my mind throbs continuously. My hands are bound with metal wire behind my back, I cannot move. A cool voice answers my request “Oh, you shall not survive reprogramming.” I stare around trying to find the speaker, the one who is holiding me captive. “I’m sorry? reprogramming?” I am utterly confused and furious. I glare around me, desperately trying to understand where I am, how I can escape.“Don’t be frightened the transition will be sharp, quick and painless you will take your place in my perfect society.” The mysterious voice continues to talk.

I take a deep breath and mutter the question I have been frequently too afraid to ask.“who are you?” I whisper. “I am your owner” the voice purrs “I own everything and everyone in MY civilisation.” I take a deep breath, my ribs and chest in agony. “I do not need an owner I am not a dog.” I scoff, building up as much courage as I possibly can. The voice answers “No? Well I can make that happen if you truly want to be a dog? But I have better, bigger plans for you.” I’m frozen to the spot both mentally and physically.

“where are my family?” I question “Oh, they are not YOUR family anymore, when they went through reprogramming they were assigned a more.... functional family.” I do not know how to respond to this so instead I remain silent. “I told you I own and control everything that happens here.” I bite my lip, my eyes racing across the darkness, trying to find some light. “What are you going to do to me?” I subconsciously question as my glance traces across the room. “I shall do to you what I did to everyone else, alter your brain.” My breath catches in my throat, alter my brain? Surely that is impossible. “Where will I live?” I continue. “You will live where I want you to live, it will all become clear to you very soon, that’s enough questions for now.” The voice becomes slightly agitated as if it is as eager to finish this strange conversation as I am.

“One last question.” I muster. “Will I remember who I am when you..........reprogram me?” The answer is short and plain “No, your memory shall be destroyed, you won’t need it where your going.” I nod my head as if I am agreeing with everything this disturbing voice is saying. I watch in confusion as the lights spark on, I am in a hospital like room. The walls are washed a tacky blue colour, a cheap colour. The floor is tiled white, it’s clean and immaculate, not a single spot of dirt. At the end of the room is a metal framed bed, the kind of bed you lay someone down on and wheel them away to the operating theatre on.

I feel a sharp prick in my arm, a jabbing sensation, as if someone’s giving me an injection. My vision clouds over, my head begins to lull. The last thing I hear is a slow calm voice “Take her away, when she wakes bring her back to me.” Then the entire world brakes and darkness fills my sight.

“If I survive can I go home?” The words echo through my head, firing about my mind like a collection of bullets. I hate myself for what I’m about to do, hate every fibre in my body. “Yes, yes you can go home.” I rasp, unable to function properly. “This...this is for your own good.” I stare longingly into the eyes of my one and only son, my little boy, my baby. I force my teeth down on my lip, so hard that I draw blood. “Now.” I whisper into his ear, “You must be brave, I know you can and will be.” He nods, too innocent and naive to face the vast evils of this world. I raise my hands above his head and envelope him into a bone crunching hug. He squeals as I lift him from the ground and twirl around, my pinafore spiralling, with him in my grasp. When I let him down I know it’s time to go.

“Right are you ready? You better have your suitcase because you shan’t leave without it, or you shall be in deep trouble, do you understand?” My tone becomes, stern, as solid as rock. I kiss him on the forehead attaching a small brown paper tag about his neck. I felt as if I was giving away my little boy, selling him for a price to a safer, warmer family, a family that was more than I could ever provide. “Now.” I croak “You are going to be brave, brave for your farther who is fighting for our country, and you are going to be brave FOR me.” He nods, linking his fingers with mine and leaning in until the tips of our heads touch. “You are going to a safe place.” I sob, unable to contain it any longer, “You WILL be ok, I swear on my very own life I shan’t let anything happen to you.” I brush the tears from my cheeks and lead my little boy from the front of the house.

We walk to the train station, I am curtain I will spend as much time with my son as I possibly can before I ship him off and away to a different family, a different life. Without me. I steal his hand and link his arm in mine as we stroll down the sidewalk towards where we shall depart from each other. He continues to ask me questions “Shall the family I stay with be cruel?, will they treat me good? , will they live in a castle? , will they have wings like a fairy, and one single eye like a cyclops?” These are all questions I cannot and will not answer. I hold on to the gas mask box at my side, clutching it with an iron grip. I watch as other parents begin to cry, nearing the train station and wishing their own children goodbye.

