The mind is a fickle thing. Many of us are already on fire, quietly at war with ourselves. When the outside world demands more, we throw fuel on those flames until smoke fills our heads. Our sanity is the first to choke. And without it, dangerous things can happen.

Alexis’s head dropped, coming within an inch of the freshly decorated cookie before she jerked it back up. As she set the icing bag down, her other hand flew up, swatting her own cheek. Her skin stung, leaving a bright red handprint slashed across it. She wasn’t sure if it was punishment for almost ruining the cookies or a desperate attempt to force her brain to function.

“Wake up Alexis,” she muttered to herself. “I think it’s time for more coffee. Hmmm.. should I make more coffee Lucy?” She looked down to ask her dog Lucy.

The apricot standard poodle was in a deep sleep, twitching as if it were chasing a squirrel. Alexis stood and while stepping over her dog, a single corner of her mouth pulled upward into a soft sneer. She hovered there, balancing on one foot, forcing the sneer into a smile before extending her leg past Lucy so she wouldn’t disturb her.

“Glad one of us is getting sleep,” she said as she walked into the kitchen.

Alexis stood in front of the red Nespresso machine as she waited for the espresso to pour into the dirty coffee mug she’d been using for two days. Her eyes drifted across her house. The open concept floor plan and the mess of running a home baking business blurred all the rooms into one, the view mirroring the inside of her mind. Piles of dirty baking sheets were stacked on top of the stove, packaging boxes scattered across the dining room table, and a layer of flour sat on the peninsula.

Her eyes met her pillow and neatly folded blanket on the couch, and she was reminded of the last day she slept. “Has it really been three days? Fuck.” she whispered as she pulled her phone out of her pocket to confirm the date of the texts that came in. The ones from the loyal pain-in-the-ass customers and their last-minute huge orders. She stupidly agreed to them, knowing it would cost her sleep. But they needed the money. Her husband had been pulling doubles constantly to help make ends meet.

Alexis dropped an ice cube into the espresso, swirled the mug, and slammed it back. “I guess I’ll sleep when they’re— when I’m dead,” she shouted as she put another espresso pod into the machine.

She jolted as her phone vibrated in her hand. “Of course Carl is texting me at the crack of dawn.” She looked at the time and realized it was already noon. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please don’t be on your way to pick up the order.”

She opened her phone to read the text. Her shoulders dropped as she realized she had over eight hours to finish and package the order. As she reached for her second cup of espresso, her phone vibrated again.
“What now? I gave you a thumbs up. Is that not sufficient enough for you Carl?”

Without thinking, she slammed the hot espresso back. “Goddammit, cunt fucker!” She threw the mug against the wall as the espresso burned her tongue and throat.

Lucy jolted awake, running out of the cookie room and straight to the front door, a vicious bark following her.

Alexis angrily opened the new message on her phone. This time it was from Dave, the other last minute order. She had seven and a half hours to finish that one. She gave the message a thumbs up and hurried back to her decorating station, leaving the shattered mug on the floor.

Alexis finished both cookie orders with an hour to spare. She scarfed down a couple of protein bars, fixed her messy bun, ensuring no hair was loose, and began working on the next orders. The ones she booked over two months ago and should have been almost done by now.

There were three stations going, one mixer running to make dough, the rolling and cutting station on the peninsula, and the oven. She alternated between each station, working as quickly as possible.

She was in the middle of putting a batch of cookies back into the oven for a few more minutes to get that nice golden brown when her phone vibrated. A text from Carl.

One minute away. I don’t have much time so please make sure everything is ready to go when I get there.

Her hand shook as Alexis gripped her phone, staring at the text.

“One fucking minute. What kind of heads up is that? Fucking asshole. Remember, Alexis, be nice. You need his money. Although you technically already have it. But still…”

“Beep. Beep. Beep.”
“Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.”
“Woof. Woof. Woof.”

The cookie timer and doorbell went off simultaneously, sending her dog into a barking fit. Alexis froze as the noises blended together, pounding through her body, starting in her eardrums and growing louder until they reached her racing heart.

The heavy knocking on the door snapped her out of the daze. She stopped the timer, threw her dog in the backyard and raced to the front door.

“Hi Carl. Sorry. I’m in the middle of a bunch of things right now. Come in,” she said, stepping aside.

“I’m already behind schedule, so can we hurry this up?” Carl said as he walked in, staring at his phone.

“Yep. I’ll go grab the cookies now.” Alexis pressed her lips together as she walked toward the back room.

“Here you go.” She stacked the three boxes of cookies, each holding three dozen, on the round dining table near the front door. “Thanks again.”

“I hope you figured out the flavor issue this time. Last batch was not up to par like your usual cookies,” Carl said as he struggled to balance the boxes in his arms.

Alexis didn’t reply. She stood there silently, biting down on her lips to cage the words you aren’t supposed to say to your loyal customers. Remember, Alexis, the customer is always right. Just nod and try to smile. Her breath began to pick up as heat rushed to her face. She gripped the wooden rolling pin tightly, willing herself to remain calm.

“Come make yourself useful and open this door for me,” Carl said with his back toward Alexis.

Her forced smile contorted into a vicious sneer as she walked toward him, her arm slowly rising over her head with every step. As Carl began to turn, Alexis swung the rolling pin against his temple. Her sneer slipped back into a smile as he fell, his head hitting the corner of the doorframe on the way down. A metallic tang hit the air as a slow crimson tide pooled around his head.

Alexis stood there for a few seconds, admiring the view, before she began choking as smoke filled the house.

“Fuck! I forgot all about the cookies. Fucking Carl!”

She ran to the oven and pulled the tray out. Instead of setting it down, she skipped back to Carl. She used her foot to roll him onto his back.

“Look what you made me do, Carl!” she said, holding the tray of cookies over his head.

Alexis threw the hot cookies onto his unresponsive face, brought the steaming baking sheet above her head, and slammed it down again and again. She then set the tray onto his face, braced one hand against the door for balance, and like a little girl, hopped onto it, jumping up and down as if it were a trampoline.

“Look at me, I’m jumping! I’m jumping! Daddy look at me I’m jumping!” she shouted. “How do the cookies taste now Carl?”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she jumped off Carl, quickly reaching for it. A text from Dave.

Sorry I’m late but I’m ten minutes away.

“FUCK!” She kicked Carl’s body in frustration.

She reached down, grabbed his legs, and dragged him across the living room into the bathroom, leaving a streak of blood on the floor. Knowing she didn’t have time to properly clean it, she grabbed a bag of flour and poured it over the blood. As it absorbed, it turned into a pale red, clay-like substance. She threw more flour on top.

