What a night. He had no idea what time it was, but then that’s the way they planned it. No windows, no clocks and no way of knowing how long you’ve been sitting there spending money you don’t have. He’d lost a fortune tonight or was that yesterday? He was currently ambling along an alleyway, hoping that he was going in the direction of his apartment. He stopped for a minute; he had no recollection of how he had come to be in this alley. He shrugged his shoulders as though his thoughts were being shared with others and continued his ambling. He couldn’t understand how he always lost so much. It started out the same way every time. First there was the rush that came just from playing the game. The entire room was full of people holding their breath, all of them dreaming of winning the jackpot. The excitement, the intensity was electric and he felt as though it was rushing through his veins. It was a thrill that came from nothing less than betting it all. He remembered every win and forgot every loss. All that mattered was the game. Then all of a sudden, reality would intrude on the fantasy. He’d realize that he was thousands of dollars in the hole, that he’d had been playing for the last eighteen hours straight and that he’d missed work. It felt unreal; he was drunk, but it was a lingering grogginess rather than an intoxicated glow. More than anything he felt confused; it was like he’d blacked out and woken up in an entirely different place. He would start to wonder how he had got to where he was. Had he really bet ten thousand dollars on the turn of a card? He knew he was smarter then that and yet, it hadn’t been someone else; it had been him. However it was a him that was diseased. The truth was starring him in face: he had a gambling addiction. He was disgusted with himself. It was as though he had a horrible, seeping wound, half scabbed over and hideous beyond words. All he wanted to do, all he could think about doing was cutting it off, purging his body of this terrible affliction. Only it wasn’t so simple. This was in his mind, in his soul. It was a part of him and one he felt he couldn’t escape from. He had come to another stop, though he couldn’t seem to remember when. He looked up and found that he was standing outside his front door and that his keys were in his hands. He unlocked his door and stumbled into his apartment. It was a mess; it reflected its owner. He pushed a collection of remotes, sweaters, a pizza box and a couple of random socks off his couch and collapsed onto the stained upholstery. Sleep brought him sweet oblivion. He woke sometime later. It was dark outside but he didn’t know if it was morning or night. He felt weighted down and yet hungry at the same time. He reached for his laptop which he had left on his coffee table. It had been sleeping too. He pulled up a local news site hoping for the time and the weather. The top headline caught his eye. It read: “Casino burns down in suspected arson.” The article didn’t offer much more information. Police believed that a drunken patron had started the fire, but as of yet they had no suspects. A few people had received minor burns and there were a couple of broken bones reported, but overall no one had been seriously injured. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small match box that had the words “Lucky Number 7 Casino” written on it. It was empty. He smiled. His future suddenly seemed a lot brighter and he thought to himself, “Finally, seven is my lucky number.”
The very building itself looked ominous. If you looked past the high fence, the barb wire, the guards clad in body-armor clutching their semi automatic weapons; if you looked only at the grey cinder blocked building, it looked doomed. However, prisons were rarely architecturally beautiful. It looked exactly like what it was; a fortress. Only this was a fortress designed to keep people in, rather than keep people out. As he stood staring up at the building so many people had told him was his destiny, he thought about how a few different choices in his life could have led him to a different fate. Here he was standing on the outside looking at a place most people shuddered at the very mention of. It had happened when he was seventeen; he wanted to buy clothing with the right labels; he wanted to have the cash to go out every night and party without having to bum cigarettes off everyone else. He wanted everything he saw in the movies, the music videos and the magazine ads. And then a friend of a friend offered a solution. At first he was just a look-out. His job was simply to warn the big players if there was everyone watching. Then he started handling; he did the grunt work. All his instructions began with the words, “Grab that” and ended with “put it there.” He didn’t feel guilty. And the money was incredible. All he had to do was go where they told him to go, do what they asked him to do and keep his mouth shut. Suddenly he was at all the best parties; he had all the right clothes and nobody dared to mess with him because they feared his friends. He was living the life. He never played around with the stuff; he wasn’t stupid. He was just one minor cog in the greater machine. He didn’t mouth off or draw attention to himself in any way. Eventually he had a reputation of being a closed mouth guy that worked hard and who could be trusted. His parents knew that something was up, but they were smart enough not to ask. