ANONYMOUS


    DECEMBER 1978


    My eyes are sore and red—I’ve been looking at this computer screen for an eternity. There are painful scabs on my lips that won’t go away. Around me are blurry faces, people walking around me, hurrying to and fro from one side of the building to the other like ants.


    I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a shower or eaten a meal, but none of that matters, because I only have five more days until the release date for one of our most anticipated arcade releases on the market—Pinball Adventure and Rainbow Warrior— just in time for the holidays. First person shooter games are my kryptonite; I’m nearly finished with the sound effects. I lick my scabbed lips.


    I am almost finished.


    My fingers are glued to the keyboard; the clacking of the keys are making my head spin uncontrollably. How many cups of coffee have I had? Too many. Dark stains underneath the sleeves of my wrinkled plaid shirt; the top buttons are missing, it is glued to my sweat soaked collarbones. My desk is covered in crumpled paper, cigarette ashes, candy wrappers, and pencil shavings. Wads of bubble gum—a whole month’s supply—are stuck to the bottom. I cough and wave the smoke rising in the air in front of me from my cigarette.


    I’ve also dropped out of school. It’s not like the things they were teaching me were useless, but the classes were taking too long. Four years is too much of an investment that I just can’t afford at the moment. And with that time, I could be practicing my code—learning new languages. I’ve been blowing out my paychecks on the thick textbooks and reviewing them myself each night. If I have any questions or if I am struggling with a concept, I know I can snag a tutor from the yellow pages. School will have to remain on the back burner for now. I don’t know why I believed college was necessary. I just wanted to impress Mama.


    So far, I have developed and designed Elimination, Air Raids, Adventure, and Human Cannonball, both for the arcade and console. I am working too slow. Nolan reminds me of this every day. My coworkers get a kick out of it.


    I try not to pay attention to the bubbly chatter around me; my coworkers are preparing to fly off for the holidays, to spend time with their family and friends. I don’t know who these people are because they come and go so fast. I can’t recognize anyone. Some are even wanting to go skiing or hiking. I’ve never encountered any snow in my life, but a change of scenery would indeed be lovely, to get away from the hot weather. But I have no money to do such things, so a night swim at one of the local beaches, where no one can see me, will have to do until I can make it happen. I just need to get better at saving.


    I’ve listened to my coworkers ramble on and on as they complain about their assigned tasks. I can’t help but notice how nice their office clothes are—it would take me months to afford what they have. I’m there before them and the last to leave. I hit my deadlines while other developers lag behind. I draw my concepts on the chalk board, spend hours upon hours writing, reviewing, and rewriting code again—both for the arcades and the consoles. No one ever talks to me, and I don’t know why. People only place unfinished projects on my desk and say that they need it done by a certain time, before walking off. In a way, I enjoy the extra work because it gives me more opportunity to practice. I’ve tried to ask a couple of people who work in the same department to come with me for lunch break, but they only give me a dirty look, before heading outside in the humid California air.


    It is not so bad, though. I try to convince myself this. They can invite me another day.


    I pick up my wrinkled paper bag and head to the tiny lounge, sitting noisily at an empty table. As I continue to gnaw on the corner of my tuna and mayonnaise sandwich, I sketch out some new sprites on my notepad with my dull pencil for another personal project that I am working on. What it is supposed to be, I am not sure yet. But I know that I want it to be ocean themed. I’ve had my fill of outer space and galaxy games—it gets dull after a while. I’m sure the market is sick of them too.


    The concept is simple. A giant, enormous squid chases the player across the ocean. The player has to navigate their way through clusters of other sea animals to avoid being snatched and captured by the squid, while navigating constantly changing sea currents. If the squid catches them, they are eaten. If the player can swallow a precious oyster that they find in the sand, they are able to gain immense power and destroy their attacker.


    It’s a stupid idea, but I can’t help but smile as I add some wonky details around the frames of my wacky sea creatures with exaggerated eyes and teeth. I’m drawing in a long, twisted tentacle when I hear footsteps echoing in the room. A satchel slams on the surface of the table, causing coffee to slosh over the rim of my paper cup. It gets all over my notepad, soaking the page through. I slowly look up.


    ”There you are.”


    Nolan releases an exasperated sigh as he unzips the top of the satchel and pulls out a folder of papers and takes the seat in front of me. He puts on his glasses and began shuffling through each page. Despite his neat, clean suit, his hair is sticking up in all directions, and there are bags visible under his eyes. His dark eyes meet mine.