Alexis picked up the cookies and threw them into the cookie room. She cleaned up just enough of the mess and went back to the work stations, putting another batch of cookies in the oven. Every minute counts, she thought to herself.

A few minutes later, Dave arrived and she let him in.

“Woah, what happened here?” Dave stepped over the flour mess on the floor.

“Oh nothing, just a baking accident. Clumsy me. A whole bowl of red icing slipped out of my hands. I didn’t have a chance to clean it up. It literally just happened.” She handed him the first couple of boxes of his order.

“This is not what I ordered. These look like absolute garbage,” Dave said, setting the boxes on the table as he took a seat.

“Excuse me?” Alexis’s heart began to pick up its pace again, her wrist throbbing. She leaned against the counter, her eyes fixated on the kitchen knives.

“I can’t take these. They are all wrong. I said I wanted the numbers navy blue. These are royal blue. I want my money back.” He held out his hand, waiting for cash even though he paid on her website.

“Umm..Ok..I’ll have to process the refund on the website. I don’t have cash on me,” she said as she dug her nail into her leg until the skin tore and began to bleed.

“Well this is a shame. Alexis, you need to get your act together. If you keep this up you’ll probably go out of business.” Dave stood up and headed for the front door.
“I know I won’t be retur—”

“AHHHHH!” Alexis ran and drove a kitchen knife into his back seconds before he reached the door. Dave fell forward, his head slamming against the doorknob.

Alexis rushed forward and yanked the knife out. She brought it up to see her reflection. A grimace smile looked back at her, flecked with blood. Then she brought it down into Dave’s back.

“They…”
She raised the knife and drove it down again.

“Were navy blue…”
Down again.

“Fuckin asshole!”
Down again. And again. And again.

After a minute, she left the knife lodged in his back and knelt over him, her breath ragged.

Alexis jumped up as she had a light bulb moment. She skipped to the peninsula and grabbed the stainless steel cookie cutters.

She pulled the knife out of him and dragged it through his shirt, splitting it open. She laid the assorted star-shaped cookie cutters along his back as if she were about to cut dough. She lifted her foot and drove it down onto the cutters again and again until they were pressed deep into his skin. Blood pooled around each shape like icing bleeding past the edges.

“Look, Daddy. I turned my passion into art just like you showed me. Are you proud of me now?” she called out.

Alexis plopped down onto the floor and leaned against Dave’s body. Her blood-slick hands propped up her elbows as she rested her chin in them, smearing it across her cheek as she drifted off into a micro nap.

She spent the next couple hours thoroughly cleaning herself, the house, then got right back to baking.

The back door opened around midnight, and her dog went running toward it, tail wagging. Her husband walked in and looked just as tired, if not more than Alexis. She walked toward him with a smile.

“Hi honey,” he said as he put his bag down and pet Lucy.

“Yay. You’re home.” Alexis went onto her tiptoes to kiss him. “Today was insane.”

“Sorry. If it makes you feel better, I had a crazy day too.” He kissed her forehead.

“I’ll help you with whatever you need after I go pee. You need to get some sleep tonight,” he said as he walked past her in a hurry.

“Umm… honey?” he called from the bathroom.

“Right… About that… I had a little slip today.” She hesitated. “But it’s their fault! They were both entitled dicks!”

“I’ll go get the shovel. But honey… we’re running out of room in the garden.”

This story is about what might happen if our pent-up emotions, like rage, took on a life of their own.

Black Tears

It was a hell of a day, and all I wanted to do was shower and sleep. I walked into my apartment to find my boyfriend sitting on the couch smoking—after I’d asked him several times not to smoke inside my apartment—and laughing as he scrolled TikTok.

“Hey, Jacob,” I said, hanging up my jacket. “I tried calling you on the drive home. I’ve had a shitty day.”

No response. He didn’t even look my way.

“HELLO?” I yelled.

“Why are you screaming? I’m right here,” he said, still looking down at his phone.

“What’s up?” He took another drag.

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to shower.”

As I let the water heat up, I undressed and noticed the bruises on my leg from my fall this morning. After a few minutes, the steam began to curl and thicken, swirling around me like something alive.

I stepped into the shower and immediately jolted as the scalding water pounded against my arms. I quickly adjusted the temperature and sat on the built-in bench. In the cocoon of heat and steam, I finally allowed myself to cry.

My day had started with a creep coming up behind me and grabbing me, making me fall as I tried to run to my car. I called Jacob, but he didn’t care at all. Told me I was overreacting. Said I shouldn’t report it because the chances of the police caring were next to none. Then he cut the conversation short because he was tired and wanted to go back to bed.

At work it was more of the same. Every time I tried to talk about my ideas, I was cut off or dismissed by my asshole boss. My coworkers tried to mansplain why my idea wouldn’t work.

The more I thought about my day, the harder I bawled. My whole body trembled as my shoulders and chest heaved with each sob. The hiss of the water drowned out the echoes of every gasp for air. My legs went weak as my heartbeat pounded through my chest and my vision started to blur. I wiped my eyes, blinking hard to clear them. As I tried to calm down, things came into focus, and that’s when I saw it.

Black goo clung to my hands and streaked the shower walls. It slid down the tiles, pulling toward the drain, then stopped. It quivered, pulsing like it had a heartbeat. Suddenly, the sludge bubbled, hissing where it touched the floor. It surged upward in a violent motion, slapping against the wall before pulling itself together. At first it was shapeless, then limbs started to push through, and the outline of a woman appeared through the steam.

The figure kept growing until it nearly touched the ceiling. It hunched forward, its wet hair hanging like seaweed as it loomed over me. We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and for a moment the world simply ceased. Then a deafening, soul-shattering shriek filled the bathroom, shattering the shower glass.

She ran out of the bathroom, and without thinking, I followed her. She began hurling my ceramic dishes, one after another. Some hit the walls and shattered, shards flying across the floor. Jacob jumped up, trying to run for the door. She launched a plate at his head, and he fell to the ground.

She was on top of him in seconds, pinning him down. She grabbed the lit joint from his hand and pressed it into his cheek, then dragged it across his lips, his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows. I saw his mouth move as if to scream, but I couldn’t hear him. All I heard was a steady, high-pitched buzzing. She opened the front door and tossed him out like a rag doll.

She slammed the door shut and smiled at me as she began to fade, her edges blurring as she slowly dissolved into a black cloud.

I looked down, my hands trembling. The tips of my fingers were red and blistered.

Same Name

I was at a book signing. My book signing. Only something wasn’t right. Someone was pulling on my arm, trying to drag me out. Like I didn’t belong. But I saw the sign. It had my name on it. This was my event.

“Lady… Lady… wake up.”

I jolted, realizing the voice was coming from the living room. Had I been dreaming? Blinking to clear my vision, I saw a little girl standing in front of me.