The air smells heavily of smoke, children and adults bustle around the cobble and tracks, sounds fill the air. The crunch of an apple against baby teeth, the kiss of a mother against a small cheek, the sound of pattering school-shoed feet against stone slabs. I watch as the children disperse from their adults, filling into lines behind their class teachers who will then assign them a seat on the train. I stare down at my boy, knowing I shall have to let him go in less than a few minutes. My heart begins to swell in my chest and I feel as if I shall die, right in this spot, right now and right here.

I enclose my arms around my son, afraid this shall be the last time we embrace, the last time we lay eyes on each other. I think about all the possible things that could go wrong, the deaths and injuries and misfortunes that could undoubtedly occur. I breath my baby in, memories flood my vision. Him as a baby swaddled in blue fabric, singing and speaking gently to himself, him in the bathtub blowing bubbles and laughing like a hyena, him playing with his stuffed animals, him waving his father goodbye as he left to fight, him making me a cuppa each time I began to tremble with fear of my husbands death, him on Mother’s Day whispering into my ear that I was, in fact the bestest mother in the entire universe. I take one last moment, one last breath, one last memory, one last second of happiness before I realise.

I hand him his gas mask, his lunch - packed full to the brim with notes of love and sweets and chocolate - and make sure he still has his suitcase. “Goodbye my love!” I cry, but he doesn’t hear me because he’s already submerged in a conversation with his school friends. They witter on about what adventures they shall have, how they will play soldier and battle each other and fall asleep beneath the stars. I watch him bored the train, watch him fall into his adventure. It’s all just a game to him, an “adventure” and once more I tremble, knowing I shall not see my beautiful, naive, kind, loving son for a very long time.

“We are all thinking if I survive I go home and live normally but that’s a lie we’re all gonna died no matter the chances” I had told them I was standing high up with a microphone in my hands

It was my only chance to give up but he did that for me the person I trusted in this game betrayed me

I had put the microphone to my side breathing heavily looking down seeing my death

“Sorry Nina” he had told me “why are you apologizing?” I asked him “for killing you,” he said then pushed me to the edge making me lose my balance then got it back but I was scared seeing how high up I was

“I had to live Nina is sorry!” He had told me then pushed me one more time making me fall to the ground “Patrick!” I scream as I fall to the ground

I wasn’t gonna live I knew that he knew that the game master knew this my eyes faded as my soul was ascending to the sky

Patrick looked down seeing my body and blood on the grass it was a lot he started crying his cheeks slowly turned red

“Another person died thirty-four to go” the game master had announced to everyone

“Thirty-four?” People said confused it was thousand of them now thirty-four people started to worry how fast the body count changed

“I hate this game...I hate this game!” Patrick had said over and over as tears were running down his face and hitting his head

A killer killing someone is probably easy to do since they killed before but when innocent people have to kill each other to still alive it’s harder for them but I guess we had to for survival

The Roman coliseum was even busier than usual today. Which meant one thing; Priscus was fighting. The citizens of Rome demanded blood and the coliseum would deliver.

I was underneath the coliseum, waiting to make my first walk to the blood soaked sands of the arena. The roar of the crowd was so loud that the entire stadium was shaking, bits of stone falling from overhead. I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I was on my way home when there was a rebel surprise attack on a patrol of legionaries. I, unfortunately, was caught in between the attack. The Roman soldiers repelled the attack and ordered their surrender. Those who didn’t surrender were cut down where they stood and those who did were bound and brought to the arena. They mistook me for a rebel and the only thing I could do was surrender.

I tried to plead my case, I tried to tell them I wasn’t a rebel that I was just on my way home and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course they were having none of it and threatened to gut me like a pig.

“Please, I am not a rebel. You must let me go,” I pleaded to the arena master.

“Atticus, we have been through this once before. Now quit your bellyaching or I’ll have you strung up and cut open. Now grab a sword and put on a show.”

“I do not belong here, I need to get home to my family.”

“If you win the crowds favor, I will see to it that you are to become a free man once again.”