    “What are you doing? Whenever I need you, you’re not there. I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes straight, going all over the place.”


    “I….I was just…” I glance at the clock. “I was just taking a quick break for lunch.”


    Nolan picks up my soaked notebook, dangling it between his fingers. Coffee drips from the edge of the page and creates a growing puddle on the surface of the table.


    My throat tightens.


    “Here’s the thing, alright?” He leans forward, causing his seat to creak. “Time is money. We don’t pay you to hide out here in the staff lounge and make doodles when the rest of us are hustling. I need you to stay focused. You have a deadline to meet, and here you are, just wasting time.” He stabs his finger into the surface of the table. “I want those games finished—sound effects, color design, cartridge case, everything on my desk by tomorrow morning, do you hear me?”


    I stare at him.


    “You’re leaving more work behind for those on your team who have to clean up your mess. You’re not following our guidelines, you keep implementing new designs. You’re not authorized to do so without permission. If you do this again I will take it up with management.” His eyes narrows. “Or is that too hard for you country hillbillies to get?”


    My face burns—I need to get better at hiding my accent. “I…I really like the designs, it just that they become repetitive after a while, you know? I’ve got plenty of new ones we can choose from.” I reach for my notebook. “We can bring the others in, so we’ll have a meeting about it. Look, I can show you—”


    Nolan scowls and snatches it away. “This isn’t about you. This is about us getting that game out on time. I’m getting complaints not just from management, but from staff around you.” He wrinkles his nose. “Have you even looked in the mirror lately? You can’t even keep up with basic hygiene. I’ve talked about this with you before. You need to shower before you come in; employees have been telling me all month that they can’t stand being around you.” He tosses my notebook into the trashcan. “How are you supposed to represent us in this way?”


    I look down at my scuffed sneakers. “I’ve…I’ve been…behind on a few utility bills lately, so they cut off my electricity and water.” I rub the back of my neck. “But I’ll take care of it, I promise. You won’t hear any more of it.”


    “You’ve been real sluggish lately, but that’s not really why I’m here.” Nolan rubs his forehead. “The CEO has an assignment for you.” He shoves the folder directly in my hands. “He’s asking to develop a prototype for a new game. Not for the arcade, for the console.” His dark eyes gleamed. “He insisted that he can’t find another programmer who’ll deal with it. I recommended you. You’ve got some extra hardware experience, don’t you?”


    I pick up the folder and flip through it. A brief moment of silence passes between us, and I purse my lips, scanning the information. In my mind, I can see where each piece is meant to fit, although there are some tangles. I’m going to have to go to the chalk board and draw it out, get a picture. Once I have my plan, I should be set. My jaw tightens at the sight of my notebook in the trash, still dripping with lukewarm coffee. It took me weeks to come up with those designs.


    “Well?” Nolan demanded.


    I gaze at him. I don’t think he knows yet I flunked out of school. Till then, I’ll keep him guessing. It’s either a hit or miss, anyways.


    “Don’t be like that.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ll be compensated, okay? Ray Kassar made sure that you’ll receive five thousand for the job, as well as a three hundred and seventy-five bonus. We’ll get that ready for you. In the meantime, I need you to focus.” He points at the garbage, then the office door. “Not on that, nor those people. This. I’m the tester for this project, you’re the engineer.”


    Now you’re talking. I only make twenty-five thousand a year with this job anyway. Five grand would help me immensely, as I’m already at risk from being kicked out from my apartment. Silently, I reach over and wipe up the coffee spill with the napkins, before taking another huge bite out of my sandwich, wiping the crumbs from my hand. I’m not really hungry anymore, but I could use the energy.


    “How long?”


    “What?”


    I’m still chewing. “When does he want it?”


    Nolan stands up and smirks. “Three days. And once the prototype is complete, he wants it presented at a conference in LA with our investors.” He patted my shoulder. “So if I were you, I’d better get to work.” Before he leaves, he points to the overflowing trash. “Be a sport and take that out, please. Thanks.”


    Once he’s gone, I fish out my notebook and carefully go through the wrinkled pages. My squid is immersed in a sea of caffeine.


    * * * * * * *


    Maze Jumper.


    Turns out Ray Kassar is far better at coming up with decent names for games that I. But after spending the rest of the day at the chalk board, drawing and then erasing, and then drawing again, my ideas are set into place. I am drowning in paper and ink and coffee and cigarettes. I’m on my third pack today.