“Hi,” I said, scanning the apartment for her parents. Did they just get here?

“Can you play with me?” she asked, pulling a small rainbow-colored ball from her bag.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“My dad’s over there. But he can’t play right now. He’s having adult conversation. No kids allowed.”

I looked toward Kyle. He was deep in conversation with his work bros, not paying attention. Guilt rippled through me.

“I’d love to play with you,” I said. “I’m Ryleigh. What’s your name?”

“You have the same name as me! My name’s Riley too.”

“Well, it is a pretty cool name. So tell me Riley, what do you want to play?”

“Catch!”

“Okay, but let’s be careful and just roll the ball on the floor. Like this.”

I rolled it across the living room toward the kitchen, but it kept going, almost like it had a mind of its own. Riley’s pigtails bounced as she chased after it, giggling. I got up, following her toward the back porch where it had rolled.

The lights were off, and I lost sight of her. When I stepped into the room and flipped the switch, Riley was standing over a vent in the floor, smiling, ball in hand.

Then came the crack. A sharp, explosive sound. Before I could react, Riley fell through. I lunged, trying to grab her, but I was too late.

I ran to the back door, reaching for the knob but it shifted into a brick wall. Heart pounding, I spun around and bolted toward the front door.

“She fell! She fell! Riley!” I screamed, but no one even looked at me.

I kept running, and when I opened the door to the stairs, I was suddenly in an elevator. The apartment was on the third floor, so I should’ve been able to reach the basement fast. But when I pressed the LL button, the elevator started going up.

Sweat ran down my temples. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I could hear it echo in the elevator. I pressed the button over and over.

“Please, please, please go down. Please let her be okay,” I whispered, the words looping until the doors finally opened.

I sprinted through the corridor, yelling, “Riley! Riley! I’m coming!”

At the end of the hall, I saw her. Riley. Perfectly fine.

She was in the arms of an older woman, maybe in her seventies. The woman’s face was eerily familiar, marked by the same labret piercing scar as mine.

The woman smiled. “You finally made it. We’ve been waiting for you, you know.”

The posts leaned like old bones, their wood riddled with tiny holes. Chicken wire sagged between them, and last year’s debris spilled over the rusted raised beds. Brittle stalks bent under damp leaves, and a pale dust clung to everything like frost. The soil was cold and heavy, still holding winter’s damp. The air carried a faint sweetness of rot, a reminder that something had lived here once and would again. The holes in the posts were empty now, but she imagined bees sleeping inside, waiting for spring. Donnie called it an eyesore, but Marina ran her hand across the weathered wood as if it were treasure. At last, a garden of her own.

Marina and Donnie moved into their new house during the tail end of winter. Boxes crowded every corner, but while unpacking Marina caught herself daydreaming about the garden. Growing up in apartments, she’d been surrounded by her grandmother’s indoor plants but never had an outdoor space of her own. Now the garden was hers.

“I was thinking about setting up the nook upstairs as a little gardening area for myself,” she said, placing plates into the kitchen shelves.

“ Oh yeah? You do realize gardening is a lot of work. My parents had a small garden every year and it was like a part time job. Are you sure you can handle that? Plus that garden enclosure is falling apart. We’d be better off tearing it down and putting in a pool.” Donnie unwrapped another dish and set it on the counter with a thud.

“I don’t want a pool. The garden stays. And besides my boring accounting job what else I got goin on? I’m going to make it gorgeous, just wait.” She grinned as if daring him to argue.

Over the next six weeks, she turned the upstairs nook into her private greenhouse. A single skylight cut through the slanted ceiling, spilling light across wire shelves, grow lights, and a potting table. She planted zinnias, dahlias, marigolds, cosmos, and sunflowers, already picturing their colors crowding the garden come summer. Outside, she cleared the raised beds, hauling away the old debris and working fresh soil into the beds and pots.

MAY

It was planting day at last. Marina had counted down the cold weeks of April, as Midwest winters always seemed to drag on, waiting for the ground to be ready for her seedlings. She carried them into the garden along with her phone and a portable speaker. With her favorite Jessie Reyez album looping in the background, she knelt by the raised bed and pressed the fragile plants into the soil as if she were tucking children into bed for the night.

And then she heard it, the loud buzzing cutting through the music and growing louder with each second. Pausing the song, Marina stood and circled the garden, searching. To her, it was the truest sign that gardening season had begun. Sunlight glared into her eyes, blurring her view until she slid her sunglasses into place. A sharp hum zipped past her head. She spun, and there it was…a carpenter bee burrowing into the post, carving new holes. Her lips curved up into a smile. In silence she watched it work, hope rising in her chest. A new season had begun.

JUNE

The garden was alive now, green foliage spilling from the raised beds, buds swelling, and some already in full bloom. Bumblebees and carpenter bees drifted from flower to flower, devouring the pollen. Every day after work, Marina walked through the garden, noting even the smallest change in each plant. But not everything had survived. A few seedlings had shriveled without explanation. She blamed bad seeds, tugged them out, and tossed them into the plastic bin she kept for debris. Life outside the garden started to feel heavy, especially at work.

“Marina, I need those checks cut and sent out as soon as possible. Also, did you send the aging reports?” her boss asked as he walked past without looking at her, disappearing into his office.

“On it now,” she said quickly.

Bing. Bing. Bing. Emails lit up her screen — invoices, a reimbursement check, more follow-ups. The other accountants whispered back and forth, gossip spreading through the office like smoke. She tried to block it out, but it was impossible not to listen. Everything blurred together until she couldn’t tell what the priority was. Her leg bounced under the desk, heart racing to the same rhythm. Tears built up as she listed everything in her head. Checks. Aging reports. Reimbursements. Invoices. Checks. Aging reports. Reimbursements. Invoices. She stared blankly at the screen, one hand steady on the mouse, fighting to keep the tears from falling.

As soon as five o’clock came, she logged off and rushed home. She hurried to the garden as if she’d been holding her breath all day. Work had filled her lungs with carbon dioxide, and only here could she breathe again. For the first time all day, a smile tugged at her face as she noticed the new zinnia blooms. She plopped down on the gravel beside the sunflowers. In the quiet, she just listened: birds chirping, bees buzzing, geese squeaking as they flew overhead. For a minute, she let herself daydream. Feeling so accomplished with the garden, she began to wonder if this could be more than a hobby. She could grow flowers and open a small floral shop. What a life that would be, one full of beauty every day. Now that was a dream.

JULY

The skies had turned restless. Storms rolled through one after another, pounding the garden with heavy rain and splitting the air with lightning, thunder rumbling under her feet. Marina stood at the window, counting the seconds between the flash and the thunder, her plants trembling under the downpour. She watched the dahlias and sunflowers sway, worried their stalks would snap. After days trapped inside, she was growing restless.