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful. He did what he wanted to do and he could buy whatever he wanted without having to beg for hand-outs. He was a man who suddenly had complete control over his life. And life was good. However, that was when things went wrong. A hand-off was interrupted by the police and a few major players were taken down. He had been saving for the day when he could get out of “the game” and this was his chance. The group broke up and the fight for leadership quickly escalated. Several were killed and the police took down a few others. In all the confusion, no one noticed that he was no longer active. He got out and moved to a different part of the city. He got a job in construction and his well-honed ability to do what he was told without question paid off once more. The money wasn’t what it had been, but it was still good. He was quiet and so most thought of him as reliable and loyal; he never contradicted them. Slowly all the old ties deteriorated and he was forgotten; a minor player from a different era. Now here he stood, in front of the very prison he would have been sent to had he been caught. He had never been on the police’s radar, but he still watched his step around cops. The company he worked for was doing some excavation work for a nearby dump and the dark bulk of the “correctional facility” loomed above the workers. It made many of the men nervous and he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t the only one who had crossed the line of the law at some time in the past. Fate was a funny thing, he thought. By law he had been a trafficker and now here he was a free man unburdened by a criminal record. He had been lucky once and he knew that only a man without sense would ever try pressing that luck again. His boss came around and announced the end of the work day. He packed up and when asked declined going out for an after work drink. Climbing into his truck, he turned back for a moment and silently he sent up a prayer of thanks for having been spared a fate, most considered, worse than death.
She ran around the corner, hair streaming out behind her. She was fast, faster than he’d expected, but he knew he’d catch her. She didn’t stand a chance. Her feet pounded the grass, her breathe came out as half a pant, half a sob. She was tiring quickly. Soon she would be done. All he had to do was keep it. She dodged under a tree branch; she was heading into the woods at the back of the house. This late at night, among the trees and with no light except the pitiful amount being shed by the half moon hanging above in the still night, the woods were a dangerous place to be. Tree roots tripped you up and branches snared your clothing. Both of them were forced to slow their pace, as they pushed their way through the trees. She shot him a panicked look over her shoulder; he smirked in response. Both knew how this would end. She was all out of ammo and as long as he was careful, his shot would end it. She plunged ahead, forcing aside the undergrowth. Even if he did lose sight of her for a moment, the path she was leaving would have been clear even to the most inexperienced tracker. However he grew up in these woods and he knew how to follow a trail. Ducking and weaving through a fantastical web of twigs and falling leaves, he gained on her. He had always been competitive and he was determined to win this game of survival. He would not quit, not when he was this close to victory. Another look over her shoulder told her that she couldn’t continue to out run him. He was too near for that now and she was exhausted. She had one ace left up her sleeve and that was to outthink him. She started glancing about for the right place and at long last, opportunity smiled upon her. Seeing a dead hollowed out tree, she dove to the ground and scrambled along on her hands and knees. She rounded the fallen log and braced her back against the rotting wood. She tried to control her breathing as best she could; willing her racing heart to slow down, lest its frantic beating alert him as to where she was hiding. He advanced through the trees. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for clues as to where she had disappeared to. He had seen her hit the ground, but she hadn’t cried out meaning that she had planned the fall. Seeing the log before him, he smiled confidently and walking on his very tip toes, he silently advanced towards her. He knew his prey; she would never have crawled into the deteriorating tree; she had a fear of insects, especially spiders. No, she would not be inside. He readied his weapon and hands raised, he paused for a moment and then with a blood-curdling scream, he jumped across the log and hurled the water balloon at the place where he thought she would be. Water exploded at the point where the balloon contacted the wood. He had missed; she wasn’t there. Puzzled, he stopped; victory had been denied him and he was suddenly weary from the chase. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move and looking up quickly, the pulled back and released pine branch caught him full in the face. He crumpled, howling to the ground as she stood, hands-on-hips, smiling down on him from above. Victory, he learned, was never ensured until the war was over.