    It is significantly more challenging to work on three separate games at the same time within a short time frame because it is easy to get confused which punchcards are for what. My messy desk didn’t help that much either, but I just created two large piles so make it simpler for myself. By five thirty, the office is completely empty, and I am pacing back and forth, reviewing my designs. Mr. Kassar wants me to use less than two hundred microchips—which is what a normal game requires.


    I can probably do about forty-five for this one.


    The sun is setting, and the office is soon dark except for my desk lamp. I make my routine trips to and from the coffee pot, before just taking the entire jar to my desk. I’m pretty sure they won’t mind if I remember to place it back into its original place. Each night seems longer than the last, and I actually wake up slouched over in my chair at the sound of my coworkers coming in through the office door in the morning, chatting about their plans for Christmas. I place my cartridges for Pinball Adventure and Rainbow Warrior on Nolan’s desk without a word and leave.


    He gives me a sideway glance as I sleepily stumble down the hallway for more coffee. All I can taste in my mouth is coffee. I can’t remember eating food, or taking piss breaks. If I even do those things, I’m automatically coding in my head. All I’m doing is coding. 6502 assembly language is not in my favor all that well, so I switch back to BASIC.


    The biggest obstacle is developing the new code that eliminates the need for excessive microchips. It takes me nearly all day to come up with a new solution, and when Nolan leaves his desk to head out for the end of the day, he scoffs at when he sees me standing on top of a chair and writing out on the board.


    It is the third and final night, about one in the morning, and I am in the last stages of placing the Maze Jumper cartridge together. I am pacing back and forth, barefooted, my baggy shirt untucked from my jeans, making sure that all of my code is coming together. I close my eyes for a moment to give my mind a break, maybe catch a few minutes of snoozing. I prop my legs up on my desk and sigh. I just need to shut my eyes a little.


    It’s only a few moments when I hear a creak in the door, and then a little thump. The office is completely dark except for my desk lamp, and I slowly open my eyes and turn my head to the side. A middle aged man, wearing a gray uniform and pushing a broom bucket, pauses in the doorway. He freezes when he sees me quietly smiling at him in the dark.


    ”I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” He hesitates. “I’ll just start in the other rooms, if that’s fine.”


    “Wait, no, no, no!” I immediately stand up from my chair and flicker on the light switch, tugging at my sleeves. “Don’t go. Stay…stay here. I could really use the company.”


    He gives me an odd look. “You sure?”


    I lit a cigarette. “You like video games?”


    ”Huh?”


    ”I asked if you liked video games.”


    He shrugged. “I don’t know.”


    ”Would you like to be the first person to test out my prototype? I’d love some feedback.”


    ”What is a prototype?” he asks, but I’m already reaching for his set of keys. I know exactly where the television set is.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ”Come here,” I say. “It’s perfect timing actually, when you’ve arrived. And it’s good to get fresh perspective. Fresh perspective is always important, don’t you think?”


    “But I don’t know a thing about video games!”


    ”No worries,” I gently say. “I’ll show you.”


    I unlock Nolan’s office and turn the screen on, before returning the key. The janitor follows after me, a confused expression on his face. Smoke rises above my nose and lips as I slip the cartridge in the console system and watch the screen flicker to life. Astonishment fills his eyes as I hand the joystick over to him. He glances at me, before he squints at the screen. Just as I’m getting ready to explain to him what it is, he’s already immersed in the first level, shifting the joystick back and forth. I don’t think he cares too much about the context, but it’s the pure look of contentment in his eyes that made all those hours absolutely worth it. He hoots with laughter as he gazes at the screen. I can’t help but grin.


    “They want to call it Maze Jumper,” I say. “But I think I’ll change the name. It deserves far better than that.” I fold my arms. “Far better.”


    “I love it.” The man chuckles. “Great stuff.” His face suddenly drops. “My grandson would love this, ya know? Christmas is coming up, and his mom has been in and out of the hospital.” He runs a hand in his hair and handed the joystick back to me. “Medical bills eat our finances up. No money for presents.”


    I watch him trudge back to the mop bucket across the hallway. Just as he’s moving to the next office room, I remove the prototype from the console, lock Nolan’s office door and block his path. The words are out of my mouth before I can even stop them.


    “Hold on. Just wait here.”