Donnie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Looks like it’s going to storm all weekend. Should we order pizza and watch a movie? You can pick.” His voice was light, coaxing.

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t even know what’s out. You pick.” She sighed, pressing her forehead to the glass. “I need the distraction anyway. I’ve been so nervous about what the storms might do to the garden.”

“How about Bram Stoker’s Dracula?” he grinned. “You’ll love the cast and you’ll love that it’s set in the 1800s.”

Warmth filled her chest. She turned, kissed him, and nodded yes.

By Monday the storms had passed. She’d spent the whole day at work daydreaming about cutting fresh flowers to bring inside. To her surprise, none of the dahlias or sunflowers had snapped. Everything looked untouched, as if the storms had never come. She slipped on her gardening gloves, grabbed her scissors, and started cutting zinnias. As she trimmed away the leaves, a puff of dust flew into her right eye.

“Fuck,” she muttered, blinking hard. With her hands full, she kept the eye shut and tried to finish quickly. That was when she noticed the faint white specks on the leaves. She tried to fight through the pain but couldn’t take it any longer. Finally, she hurried inside, rinsed it with water, and used eye drops until the pain dulled, leaving her eye pink and raw.

After eating dinner alone, she sank onto the couch, scrolling TikTok without thinking. More innocent people being detained by ICE. A school shooting. Breaking news, breaking news, breaking news. Each swipe heavier than the last, the screen’s light flickering against her blank stare. She lost track of time until Donnie’s voice cut through the noise.

“Marina… Marina. Hun.” Louder each time.

“What?! What do you want?” she snapped, dropping the phone onto her lap.

“Everything okay? I noticed the eye drops in the bathroom. Your eye looks a little pink.”

“I’m fine. Just some dust from the garden. It’s not a big deal.”

“You seem stressed. Something happen at work? Did I do something?” His concern grew with every question.

“Oh, you know. Just the impending doom of this country. And yeah, work fuckin sucked. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

She went upstairs without waiting for him. Sleep never came, only the sting in her eye and the crawling thought that something was waiting in the dark.

AUGUST

By August the garden should have been in its glory, colors bursting from every bloom. But the leaves had lost their shine, their green dulled to a weary matte. The air hung thick, heavy with the smell of damp soil and something sour underneath. Then came the white spots, spreading across the leaves, dulling their colors. That night, as Marina changed for bed, she caught a glimpse of her arm in the mirror as she scratched it aggressively. A pale patch stared back at her, shaped like the leaves from the garden. Her eczema must be back, she told herself. She rubbed on lotion and turned off the light.

Morning came not with a sunrise but with a heavy gray cloud that seemed to have been waiting for her. The first thought that greeted her was a smog of failure pressing against her chest. What did I do wrong in the garden? she wondered. She replayed every step in her head, searching for the mistake that could have caused the spots. Without leaving the bed, she grabbed her phone and typed: why are white spots spreading on plants. The screen filled with results, all pointing to the same thing: powdery mildew. A fungal disease that spreads quickly.

That afternoon Marina was determined to try every remedy she’d read about. Cut off infected leaves. Apply fungicide. So she went plant by plant, stripping the dahlias, then the zinnias, then the sunflowers. By the time she was done, a pile of leaves lay at her feet, pale and spotted, like scraps of diseased skin. She emptied two bottles of fungicide Donnie had picked up for her that morning, drenching what remained.

Her phone buzzed as she gathered the pile. She let it ring several times before finally answering, already annoyed.

“Hello.”

“Everything’s going to shit. Nice turn signal, asshole! Hello. Have you talked to your sister? I’ve been trying to get ahold of her for days,” her mother’s voice snapped, chaos spilling through the phone.

“Nope. Haven’t talked to her all week. She’s probably busy with work and the girls,” Marina said, already moving to defend her sister.

“Well, tell her to call me.”

Beep. Beeeeeep. “Green means go! Dumbass!” her mom yelled away from the phone. Then, without pause: “So I heard you’re thinking about quitting your job to open a flower shop. You’re not serious, right? Your sister said it as a joke, right?” She laughed, sharp and dismissive.

“I’m not doing anything right now, but yes, I was toying with the idea.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You have a steady job with decent pay. In this economy, you’re lucky to have what you have.”

“I know, it was just an id—”

“That’s your dad calling me. Let me call you back.” The line went dead.

She dropped her phone onto the garden table, harder than she meant to. The words don’t be an idiot echoed in her head. The pile of diseased leaves at her feet seemed to mock her, proof that her mom had been right all along. Useless. Hopeless. A joke. She craved alcohol like she hadn’t before, needing something, anything to take the edge off.

Leaving the mess behind, she hurried inside. “I’m running to the store. Be right back,” she called to Donnie. As she pushed open the back screen door, something in the glass caught her eye. A pale patch spread across her chest, ghostly against her skin, as big and round as a sunflower leaf. Heat rash? No. Heat rash burned red. This was something else, and it looked wrong. Her anger wouldn’t let her linger on it. She shut the door hard and headed for the store.

The Trader Joe’s parking lot pulsed with chaos. Cars circled like vultures, hunting for spots, while others idled with their turn signals clicking in impatient rhythms. Shoppers zigzagged through traffic, arms full of bags, as if they were trying to outrun the madness. Marina spotted a car backing out and accelerated into the space, cutting off the driver who had been waiting patiently. The driver leaned on the horn, but she didn’t care. Sliding on her sunglasses, she stuck up her middle finger and walked toward the store.

The store was no better. Every aisle was overcrowded with workers stocking shelves, carts blocking the way, and kids staring at their phones and iPads as they drifted aimlessly while their parents shopped. Marina didn’t bother looking around for anything but beer. She power-walked, weaved through the crowd, and headed straight to the back. At the display, a young couple stood chatting in front of the stacked cases. She didn’t want to be in the store a second longer than she had to. Just grab the beer, any beer, she told herself. Without a word, she slipped between them and snatched a four-pack, then made her way toward the registers.

The lines crawled. Tapping her foot impatiently, she scrolled TikTok. Video after video showed blooming gardens, all bright colors and perfect flowers. Each one made her more restless. Finally, she leaned to the right and snapped, “What’s the holdup here?” No one answered. Just a few mean looks tossed in her direction.

Back home, she dropped onto the couch beside Donnie and cracked open a beer, drinking it in less than two minutes.

“Woah. Are you okay? You usually don’t drink that fast. That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever seen you drink a beer our entire time together,” Donnie said, concern in his voice.

“Just needed something to take the edge off,” she muttered, already reaching for another.

She paused mid-sip. “I want you to look at something for me. Do you see the spots on my arm? And my chest?”

