The first time I noticed Joyce was in fourth grade. My class was playing her class in kickball. Before the game, I walked across the field and told her I would like to walk her home after the game.
I said, “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”
In high school she enjoyed going to dances. Me, not so much. One evening I walked over to her side of the gym floor where she was sitting with a herd of girls, and I told her I don’t dance but would really like to drive her home afterwards.
I said, “ I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”
After we got married she liked to shop. Me, not so much. I would let her off on one side of the shopping mall.
I then said, “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”
Now, after a great life, I find myself in a hospital bed with all kinds of tubes attached to me. It will turn out to be the last day of my life.
I gently place her hand in mine. I inhale my last breath. I begin to exhale when I say my last words, “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”
​

The old woman cast the runes and frowned. “She mustn’t go on the voyage.”

My grandfather nodded and helped her up from the floor. “Thank you for the advice, Sigrid. We will heed it.”

Grandfather saw her to the door. Sigrid paused and looked Grandfather in the eyes. “Don’t let that child go on that voyage.”

He nodded and handed her money.

Grandfather was the patriarch of our family and I never knew him not to be in charge. My father always stood down. It was the way of the old country.

“Dad, we’re in England. I was born here. I’m not a child. I’m 23 years old. And do we really have to use ancient Norse magic?”

Grandfather sat at the table and looked at me. “Hush, child. Runes are very powerful. Sigrid is the most widely respected rune caster in all of England. We are fortunate to have her live close.”

“But the ship sails in under one month,” I pleaded.

Father stood up. “The answer is no, Ingrid. You will not be on that ship. There will be no more discussion on the matter.”

I stared in disbelief. This was the first time father weighed in on a matter where Grandfather had made a decision. The case was closed.

On April 10th, 1912, the Titanic set sail from Southampton, England, without Ingrid on board.
​

A paint-box full of colors and yet she couldn’t decide which one to choose. Andi was exasperated both with herself and with the picture in front of her. She’d chosen such a simple subject and yet it consistently eluded her; would she ever get it right? This was the third time she’d set out to try and it would probably be the third time she’d tear up the paper.

When she’d begun painting she thought that water-colors would suit her best rather than oil or acrylics, but now she truly wondered.

Her goal was to achieve the variables of color in nature, a lofty goal in and of itself, she knew that before she began, but she was determined to face the challenge.

Today it was the trees behind her apartment; a small forest which, she hoped, she’d capture, but the more she worked the more frustrated she became. There were so many variants: silver-green, blue-green, gray-green; on and on it went. And the more she mixed the colors on her palette the further away she seemed to be from what she saw.

Maybe tomorrow, she thought, as she swished her brushes in the water, turning it into a perfect blending which she wished would, magically, appear on the paper.

“Okay, Barnaby,” she said to the basset hound who had suddenly awakened and decided that he wanted to go out. “Just a minute.”

As she turned to take him out she accidentally knocked over the water glass, spilling it on what should have been her painting, flooding the page with colored water.

Andi mopped up as quickly as possible with paper towels before turning to Barnaby and heading toward the door.

When they got back from Barnaby’s walk she got a phone call and then got further side-tracked so, eventually, the soaking wet paper remained on her painting desk, forgotten, as she went to bed.

That night Andi dreamt that she had finally achieved conquering Mother Nature’s palette and put it on paper.

At exactly seven-fifty a.m. Barnaby howled his daily alarm clock wake-up call. How he managed to be precise to the minute Andi never figured out, but he managed it daily and Andi got up, threw on some clothes and raced to take Barnaby out for his morning walk.

Twenty minutes later, having given Barnaby his breakfast, Andi returned to her painting table, expecting to clean up the mess she’d left the night before.
​
She’d hoped for magic and dreamt a magical transformation, but never expected to actually see a Jackson Pollock version of her forest, perfect in every manifestation of color. She’d worked so hard and never achieved her goal. Now all she had to do was to frame her "masterpiece", smile, and take all the credit.