    The janitor stands in the hallway, completely in awe, as I make my way barefooted through the rest of the building, not bothering to put my shoes on. Most of ATARI’s merchandise is usually sent to the warehouse, but I know what to find what I am looking for. ATARI always produces too many copies of games they think will sell well. An unopened 2600 box, several cartridges—my hands wrap around them. I gather these all together in a large paper bag, fold it at the top, and hand it over to the janitor, who is still waiting for me on the third floor. He’s probably wondering why I don’t have shoes on. I’m too tired to explain—I pretty much live here at this point.


    I think this guy gets that.


    “Here,” I say, holding it out.


    He raises his eyebrows looks into the bag, before shaking his head, although he can’t resist a smile. Releasing a deep sigh, he begins to give it back to me, but I wrap both of my hands around his wrinkled one, which is worn from decades of calluses.


    “Please?” I ask. “Come on. Please.”


    The old man hesitates.


    ”All I want is for your grandchild to have a Christmas present. ATARI makes millions of dollars a year. These greedy bastards have never struggled a day in their lives.” I wiped my sweaty forehead. “Take it already.”


    A startled look crosses the janitor’s face. “Won’t you get in trouble? I don’t want you to lose your job.”


    “Don’t worry about me,” I reply, leaning against the wall and releasing a puff of smoke in the air through my mouth. “It’s the least you deserve, being away from your family so late at night.” I then sigh. I need to return to my desk and conduct some more testing. “I better not be in your way; I know you are busy. And I appreciate you taking the time to test out my prototype. There’s some things that are quite iffy, but this is the exact input that I need.”


    He’s clutching the paper bag against his frail frame. Before he can get out another word, I closed my office door and return to my computer, the illuminated light glowing across my sweat soaked face. I set the prototype back down on my desk. A smile spreads across my face as I begin to frantically type.


    * * * * * * * *


    I can only catch three hours of sleep before the conference. As I collapse into my bed, my head is spinning. I don’t know how I am able to pull myself from my blankets when my alarm clock goes off, but when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I resemble a ghostly skeleton. My ribs are showing through my skin.


    I manage to pull myself together, shower, swallow some dried cereal with expired milk, and caught my flight heading for downtown Los Angelos. I can’t remember what was being said, what I said to explain Maze Jumper’s prototype, or who those people were, but I see the relieved look on Nolan’s face during the whole meeting. For once, he shakes hands with me. His face is pink, and his hair had been combed back from his face. His dress shirt and tie has been neatly ironed and freshly pressed. He wouldn’t shut up about the game, not for one moment.


    As for me? I just want to lay down.


    After lunch, I knock on the door of the small office he is using. There is a bit of giggling inside, followed by other noises, before the knob turns and Nolan stands in front of me, adjusting the belt on his pants. A young woman is leaning against his desk, who is frantically buttoning up her shirt. She hides a deep smile as she moves past us in the doorway. Nolan’s gaze lingers on her behind for a moment, before he adjusted his tie. I can see a bit of lipstick on his lower jaw, just directly below his beard.


    “We did it,” he excitedly exclaims, patting my back. “Well done. Well done indeed. We are expected to make massive profits within the following three months. They’re anticipating that we should land between ten to fifteen million in sales with Maze Jumper alone.” He chuckles and pulls out a cream colored envelope from his breast pocket. “Ray wanted me to give this to you, as we have discussed.”


    I study it in my hand. “This is for three hundred and seventy-five dollars. Where’s the five grand you were saying I would receive?”


    ”What five grand?”


    I heavily exhale and glare at him. “You said—”


    Nolan smirked. ”There was a double price for the project. One for the tester and the programming engineer. I conducted all of the testing, therefore, this is my side of the—“


    My head hurts. “You said I would receive five grand. Where is it? I need that for my bills.”


    ”Mr. Jenkins!”


    We both look up.


    A young woman steps out into the hallway. She is wearing high heels, a pencil skirt and blouse. Her blonde hair is piled up high above her head in thick ringlets, bouncing over her shoulders. “Your wife waiting for you.”


    Nolan’s face reddened. “My wife?” He storms out. “She is not my wife. What is she doing here?”


    I stand for a moment in the hallway, my face burning. I might as well pack my stuff up from my apartment and leave this place for good, because my landlord isn’t going to compromise in the slightest. After a few moments of raising my arms over my head, fuming, I decide to leave and go back to my hotel room to cool down. I won’t return to Sunnyvale anyway until tomorrow. I desperately need a nap, and stressing about money was only making my headache worse.


    Yes, this is what I need.


    A good nap and a big old bowl of gumbo—Louisiana style only, with plenty of saltine crackers. And then, maybe then, I could finally think clearly about what I would do next. I am eager to escape the swarm and heavy chatter of the people around me.