Donnie leaned in, squinting. “No. It just looks like a little dry skin.”

She didn’t reply. She just drank, phone back in her hand. She knew it wasn’t dry skin. She could feel it seeping into her, spreading, suffocating her from the inside out. By the time she finished the four-pack, she was doomscrolling in a haze, drifting into sleep on the couch, numb to her failures.

SEPTEMEBER

The garden was completely swallowed by powdery mildew. Every leaf wore a layer of white dust, as if a light frost had passed, though the air was still thick with eighty-degree heat. A few flowers still tried to bloom, but their petals were muted, as if a gray filter had been laid over them, draining out every trace of color. Marina stood among the ruined plants, still as a scarecrow, eyes glazed over. More pale patches had surfaced on her arms and legs, spreading like the mildew on the plants she could no longer control.

At her desk, Marina stared blankly at the screen, fingers moving across the keyboard as if she were entering invoices. She did this for ten minutes before her coworker approached.

“So, did you hear? Taylor quit. Today’s her last day,” Veronica said.

Marina kept typing nonsense, then slowly looked up without moving her head.

“Marina… did you hear me? Taylor quit. Operations is freaking out.”

“Smells like decaying flesh,” Marina whispered.

“What?” Veronica blinked. “Anyway, people are dropping like flies. Might need to start looking elsewhere before things get bad.” She went back to scrolling her phone.

“All life must end,” Marina said. “My time here is done. Tell everyone I quit.”

Then she stood, grabbed her purse, and walked out of the office.

Rushing inside to change after work, she stood in front of the mirror. More patches had appeared since the week before, spreading in uneven, leaf-shaped clusters. They dusted her skin, pale as chalk, fluffy to look at but dry to the touch. She ran her fingers across one, and a fine residue clung to her fingertips, like the powder on the leaves outside. No matter how much lotion she used, the skin cracked again, flaking in thin white lines. She stayed there for a while, brushing her hand over her skin, rubbing her fingers together, watching the powder drift to the floor. Something in her chest ached, a pull she couldn’t name. The garden needed her. Or maybe she needed it.

By the time she stepped outside, the sun was starting to dip, bleeding through the clouds in a pale amber haze. The air was thick and still. She picked up the hose and began watering what was left of the garden. The soil turned to mud around the roots, but she kept going, her blank eyes fixed on the wilted stems.

“Hey, hun. What are you doing home so early?” Donnie asked as he approached the garden.

Marina slowly turned her head toward him, still watering the plants, but said nothing.

“Marina? What’s going on?” His voice wavered with concern.

She didn’t respond. The water kept running. Donnie reached out and grabbed her arm to get her attention, panic in his touch.

“Marina, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

“Oh… I… um… quit… my job,” she whispered.

“You what? Why? You really shouldn’t of done that without talking to me. We just bought this house.” He shook his head, frustrated.

Marina turned back to the plants and kept watering them.

“Marina, that’s enough water. The garden’s basically dead,” he said, backing away toward the deck. “Please, just come inside.”

He went inside, the screen door slamming behind him. Silence settled over the yard. Marina didn’t move. The hose slipped from her hand, snaking at her feet as water spilled into the mud. She watched it pool around her shoes, soaking through the fabric, but she didn’t step back. The air hung heavy, sweet with rot. Somewhere beneath the surface, something was still growing.

OCTOBER

The garden rustled in a papery whisper with each gust of wind. A sepia haze, coated in a thin layer of white dust, had overtaken everything, leaving no trace of green. The sunflowers, once proud and tall, bowed their heads in final surrender. The zinnias had turned parchment-like and brittle, their stems folding in on themselves. A faint scent of must lingered in the air. Everywhere she looked, the garden was dead, yet loud with all of Marina’s failures. Marina stood among the ruin, the hose in her hand again. Water trickled over the dead stems, soaking the dirt until it bled into pale streaks of mud. She couldn’t remember turning the spigot on. She just knew she had to keep watering.

She spent most of her days of unemployment sleeping, doomscrolling, and watering the garden. She lived in the same faded sweats, the fabric soft from wear, hiding the pale patches beneath. Hours passed without meaning. She was on the couch, scrolling through her phone, not even remembering what she read or watched, when Donnie came home from work. Their conversations had grown shorter, thinner, fading like background noise.

“Hey. Apply to any jobs today?” Donnie asked as he cooked dinner for the two of them.

Marina didn’t answer, just nodded no. She kept scrolling as he walked upstairs to take a call. After a moment, she paused, listening.

“Of course she doesn’t know.”

“I can’t wait any longer.”

“Meet me tonight.”

Heat rushed through Marina, a knot settling deep in her stomach. This fucker is cheating on me, she thought. He might as well have killed us both. This is the end. For us. The thoughts looped in her head as she crossed her arms, waiting for him to come back downstairs. When Donnie finally did, Marina stood up fast to meet him at the bottom of the steps.

“Who were you just talking to?” she snapped.

“Just Javi. He invited us to his place this weekend,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“Huh…” Marina pressed her lips together and raised them toward her nose, her eyebrows lifting. She turned and walked back to the couch.

After eating dinner in silence, Donnie left the table to clean up the dishes, leaving his phone behind. Marina glanced at it, then opened his recent calls. A name flashed across the screen—one she never expected to see. Kristen. Her sister.

He’s cheating on me with my sister. He’s cheating on me with my sister. He’s cheating on me with my sister.

She repeated it over and over, as if trying to convince herself it was true, even as disbelief sank deeper into her gut.

“Hey, I’m gonna run to Jewel real quick. We’re out of milk,” Donnie said, breaking through her spiral. He grabbed his phone and keys and headed out the door.

Marina curled her fists tight and slammed them onto the table. A small cloud of powder billowed into the air. Her heart pounded faster and faster, like a jackhammer in her chest. When she looked down, her hands were covered in pale patches. Too angry to care, she stood and walked toward the back door. Just as she reached for the handle, a flash of movement caught her eye. Her reflection stared back from the accent mirror. Her entire face was engulfed in the same dry, fluffy white dry patches.

Moments later, she was in the garden again. The night was still, the air heavy and dark. The hose hissed softly in her hand as she watered the dead garden, her eyes glazed and unfocused. The water pooled around the lifeless stems, seeping into soil that could no longer take it in. She felt the patches permeate through her body every time she watered, but it didn’t stop her. Some part of her believed the garden still needed it, that without her, even the mildew might die. Footsteps approached, the crunching of dry leaves breaking the silence, but she didn’t flinch. The voices came next, low at first, then clearer with each step.

“I need your help to talk some sense into her. She hasn’t been herself lately.”

“She doesn’t always listen to me, you know, but I’ll try. Is she that bad?”