Sleep was impossible on a night like this. After all, tomorrow would be his coronation day. And that wasn’t the type of day that you ever forgot; or for that matter, was ever repeated. The castle was quiet and cold. He wandered through its halls, happy to able to move freely for one last time, unencumbered by bodyguards or an entourage. Slowly he made his way to the Great Hall. It was here that he would be crowned King of the Realm. The thought sent mixed emotions swirling through him. He had been taught to be a ruler throughout his entire life. He had always known that one day this responsibility would be his, but now that the day was at last here, he was afraid that he wouldn’t be up to the task. He was to be king, but would he be a good king? Would he be a peaceful ruler or a military leader? What did he want for his people and want did his people want of him? All of these questions circled endlessly in his mind. Walking into the throne room, he simply stopped and one thought rose above all the rest; can I do this? Standing in the shadowy entrance, staring at the throne that would be his, it took him a moment before he noticed that he wasn’t alone. An old woman who he recognized as a kitchen maid was down on her hands and knees scrubbing gently at the pure white carpet that ran throughout the hall and up to the dais upon which the throne sat. Sliding back even deeper into the shadows, he said to the old woman, “It is after three in the morning, why are you in here? What are you scrubbing at?” “There is a stain here on the carpet and tomorrow a new king shall be crowned. It would not due for his carpet to be stained while the entire country is watching.” “Stained? With what? Who caused this? Shouldn’t they be the one to clean up this mess?” “It was a young boy who works in the kitchen. He is working to support his mother and sisters. His father died almost a year ago and they have no money. So the boy was sent here to work. He was helping with the clean-up from dinner and he took a short cut through here to see the throne of the new king. He accidentally spilt some of the red wine that was in one of the goblets that he was carrying. Poor thing, he was almost frantic with fear. He is afraid that the new king will be so angry with him that he will have the boy’s head cut off. Then his family would starve. He was sent off to bed without his supper as a punishment, though I think his fear will be more than enough punishment as it is. However that is why I am here, scrubbing the red stain out of the white carpet. Why are you awake at this hour, good sir?” Never once did the old woman look up as she had related her tale; nor did she do so now. She doesn’t know to whom she is speaking, he thought. Now he would have some of the answers to his questions. “Do you think that the new king would do such a thing as execute a child, all for the crime of staining the royal carpet? Is that the type of king you think the people expect?” “I can’t pretend to know what all the people in the kingdom think, but for myself I know that is not the type of king I am hoping for. And I don’t believe that that is the type of king that we will get. I’ve watched this prince grow up, you know. I have seen him mature into a man and I believe that he will make a great king.” “How would you define a “great” king?” “A great king, is one who is compassionate, understanding, strong, intelligent and above all else, the type of man who puts others before himself. He is man proud of his people and who demands as much from himself as he demands from them. He should not be quick to anger, nor of the vengeful sort. He should be determined to do what is right.” “And how is he to know what is right?” “Knowing what is right is simple. All you have to do is determine what path is the hardest to take and that is the path you chose.” “And you think that the man who is to be crowned tomorrow is that sort of man?” “No. I know that he is that sort of man. I have no doubt that this king will be a good man and an even better king.” “Well, I hope you are right.” Turning to leave, he stopped and turned back. This old kitchen maid had silenced all of his fears. Her simple belief in him was the most precious gift he had ever received. “Good night, ma’am.” Without turning, she raised her head and looking directly at the throne she replied, “Good night, your majesty.” He smiled and went back to bed. Tomorrow was his coronation day after all.
With hair the color of blackest midnight and eyes a violent violet, he was striking. High cheekbones and a clean stark jaw-line foretold of a determination that cut to the bone. He was tall, broad-shouldered and possessed a leashed strength that was best described as tenacious. Two jet hued eyebrows slashed across his high forehead, with tips that winged up at the ends. His skin was stretched utterly taut and was a translucent alabaster that seemed to glow from within. He was lean, but tightly muscled and the type of man that is naturally feared by all. No one who ever saw him believed him to be anything less than the predator he so clearly was. Sharp minded with a clever tongue that matched, he shredded every opponent he ever faced. He never showed even the slightest sign of a vicious temper, but it seemed to threaten just beneath the urbanely cool surface. He seldom raised his velvety voice, but rather when questioned he lowered it, deepened and darkened it until it made the skin crawl and the soul cringe in abject terror. He never smiled, smirked, simpered or