The most skilled warrior in her homeland, Lea was called in to deal with the threat. It was a big threat, she was told. Perhaps the biggest she’d ever faced, the Leader had said.
At first, she was dubious. She’d dealt with a lot of monsters in her time, most of which were easily twice her height and six times above her weight class. But the Leader was insistent that Lea take great caution, and not be overconfident. The threat – a group of trolls – was not physically big, or strong, he explained, but they were cunning and cruel.
Previous warriors had all failed to defeat them, and it was becoming increasingly vital that the trolls were vanquished, as they had formed their lair underneath the main trading route and had majorly disrupted the exchange of food and supplies.
The people were suffering and Lea was their only hope.
She headed out to the water’s edge and across to where the trading route bridged the gap between land and sea. There, underneath the structure that all people entering and exiting the land had to pass, was the lair entrance.
Rallying her bravery and stilling her mind, Lea strode forth and tore down the barrier, ignoring the door completely.
The trolls jumped up in fright, hissing at the sunlight hitting the pale skin of their arms and legs. As they backed further into the shadows, she followed the retreat until she saw it: the glowing beacon from which they had been drawing their strength.
So she turned off the Wi-Fi router and tore their precious fibre optic cable in shreds.
​

Jim Taggart was exploring Manila, Philippines, the country where his now-deceased dad was a POW in last World War. Jim was advised to stay away from certain troubled neighborhoods. One day, he missed a turn and ended up in a desolate area; streets littered with broken glasses, discarded needles, and burned tires. Soon he discovered a fenced-in decrepit cemetery. The place was teeming with little children playing various sports amidst the tombstones, while adults carrying out daily life. Jim noticed a young girl, all alone, hitting tennis balls against a wall with a broken racket. He approached the girl and introduced himself. He asked whether he could show her a few gripping techniques. The girl smiled, nodded her head and agreed. Her name was Jenny. She informed Jim that an entire neighborhood living in various still-standing above-the-ground memorial chambers. After the practice, she took him to her family’s living quarter. Electricity was brought in by hijacking the local municipality’s power-line. Jenny’s younger brother was watching a soccer-game on live TV, while her mother was busy in cooking on an electric-stove at the corner of the chamber. This event took place almost a decade ago.

This summer, Jim was visiting London. While there, he caught the fever of the Wimbledon Tennis. At his request, his travel consultant was able to procure a ticket for an early round match for him. On a sunny day, he joined the long queue, entered the main court, and was led to his assigned seat by an usher. As he was taking his place, the players started to arrive to the court. One of the female players was a famous one dominating the sport for past twenty years. The other, just qualified to compete, was a short lanky one appeared to be of half the age of her opponent. From distance, Jim couldn’t recognize her. That’s when he looked into the day’s schedule. To his astonishment, Jim learned that one of the players was this year’s wild-card sensation Ms. Jenny Lin from Philippines. His heart began pounding, while he focused his sight at the younger player at the far side of the court. No doubt, it was that little girl from ten years ago, now all grown-up to be a confident teenager taking on a mighty opponent. It was a match made in heaven. Ms. Lin had no fear and didn’t care who her opponent was. She fought gallantly, saved several match-points in the final set before breaking down her opponent, and won the match. Later Jenny embraced her elder opponent at the net. Addressing the crowd, she broke down in tears telling them how growing up in the slums of Manila, she used to worship her idol, now the defeated opponent.

Jim stood silently for a few extra moments in the stands, now emptied. He understood why our humanity survives amidst all the mayhems going around the world.
​