“Shhh. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what? All I hear are the damn planes flying over us.”

“It’s Marina. She’s watering the dead garden again. I swear to God, I’m going to tear this enclosure down tomorrow.”

“Let’s talk to her first, see what’s going on. I know my sister. She may just need someone to talk to, maybe a therapist or something.”

“Marina,” Donnie called out.

Heat swelled beneath her skin, thick and pulsing. The pale patches rippled faintly, rising and falling like they were breathing. When she moved, flakes drifted from her arms, soft as ash, revealing something raw and pink beneath. The air smelled faintly of rot and earth. She wasn’t sure if it was coming from the garden or from her.

Donnie and Kristen stepped into the garden, switching on the flashlights on their phones for light.

“Marina! I called for you. For fuck’s sake, why are you watering this dead gar—”

Before he could finish, she swung the hose at his head, knocking him unconscious.

“Oh my go—”

Marina grabbed the shovel and brought it down against the side of her sister’s temple. She sent her sprawling.

Marina stood over their bodies, motionless, watching as blood oozed from their heads. Then she heard it, the low familiar buzzing. A smile spread across her face as the carpenter bees drifted over the bodies.

This week’s piece is a little longer than my usual mini story, but I had so much fun writing it I couldn’t bring myself to shorten it. It was inspired by the photo shoot my husband and I did on Halloween.

P.S. The encounter with the deer 100% happened. Enjoy!

The Photo Shoot

As Becca walked through the woods to meet Agnes for the photo shoot, a gust of wind greeted her with a sharp bite. It was early November in Chicago, which meant the leaves were putting on their final show. Vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows cascaded through the trees, while layers of muted brown leaves crunched beneath her boots. As the sun began to dip, its rays filtered through the branches, creating a mosaic of light and shadow that stretched across the forest floor.

The further in Becca went, the heavier the pit in her stomach became. She still couldn’t believe she’d been chosen for this shoot. Agnes was a well-known photographer in the Midwest and was usually very particular about the models she chose for her campaigns.

“Over here!” Agnes called out.

Becca quickened her pace, careful not to trip over the chaos of fallen branches.

“I just need to finish setting up, then we can start,” Agnes said as she unfolded the tripod.

“Sounds good,” Becca said, setting her things down on the ground.

“Alright let’s start with some practice shots. Stand right in front of the tree. Without the jacket for now. Once the sun goes down we can take some with the jacket.” Agnes said as she started snapping away.

Becca stood in front of the tree, trying to quiet the nervous rhythm in her chest while she waited for Agnes to speak. As Agnes kept taking pictures and adjusting her settings, Becca’s gaze began to drift, taking in the scenery. Her eyes stopped when they met another fixed gaze staring back at her. Goosebumps rippled along her arms as she realized a deer was watching her. Its head moved slowly between Agnes and Becca, but it stayed where it was…graceful and unphased.

“Alright, all set. You ready?” Agnes said, breaking Becca’s gaze.

“I’m a bit nervous, to be honest. Please just let me know what you need from me. I’m not afraid of feedback and direction,” Becca said.

“Oh stop. You’re gorgeous and perfect for today. This will be over quickly,” Agnes said as she started taking pictures.

The next half hour was poses and the sound of the camera shutter. They moved through different areas of the woods, chasing the light. Becca, still new to modeling, didn’t ask any questions. She just did what she was told. She didn’t want to seem difficult to work with because Agnes’s reference could open doors for her.

“Okay, I think I got everything I need here. Now we just need a few more shots with the jacket,” Agnes said as she adjusted the settings and turned on the flash of her camera.

“Lemme grab it real quick. Be right back,” Becca said, scanning the woods to find where she’d set her things.

As she walked the short distance toward her bag, the last trace of sunlight vanished, and the moon took its place. The forest fell silent. Even the wind seemed to stop. A heavy stillness pressed against her ears, and her heartbeat grew loud enough to fill the space around her. The woods stretched endlessly in every direction, swallowed by a blanket of darkness.

Becca’s hand trembled as she reached into her pocket to use her phone as a flashlight. She set it face down so the small circle of light illuminated her while she slipped on the jacket.

A sharp crack of a branch splintered the silence, and Becca froze.
“Agnes? That you?” she called out, but no one answered.
Another sound followed, a soft rustle of leaves.
“Agnes!” she called again, sweeping her light through the darkness to find where the noise was coming from.

Becca couldn’t make sense of what was happening. She knew she should run, but her body refused to move, her feet felt heavy and stuck as if glued to the ground. Every shadow her phone light touched seemed to twist and shift, forming shapes her mind couldn’t define.

Was it the deer? she thought.

Then came more crunching, quicker this time, like footsteps running toward her. Panic surged through her chest.

RUN. She told herself. Just one foot in front of the other. Don’t look back.

She tore through the woods, jumping over fallen trees and branches. Everything was a blur as she kept running. Her lungs burned, each breath raw and heavy in her chest. Suddenly, she thought of Agnes and hoped she was okay. The thought distracted her, and she didn’t see the branch in front of her until the toe of her boot caught beneath it.

Her world tilted. Gravity took hold, and she hit the ground hard, the impact jarring her bones and sending her phone flying a few feet away. Before she could get up, the footsteps behind her grew louder. As she reached for her phone, and the beam of light caught movement.

Agnes.

She smiled at Becca before swinging the tripod, striking her across the head. Everything went black.

****

Her vision flickered in and out, shapes bleeding together. The ground felt cold beneath her, and a dull ringing filled her ears. When she blinked again, the shadows began to take shape. Agnes and a much taller man were standing in front of her, whispering to each other.

Both wore masks. Agnes’s was a feathered, horned masquerade mask, elegant but strange in the dim light. The man’s mask made Becca squirm, wishing she could free herself from the ropes binding her to the tree trunk. It was grotesque, horned, leathery, and molded into the face of a demon. The area near his mouth was open just enough to expose yellow, jagged decaying teeth.

Agnes bent down and ran her finger through the blood dripping down Becca’s face. Becca realized she was bleeding and tried to scream, but nothing came out through the gag. Agnes used the blood on her finger to draw a pentagram on Becca’s thighs.

I’m going to die, Becca thought.

She let herself drift, taking in the scenery one last time. Her eyes met the same gaze as before. The deer was still there, lying in the same spot, watching. Unmoving. Unbothered.

The man’s voice pulled her attention back.
“Let’s begin,” he said.

My hands trembled as I poured my third cup of coffee, spilling some onto the counter. I got maybe three hours of sleep after waking up in a pool of sweat and to the annoying sound of my sister’s dog whining all night. I thought it was just the usual perimenopause hormones, but turns out the air conditioner broke sometime before dawn.