    I’ve only made it outside past the fancy lobby in the building and through an alleyway, when I heard muffled shouting. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I remain in the shadows, where I could make out just two figures in the distance. My stomach churned.


    ”For the love, Hannah,” Nolan yelled. “Why are you following me out here? Didn’t I tell you never to contact me again?”


    The young woman is hovered in the corner. She is attempting to protect herself with her arms, but she can’t get a word out, because there are only smacks and blows. There’s a muffled scream as he roughly grabs her by the shoulder and shove her against the brick wall. I want to move, to stop him, but I cannot.


    My eyes sting.


    My heart is thudding.


    I am five years old and helpless again.


    “We need money,” she chokes out. There is blood trickling down her face and nose. “Leah and I. She’s starting preschool. I tried to call, I tried to write, but you wouldn’t—”


    ”She’s not my daughter,” Nolan snarls.


    ”You’re her—”


    There is another heavy smack, and he then roughly drags her by the arm, before leading her out of sight. I stand there for a long time, hours in the alleyway, until it rains and it is cold and slippery and wet. I do not return to my hotel room. I sit on the curb, my clothes soaking to the marrow and clinging to me.


    * * * * * * *


    It is three days until Christmas.


    I’ve returned back to my house.


    I knew I should’ve returned back earlier. It’s been in bad shape, ever since Mama passed, but I get this place spruced up. The roof has caved in. I scrape away all of the black mold on the floor with a rusted fork. I then add a wreath on the front door, mistletoes hanging on the walls. ATARI placed me on administrative leave, so I am able to work from Sunnyvale for a while, even though I have no intention to return.


    Not yet, anyways.


    I call Nolan on the phone, ask him to come by and visit for dinner. I’ve never again questioned him about that stupid paycheck, although I’m sure his conscience has nagged at him, because he agrees. Once I’m finished giving this place a good scrub down, I set up my Christmas tree in the corner and prepare to make dinner with the same cookbook I planned to use for Mama’s meals. The pages are yellowed and wrinkled with water damage, but I can tease them apart with my black fingernails.


    After an extensive grocery store visit, I lay out my ingredients on the table. I prepare the ham, making sure to roast it upside down in the backyard on a spit with a glowing fire so all the juices get soaked in real good. I prepare my mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, cornbread, and collard greens. It’s quite a bit for two people, but I finally set the table for us, with paper plates and silverware.


    The TV still works. There’s a Frank Sinatra special going on, so I let it play in the background. I am humming Silent Night, Holy Night, as I change into a large sweatshirt and comfortable jeans. I am barefoot. Outside, the ground is very soft and moist beneath me—a comfort from the endless cement and concrete I always encountered in Sunnydale.


    While the food is being kept warm, I go upstairs to the attic and retrieve my axe. It’s a good, sturdy, dependable axe, and I make sure to sharpen it until the edges are real nice and pretty. I carry it downstairs and place it by the television, where the music is swelling.


    There’s a knock on my door.


    I open it. Nolan stands on the porch, confused for a moment. He looks a wreck, and I can smell alcohol coming from him. In the overgrown yard I can see the rental car he used to get down here. It’s parked lopsided against one of the oak trees.


    “God, this place is so ridiculously obnoxious to find,” he mumbles. “You live in the middle of nowhere.” He then grins. “At least traffic isn’t as bad down here like LA.”


    “Happy holidays,” I say. “Come in. Please.”


    Nolan steps in the middle of the living room. “Pretty nice thing you’ve got going on,” he says, his eyes following the cracks going through the walls. “Although it definitely needs some renovation here and there.” He wrinkles his nose. “You ought to call someone, get this inspected. It’s practically falling apart. I don’t think it’s safe to live here.”


    I shut the door and lean my back against it. My fingers lock the rusted chain. “Money’s been real tight lately,” I explain. I fold my hands. “But I’m glad you’re here.”


    He turns around, his eyes wary.


    ”How was your flight?” I ask.


    ”Alright,” he murmurs, still scanning the kitchen. “The hotel I’m staying at—not so much.”


    “It gets really lonely during the holidays,” I say. “It’s nice to share them with someone.”


    “You’re pretty young,” Nolan says, folding his arms. “I don’t mean to pry into your business, but don’t you have any family here? Or at least dating someone?”


    “No,” I whisper. My skin prickles. Doesn’t he know how badly I wish I had one? How I’ve dreamt of being part of one? A real one? “My mother passed away a couple of years ago. My father died when I was ten.”