stole. He did not beg, brag, bellow, borrow nor bend. He believed in duty, dignity and dedication. He was a proud man and vanity was something he claimed to abhor. He was well-educated, well-spoken and well-dressed. However, well-to-do he was not. His wealth was great and his ancestry was of kings and conquerors. A man skilled in the arts of war and command, his hands were neither red nor dirty. Suspected yet never charged, few would dare to cross his path. Those who did lived only long enough to sincerely regret having made such a decision. He frowned when they flirted; he scrutinized when they stared. He was as unpredictable as he was constant. Not one to fade into the background, he could move without making a sound. His style was simple; he wore mostly tailored black accented with hints of silver. His shirts were as crisp as his manners and his attire was as flawless as his diction was exact. His shoes were hand-made Italian and were polished to a fine shine. He was elegant rather than excessive; bold, but not brash. His absolute control was clearly apparent in every stride he took. Women swore that he was a fallen angel and men claimed he was Lucifer’s favorite brother. He never faltered in what he did nor attempted anything without success. He had the charisma of an entertainer, the powerful personality of a political head and the sly, silent sleuth of a sniper. He could enter a room without anyone’s notice. He would appear slowly; a shadow gradually gaining substance. He could enter a room and command the attention of all within it. He would stride forward; appearing as a god among men. Everyone knew of him; everyone had heard of him, but no one could classify him. His secrets belonged to him and he never allowed them to leak out. He was forever solitary, but this was by choice and as such he was never seen as an object of pity. He fascinated others; he mesmerized them, but none dared to approach him. None dared to question him. None dared to touch him. He understood all and was understood by none. He was without fear and engendered fear in all those he encountered. He did not live; he did not exist; he simply was. His name was Dante.
Cashiers never get to say what they are thinking. They are like automated dolls; they have to be polite at all times, even when customers are rude. They have to smile even though they’ve been standing in the same place for two and a half hours making small talk with strangers. However, ever once and a while a customer will come along who really makes an impression. Katelyn was a cashier at Canadian Tire. She was sixteen years old and had been working there for two years. She was one of the best cashiers in the store and she never lost her cool. She was always polite and well-mannered, as well as efficient. And no matter how good-looking a man was, she never stared or swooned. Katelyn was a young woman with her feet firmly planted on the ground. One night in January, at around six or seven o’clock when the store was all but empty, Katelyn and three other girls were standing at their tills, chatting about nothing in particular. A young man, no older than his early twenties walked up to Katelyn’s till and set his sportswear items on her counter. “Hello, how are you this eveni… ahh, hi.” As her words trailed away, Katelyn’s world came to a sudden, shuddering stop. Standing before her was a man with the most amazing eyes she had ever seen. They were clear and deep and a color somewhere between green and blue. She felt as though everything was floating and she finally understood the meaning of the phrase “falling into someone’s eyes.” There was a long pause, and she realized that she hadn’t moved since he’d come up. Reacting slowly, as though she was trying to move underwater she eventually managed to speak. “Ahhh, right, hi. How are you this morning? I mean, this evening?” With a smile that was all-too-knowing, the young man replied in a smooth voice, “I’m fine. How about yourself?” All Katelyn could think about was how she now finally understood how eyes could be sexy… very sexy. They seemed to contain all the secrets she’d ever want the answers to. In the back of her mind she realized that he was a good-looking man, cute rather than hot and that he was of average height. He also had dark hair and a great smile. She just kept coming back to his eyes though; they fascinated her. She felt mesmerized and slightly simple all at the same time. Again, it took her some time before she could speak coherently. “Me? Oh, I’m fine, thanks. And you? I mean, did you find everything you were looking for today, tonight?” She had to get a hold of herself! She never acted this way. “Yes, I did find everything I was looking for, thank you.” And he continued smiling. He really did have a nice smile. “Right, good. Umm… Right, I need to ring through your stuff. Ok, I can do that. I got this. Ok.” She was babbling. He knew she babbling; she knew she was babbling. Why couldn’t she stop babbling? Taking decisive action, Katelyn grabbed one of his items and scanned it through. Feeling accomplished she grabbed for the next one. Only this time, the item was apparently reluctant to scan. Well, she thought, I’ll fix that! With what was probably an unnecessary amount of vigor, Katelyn began swiping the item back and forth in front of the scanner. Multiple beeps later, she realized that the item, according to the computer was actually eight items. “Oh! That’s not right! I am so sorry! I promise I can fix that! They told us in orientation that this