It’s the middle of August and sweat is sliding down my temples while I stare at the computer screen, trying to finish the presentation for my 9 a.m. sales meeting. There’s no way I’m finishing this in time.

I open up my to-do list when I hear a faint buzzing zip past my ear. Probably just a fly. I keep typing: finish presentation, lifting class at 7, weed the garden, presentation at 9, write 2,000 words for my book, walk the dog, bake and decorate cookies for the work party, cookies I didn’t want to do but said yes to anyways…

Before I realize it, I’m scratching my hand so hard it stings. A dime-sized bump has already formed. Great, a mosquito bite. I grab the hydrocortisone cream and as I’m twisting the cap off, two more mosquitoes land right on my hand. I smack them mid-bite. Droplets of blood smear across my fingers.

I close the windows, but as I’m shutting the one above the kitchen sink, five or six more land but this time on my arms. I smack them fast, ignoring the sting from each hit. Blood streaks my forearms, tiny red bumps multiplying by the second.

The buzzing gets louder.

By the time I reach the dining room, I can hear it everywhere. Behind me, above me. Before I can close the next window, ten, maybe fifteen mosquitoes swarm my stomach. I can’t even count them. I keep smacking, smashing them mid-bite. More blood. More bumps. It spreads across my chest and stomach, and the pain is unbearable.

The buzzing now surrounds me completely. Louder with each step into the living room as I race to close the last window.

I’m three feet away from the window when I see it, a pulsing black cloud of mosquitoes. The frantic, high-pitched buzz of a million wings circles me and then they hurl themselves forward.

I swat wildly, blood splattering across my legs and arms. No matter how hard I hit, I can’t kill them all. A living blanket of wings and legs wraps around me as I fall to the floor.

The buzzing fills my ears until there’s nothing else. I stop fighting and let them take what’s left.

BOB

Alexis posted again. Beautiful as always.

I zoom in on the photo and recognize the park behind her. Willow Park. A sign, obviously. I double tap to send her a DM.

Hi Alexis. You don’t know me, but I’ve been following you for a while. I can’t help being drawn to you and your posts. I know that’s what you wanted. Someone who sees you. I can be that man. Dinner tonight? Meet at Willow Park at nine?
—Bob

Send.

She reads it but doesn’t reply. That’s fine. She’s playing hard to get. I check her feed again; she goes to all the same places I do. It’s fate.

By seven I’m parked outside her favorite restaurant. I see her car pull in and panic hits. I’m not ready yet. I duck behind the dumpster and wait until she drives off. Then I follow.

She pulls into her driveway. I park down the block and watch the house. An hour later she steps out, barefoot, in a white silk nightgown, to water her front lawn. The porch light glows around her like a halo. She wants me to see her.

I step out of the car, heart hammering.

“Hi, Alexis. It’s me, Bob. Hope it’s okay that I—”

She presses a finger to my lips. “Shh. Of course it’s okay. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her hand slides up my neck. She leans in, inhales, and smiles. “You smell good.”

She pulls me into the backyard. The air feels colder here. She pushes me against the house and kisses my neck. Then pain. Sudden and sharp.

“Ow,” I laugh. “I see you like it rough.”

The sensor light flicks on as she lifts her head. She smiles wide, revealing sharp, elongated canines. Blood coats her mouth like lipstick. She wipes a drop from the corner with her finger and licks it clean before burying her face back into my neck.

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes.

Then everything goes black.

ALEXIS

Pathetic excuse of a man.

Those are the best tasting ones though.

Dinner was an easy catch tonight.

Back to gardening. Those roses aren’t going to prune themselves.

A massive winter storm swarmed the city before anyone could prepare. People were trapped in their homes with limited food and water. The city was frozen in silence. No sirens, no wind.

One family of five gathered all their clothing and blankets and huddled together to share their body heat.

“There are more blankets in the shed, honey,” Jessica said.
“I’ll go out and get them,” Fernando replied.

He pulled on his red coat and stepped outside. As he opened the shed door, he saw an icicle begin to loosen. Before he could react, it crashed down, piercing his eye. He dropped to the ground.

“What’s taking Dad so long?” Yesenia asked after a few minutes. “I’ll go check on him.”

She slipped on her yellow coat, opened the back door, and saw him lying still in the snow. Without thinking, she ran toward him, but her feet gave out on the slick deck. As she fell backward, she looked up. An icicle was loosening above her. She rolled, but not fast enough. It went straight through her arm.

“Ahhh! Help!” she screamed.

Jessica threw on her white coat and rushed outside.
“Be careful! They’re melting and falling. The icicles,” Yesenia gasped as her mother stepped onto the deck.

Jessica looked around but saw no sign of ice melting. She helped Yesenia up and called for her son. “James! Come out here and help us!”

James put on his green coat and hurried outside. As soon as he opened the back door, he froze.

“Be careful walking. Go over and get your father inside,” Jessica said calmly, though her voice trembled.

James stepped toward the shed. He saw his father’s body and fell to his knees beside him. “Mom… dad’s dead,” he stammered. And then he heard it. Drip. Drip. Drip.

He looked up and was greeted by the point of an icicle. It fell, driving through his chest. He collapsed.

Jessica screamed. Her youngest son started to run to the door.

“Stop! Go back inside, Nico!” she cried. “Me and your sister will be inside in a couple minutes.”

She helped Yesenia up, and together they stumbled back inside. Jessica cleaned Yesenia’s wound the way she might scrub a countertop, detached and deliberate. Each motion felt distant, like her hands belonged to someone else.

The three of them sat in silence, listening to the house creak and groan beneath the weight of ice. Every few minutes, another scream echoed from the neighbors’ yards.

“Mom, what do we do?” Yesenia asked softly.

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

There were flowers already blooming in front of the apartment complex when she signed the lease. It felt like a fresh start.

But by the end of moving day, dread had settled in. The apartment felt lifeless, every wall and corner washed in shades of gray and brown. This was supposed to be her chance to begin again. She told herself it was just her anxiety, something she had carried most of her adult life.

Maybe I just need to make this place my own, she thought. She remembered the flowers outside and cut marigolds and zinnias to bring inside. Their colors lit up the room. For a moment, she smiled.

But later, lying on the couch, she scrolled through Instagram. Breaking news. Another headline. More breaking news. Again and again until she fell asleep with the phone in her hand.

At 2 a.m. she woke, mind racing. She turned to look at the flowers. Their petals had curled inward, drained of all color, as if something in the apartment had fed on them while she slept.

As I sat down at my vanity to get ready for the day, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes stared back at me, tired and unhappy. I played with my smile, turning it on and off like a light switch, practicing for the day’s performance.