It’s ridiculous to think ghosts could be about in sunlight, but there she was, I had
seen her before and I wasn't scared. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I sipped my coffee. The ghost was openly studying me, so I in turn gave her my full attention. Perhaps she was twelve or thirteen with a steady gaze and soft brown eyes, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.
Daylight, no sheet, I could just see my husbands eyebrows rise in that supercilious
way if I told him that there was a ghost, wearing jeans, in our kitchen. She was certainly a ghost, the kitchen clock said 10.20 and I could read it through her shirt. What do you say to a ghost? I waited hoping she would speak first.
If I reached out, would my hand go through the shirt?
The ghost smiled,could she read my mind? That wasn't in any movies. I suppose I’ll have to speak first, perhaps it's ghost etiquette to only speak when spoken to. The ghost smiled again.
“Now look here,” I said,’ I don't think you should be able to read my mind if I can't read yours”
'What makes you think you can't read mine' the question was there, but the girl hadn't spoken, I could feel her speaking to my heart.
How silly, drinking coffee and mind reading with a ghost.
“How did you die?”, the words came more easily.
“Do you have unfinished business?” Surely all those movies couldn’t be wrong.
'Well no, I haven't died, but I’m not born yet either', her spirit sounded small and lost,
'I need your help because I want to live.’
“I don’t understand, who are you?” I gasped as I felt her reply.
'You're my mother,or you could be if you help me.’
“How can you be mine? If you can read minds you know I take contraceptives.”
How could I bring any child into this marriage? I studied my bruised cheek in the window.
“I’m not your mother and you wouldn’t want him as a father.” It sounded harsh,
“I can’t protect a child from him. I’m sorry, I wish you were mine.”
'I could be if you leave before he comes home,” her eyes were warm and pleading.
‘Leave and I will be your child in the future, stay and he will kill you tonight.’
“I can't leave, he will come after me.”I panicked,“You can't want him as a father , you would never be safe”
'He isn't my father, my father is in your future. A safe future, if you leave now.’
This beautiful girl could be my child , I stepped closer, her image wavered.
‘Hurry, leave now!’
“How will I know your father?” I asked, grabbing the case hidden in the broom cupboard after yesterday's beating.
The child had gone, but the thought came to me with her laughter,
'I have his eyes'
​

Dragging his carry-on suitcase behind him, Carl wearily pushes through the door. After three connections and a delayed flight, he’s finally home.

Wiping his brow, he looks up to see Marci, their “babysitter,” lost in a book sitting in the recliner. She’s brought back to the real world only when he clears his throat.

“Oh, Mr. G! You’re home. Mrs. G said you’d probably be late. She had to go to work.”

“Yeah, the wonderful world of flying. How’s Mark?”

“You know, other than grumbling about me having to be here, he’s lost in that video game, Dark Fantasy.”

Carl smiles. “Something about being 12 makes you think you’re ready for the world.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“No need, Mr. G, Mrs. G paid already.”

He nods, but yet pulls out a 10. “Here, a little extra for all you do...and puttin’ up with a 12-year-old’s attitude.”

She laughs and takes the bill with a thanks. Tossing her book in her pack, she starts for the entry.
“You need a ride or anything?”

“Nope, but thanks. Got my dad’s car.” She flashes another quick smile and waves, then slides through the door.

Carl moves over to the front window, keeping an eye until she’s safe in the car and on her way. Loosening his tie, he heads up the stairs, giving a light tap on Mark’s door before stepping in.

“Oh, hey, Dad. Didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got in. How’s Mom?”

“Good. Think she had to work or somethin’.”

“So I heard.” Carl juts his chin in the direction of the curtained window. “You know, there’s this bright thing called the sun out there calling for you. We could go out and toss a ball or something. Supposed to be nice tomorrow again and I’m off...maybe we could go fishin’?”

“Thanks, Dad. Maybe some other time. I just got to Level 16, Shadowland.” He takes a deep sigh.
​
“But I’m kinda stuck. My partner has been off line since last night, and you really need to team up for this next demon.”

“Partner?”

“Yeah. T-Rex44. He’s really a cool dude. We’ve been kickin’ as...uh, butt together since Level 5.”

“A cool dude, eh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “Okay, well I’m gonna get these stinkin’ work clothes off and kick back for a bit. I’ll come get you for dinner later.”

“Can’t we just order a pizza?”

Carl gives his head another shake. “Okay, sounds good.”

He heads down the hall, tucking into the master bedroom, twisting the lock on the door as he closes it behind him. He tosses his suit jacket and tie on the bed, then slips into the “sitting nook,” a little alcove in the large room. He sits at the desk, jet lag taking its toll, and fires up the PC.

A beep tells him the PC is alive, and clicks on the application.