could happen. I know how to fix this. Trust me, you won’t have to buy eight of these. I mean or get a refund. Oh, God.” She was mortified. This was the most absurdly humiliating moment in her entire life. She was acting like a bimbo! She was not this girl! She had to get control of herself. Taking a remarkably deep breath, she deleted seven items from his account. Ok, problem solved. Another very deep breath later, Katelyn squared her shoulders and with the facial expression of a general surveying the enemy, she turned to her customer. “I apologize for that, sir. I will now scan through your other items. Yes, that is what I will do.” She didn’t say “even if it kills me,” but the words seemed to hang in the air regardless. Without looking up, she scanned through the other three items without incident. “Ha! Did it!” She pumped her fist triumphantly into the air. ‘Ah, yes, you did do it. Well done. What’s the price?” Had she honestly just pumped her fist? Oh, God, she thought, I’m turning into a lunatic! “Price, yes! The total comes to $22.89. I mean, $22.98. Yes, that is the price of your purchases, or is that purchase? Never mind! It’s $22 .98… please.” Again, the smile. He knew, he so knew. Calmly and with no fumbling or babbling whatsoever, he handed her a twenty and a five. “Thank you, sir. I will now get you your change. Here is a twoonie and two cents. That is your correct change. Hence the reason why I am giving it to you.” Shaking her head, Katelyn closed her till and handed him his receipt. “Have a nice day! Night! It’s evening. Have a nice night. Ok, yeah, bye.” He didn’t move. She didn’t move. He looked at her expectantly. She looked at his eyes. Still he didn’t move. Wait a minute, she thought, maybe he feels this too? Maybe that’s why he’s not leaving! He can’t walk away anymore than I can! “Ah, miss? Could I have my bag, please?” Crash. So much for that. Feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, Katelyn snatched his plastic bag and thrust it into his hands. She didn’t trust herself to speak. “Thank you. Bye.” With that, he walked towards the doors. He had made it as far as the second set before the laughter of three young cashiers burst out loud. He turned and with that adorable, knowing smile waved goodbye. Katelyn’s head hit the counter. She groaned and he was gone.
The water hurried across the pebbles, swirled around the larger rocks and raced along the rapids. Everything it touched was soothed, smoothed and softened. Ragged edges were washed away and the result was long, flowing curves. The air was fresh, the breeze cooling and the music of the surrounding forest was muted into a sweet lullaby. The rich smell of the earthy loam and that of the sticky, sappy pines was diluted here at the banks of the rushing river. Water, she thought, made everything better. Its sounds could lull you, its touch could cool you and its taste could ease you. Water is gentle, but inevitable. It is light and yet determined. It can heal, clean or even erode. Water is the key to all life. She sat quietly on the river bank, contemplating water and its place in her life. Her mind and body were often filled with confusion and pain. To her it seemed as though her suffering stretched on forever in front of her. However, water had always calmed her. And whenever life struck her down, she would seek out its purity. It didn’t matter if it was a still lake or a small chattering stream or even, such as now, a surging, swollen river. Sometimes all she could get to was a warm bath, but even that was better than nothing. Bathing was mundane for others, but for her it was what kept her from aching, inside and out. It was her bulwark between contentment and chaos. For most people, a barrier made of water would not normally inspire confidence, but for her it was something tangible. By its very nature water moved and shifted constantly. It protected her from her greatest fears while at the same time smoothing her rough edges, soothing her soul and softening her pain into something close to manageable. As she sat there, some small fish flashed by before her. Their sleek, gleaming bodies moved fluidly within the current. If only, she thought, if only I could live in the water like they do. If only I could be somewhere other than here. She felt as though she was on the outside; she felt as though she was forever looking in. And this was a feeling she had had for her whole life. I wish, she thought, I could be someone else. With those words ringing in her mind, she slowly stood up and reached out her hand, submerging it in the river. It was absolutely perfect; cool, languid, ever moving on. However, soon that was not enough. She wanted to be one with the water. No other thought crossed her mind; no inner self awareness turned her back. She eased slowly off the bank and lowered herself into the surging tide. The river seemed to embrace her and she welcomed it wholeheartedly. The water swirled around her and it gently pulled her into its dance. Together they flitted down the stream, one within the other. Time passed and still she glided along, her thoughts myriad though fleeting. Eventually all consciousness washed away completely. Three days later, her body washed up on shore. Those who found her were surprised by the serenity of her expression. She looked peaceful and content. Her death was reported as an accident. Authorities assumed that she had fallen into the river and had drowned. It was considered a tragedy. Water had, in the end simply washed her away.