    “Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”


    I wave my hand to dismiss his apology and gesture to the table. “Please, help yourself.”


    Nolan sinks into a chair. I sit down across from him and began to pile up macaroni and cheese and ham on my plate. He looks amused at the amount I am digging into. And it is really good food. I wish Mama was here to taste some. I am starving at this point. You can’t work on an empty stomach.


    “You’re absolutely puny,” he says, reaching for his own plate. “Never knew you could put away so much like that.”


    I grin. “You like my cooking?”


    He takes a bite of his ham and nods. “I do.”


    There’s a long silence at the table, with our silverware clinking against the plates. Nolan picks at his macaroni and cheese.


    ”Look, about the other day—”


    I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I probably misunderstood our initial agreement. I should’ve never came at you like that.” I’d forgotten about that incident. I could care less about money at this point, because there are two other people who are far worst off than me. People whom I am indebted to protect, even though they are thousands of miles away from me, and whom I will never meet face to face. My hand tightens around my fork. I must put a stop to this, once and for all.


    Leah and Hannah.


    His eyes light up with sickening relief. “Really?”


    You greedy snake. “No issue.” I shrug as I begin to dig into my soggy collard greens. “I don’t even know if California is right for me. I’ll probably stay here. I’m not sure.”


    He sets down his glass in disbelief. “You’re quitting?”


    I stare at him but don’t reply.


    Nolan sighs. “I can speak to the CEO about a pay raise. Those games you developed are completely selling like hot cakes. At least tell me you’ll think about it.”


    ”Probably,” I lie. “It’s a lot to consider.”


    He nods and picks up his fork. “Understood.”


    “How is your wife doing?” I slowly ask. With two breaths, I blow out the candles on the table, a twisted trail of smoke rising in the air.


    Nolan looks up. “Hmm? Oh, you mean Hannah. No, she’s not my wife. Just a little fling who got herself knocked up with some pimp and has been after my finances for the last couple of years. I’m not the father of her child, but she keeps bluffing. She’s like a leech. She needs to take accountability, and be put into her place. It’s as simple as that.”


    I stand up and shut off the television. I do not face him, but my pale hands slowly wrap around the wooden handle of the axe. Strands of hair have fallen over my face.


    “Did you love her?” I whisper.


    “Huh?”


    Slowly, I turn around.


    Nolan’s face grows pale.


    “I asked if you loved her,” I whisper again. My voice belongs to someone else. He is struggling to get up, his belly swollen from all of the good, nourishing food I have prepared for his rotten soul. There is nothing left to give. He is fat and round and ripe, ready for harvesting.


    Hannah and Leah and Hannah and Leah


    Without a word he attempts to flee from the living room, but I rapidly rush towards him, knocking over the table. Plates smash in the ground, and food stains the carpet. My breaths are heavy. I must protect them.


    I must protect Hannah and Leah.


    As I swing, I catch him in his left side. Blood spurts out, splattering the wall. He collapses onto the floor, attempting to crawl away.


    The axe, which has been heavy only moments ago, is now light in my arms. The blade slices into his juicy soft flesh, like butter. His screams echo in my house, but there is no one here for miles, no one to hear his strangled cries, no one to answer him at his beck and call, as he is so used to. He starts to vomit as my breaths grow heavier. I pin him to the floor, my chest rising up and down.


    The smell of his bile is filling the air; it is a thick, yellow paste that has bubbled up around his chin and neck. He is going to choke on it, and I will gladly watch him do so. I will shove it back down with my fingers. He has no control. He has no control over their lives.


    Hannah and Leah and Hannah and Leah


    I raise my arms to bring the axe down again. And again. And again and again and again and again and again until the entire floor is flooded with dark red blood, bones, vomit, organs, meat, fat, and flesh. He is scattered in a lot of places, like code that must be put together. At this point, the blade is becoming dull, but I do not stop. I do not realize that I am gritting my teeth so hard my gums burn, until my face is soaked and water is running down the bottom of my chin. I can’t stop. My shoulders burn and sting. His limbs flop against the floor like a struggling fish.


    The room spins. I am gasping, completely coated in sweat and blood, bathed head to toe in glorious crimson, but my slippery fingers grip the axe handle tighter until splinters form in my palms. I swing faster. Chunks of wood and human bone fly from the ground, from the hole I am creating. I will bury him in the floorboards, where the rats will eat his flesh.


    I shall send him to a new world.