“If I survive, can I go home?” I said with hope in my eyes.

“That and if the crowd agrees. Now get the hell out there.”

I set out through the arena gates and into the sands of death. My blood will not quench the sand’s thirst today.

I walk out to the boos of thousands of romans. The sound is deafening. I feel my confidence start to waiver but I must stay strong. My wife and daughter need me.

Priscus comes strutting out of his side of the arena to screams of admiration and applause. Winning the crowds favor may be harder than I expected. Not only must I win this, I must win it in an extraordinary fashion.

We meet at the middle of the arena and lock eyes. We stare into each other’s very souls. I will crush him. I must become a beast. I must fight like a lion.

They call for the fight to begin. Immediately Priscus hits me in the chest with a push kick. I go flying backwards and my sword flies out of my hand. Not off to a great start.

“You went down very easily little one. I think this will be my quickest kill yet,” he laughed as he walked over to me.

He raised his sword and started to bring it down towards my chest but I already had a handful of sand. I launched the sand into his eyes and he stumbled and turned his back towards me. You shouldn’t play with your kill.

I reach over and grab my sword and slice the blade across his heel. He let out a yelp and turned back to me, recovering from his temporary blindness.

“You fucking rat. I will make you pay for that,” he screeched. “I’m going to rip your eyes from your sockets and force them down your throat. I’m going to cut each of your limbs off one by one and set you on fire. You will feel the full wrath of Priscus!”

“You talk too much. Put your words into action.”

He charged at me like a raging Bull. Not a good tactic either. I sidestepped and smacked his back with the flat of my blade. He hit the dirt and two of his teeth came out. The crowd went silent, then erupted with excitement.

I turned to him and gestured for him to get up. I will kill this man on his feet if it comes to that. Only a coward kills a man on his knees.

He pulls himself up slowly. His teeth are a jumbled mess and his mouth is so full of blood that he has to spit a few times. The blood from his mouth and the blood from his sliced heel begin to form a pool at his feet. He is definitely not putting on a champion performance.

He rushes at me again and flurries with his sword. I deflect all his incoming attacks with ease but the last one slips past my guard. His blade is inches away from my nose but I lean back just in time as it flies by. I am in my element today. I feel as if the gods have blessed me with their presence.

Priscus’s breathing is labored. He doesn’t have much fight left in him. He’s not used to his opponents being so elusive. Now it’s my turn to go on the attack.

I feint high left with my sword but at the last second duck and cut across his stomach. Then I throw I vicious leg kick to his already bloodied heel. He crumples once again.

Part of me would like to stay in this coliseum. To become champion and fight for glory. But I’m a family man and I need to return home.

Priscus finds his feet again. What he lacks in brain he makes up for in heart. I feel the end coming on. I must finish this.

He is completely winded. He’s desperately slashing at me now. I duck and weave avoiding all of his strikes. His blade meets mine and I slip past his guard and stab into his shoulder. He lets out an animalistic cry of pain.

He falls to his knees as a defeated man. To make sure, I end it with the same attack his began with. A push kick to the chest that sends him flying back.

The crowd is going absolutely wild and I feel as if I’ve won. I stand over Priscus and look to the judge. His balances his thumb sideways. Teetering between life and death. His thumb lands upward. Priscus will live to fight another day.

I reach my hand out to him and he takes it. I pull him to his feet.

“Well fought brother, you would make an excellent gladiator. No one has ever came close to defeating me and you did so with such ease. The gods must favor you greatly,” said Priscus.

“They must not favor me so much since I ended up here. But I will admit I have never felt more fluid,” I replied.

I return through the gates and back to the arena master.

“Well done Atticus. You put on a masterclass performance and I hereby grant you your freedom. Feel free to stop by anytime. The arena could use a warrior like you,” he said. “And here is the gold for winning. There’s a bonus in there for defeating the champion. There is also a little extra in there for your troubles. Those Roman soldiers can be real bastards. I’ve arranged a carriage to bring you home. Take care Atticus.”

I entered the carriage and begin my journey home. My family won’t be happy that I’ve been gone so long but they will enjoy all the extra food we can get with this gold. Perhaps I will reconsider returning to the coliseum again. I just have to make sure it’s okay with my wife first.