I read my affirmations on the post-it notes out loud. “I am strong and capable.” “My voice matters.” “I am creative.” “I am enough.”

My reflection answered back. “You are weak.” “No, it doesn’t.” “Your writing sucks.” “You will never be enough.”

I closed my eyes. This was just in my head. Then a cold breath slid across my skin, crawling up the back of my neck. Suddenly it became hard to breathe, the room felt small, and everything was muffled.

I opened my eyes in a panic. My reflection stood up, tilted her head with that practiced smile, and walked away, leaving me pounding at the glass from the other side.

Content warning: ⚠️ This story includes emotional distress and some scenes of violence.

CRYSTAL

As I grabbed my phone to turn off my alarm, I noticed multiple text messages from Greta. All from late last night. I’ve been working on building a new writing habit in the mornings, which means I prioritize sleep and get to bed early most nights. Greta has a tendency to text me late, so I had to start putting my phone on DND this past week.

Greta and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember. Some people say we’re basically one person because of how much time we spend together. I disagree, but she, on the other hand, can’t seem to live without me. I’ve tried multiple times to distance myself from her. Some might even call it a breakup, but it never seems to stick.

My husband always asks me why I want space from her, and the answer is simple. I can’t become the person I want to be with her constantly attached to my hip. I want to finish writing my horror book. I want to read more. I want to stop being consumed by social media and the news. I want to treat my body better, to eat well and move more.

Greta would rather scroll for hours and then complain about how her nervous system is shot, how her days are filled with anxiety. She pretends her self-esteem is unshakable, but I know the truth. She’s drowning in the comparison game. Most nights she stays up watching TV or going out drinking, doing anything to avoid her reality.

Even when she works out, it’s the bare minimum. She makes promises to herself and breaks them the next day. There's always a headache, always a complaint, and somehow it's always my job to hear about it. The negativity clings to her like a second skin, and being near it feels like swimming to the surface with someone holding your ankles.

I hesitated before opening the messages. There were seven of them.

Greta:

I know you’re ignoring me again.

This isn’t healthy, Crystal.

You always act like you’re better than me.

But we both know you’re not.

You can’t cut me out. I won’t let you.

You need me.

Come see me. Now.

I stared at the last message. “Come see me. Now.” No emoji. No punctuation. Just a command, like she knew I would.

And the worst part? A small part of me wanted to, but it was 5 in the morning. She could wait until after work. I thought about texting her back but decided to wait.

Instead, I wrote for an hour and got my workout in before work. It felt good to actually follow through on my writing intentions. Greta is all talk when it comes to her dreams and goals. She loves to go on about them but never puts in the work. It was nice to do all of it in peace, without the Greta negativity goggles on. I felt accomplished and in the right mindset to take on the day.

As I walked into my 9 to 5, I felt my phone vibrate in my purse. Dread immediately consumed me. As I climbed the eight flights of stairs, I pulled out my phone. Another six texts from her.

Greta:

I saw you walk in. You looked tired.

You can’t cut me off like this. We’ve been through worse.

You think they care about you? I’m the only one who actually sees you.

Every version of you still needs me. You’ll see.

Why do you always take the stairs? It’s weird. Just use the elevator like everyone else.

You can pretend all day, but we both know I’ll see you tonight.

This time, I won’t let you leave.

As I reached for my keycard to let myself into the office, I caught myself agreeing with her. Should I just take the elevator like everyone else? I caught my reflection in the glass windows of the offices I passed. The dark circles under my eyes stood out more than I expected. I really need to do a better job with my makeup tomorrow.

I ignored Greta’s texts, sat down, and logged in.

I told myself I was fine. I wasn’t.

GRETA

I was already ten minutes deep into staring at the login screen when I realized I hadn’t even typed in my password. Whatever. None of it mattered anyway. This job was a joke. The people were fake. The lighting made me look like a corpse.

And still—still—no response from Crystal. She saw my messages. I know she did. She’s playing games again. She always does this when she’s trying to feel better than me.

She really thinks she’s an author now. Like, she writes books. She never even went to school for that. She’s just... no fun anymore.

But she’ll come crawling back. She always does. She’ll realize that nothing can break our bond. I won’t let it.

I answered a few emails and immediately grabbed my phone. I needed to check Instagram. And TikTok. There’s just so much going on in this horrible timeline I’m stuck living in. But I need to stay informed. How else would I know what to prepare for?

I just can’t believe I’m still expected to act like I care about this job. Corporate garbage. It all feels pointless. By the looks of things, we’re all doomed anyway, so what’s the point of pretending?

Honestly, I’d rather be home watching my shows. With Crystal.

I looked at the clock on my computer. It was only 11:00 AM. My stomach was rumbling, but everything I packed was full of healthy crap. I try to listen to Crystal sometimes, but right now I instantly regret it. I don’t want yogurt and fruit for a snack. Who am I kidding? I’m cursed. I always end up with a headache no matter what I eat or drink, so I might as well just eat what I actually want. Chocolate. Chips. Soda.

I grabbed my keycard, wallet and phone and headed down to the deli in the building. I took the elevator, of course. I’m not a weirdo like her.

The deli’s options were limited, but I ended up getting a Snickers bar and a can of Coke. Once I got back to my desk, I cracked it open and drank half the can in one go. It tasted so good. Exactly what I needed.

I opened Instagram again to check for any news updates. Crystal posted a video. One of her daily "inspire" posts, talking about her workouts or sharing some words of positivity or encouragement. Blah, blah, blah. Who does she think she is? Really? She only got like 23 views anyway. It’s not like she’s changing the world or anything. I mean... read the room, Crystal. No one cares. Except me.

When will she realize it?

I liked the post. I always do. She notices when I don’t. Then I swiped out of Instagram and opened my text messages. She still hasn’t replied. I should text her again.

I know you’ve seen my texts.

You can’t avoid me.

Not forever.

I’ll be there tonight.

8PM.

Don’t pretend you don’t know why.

I hit send and stared at my phone. I saw the dots. She read the texts. To my surprise, she responded immediately.

Crystal:
Fine.

CRYSTAL

I don’t know why I replied. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I just wanted it to end. Maybe I wanted to see what would happen. I stared at the word “Fine” on the screen, still glowing in our message thread. It didn’t feel like my voice, but I sent it.

I forced myself to put the phone down and focused on work for the rest of the day. I even ate most of the healthy lunch I packed. Or at least, I thought I did. When I got home and unpacked my bag, the yogurt and fruit were still there, completely untouched. I stared at them for a second, like they might explain something. Maybe I was more distracted than I realized.

The rest of the evening blurred into routine: dinner with my husband, half an hour of writing, then some time in the garden.

I was bent down deadheading the Black-eyed Susans when something moved in the corner of my eye. I stood up to get a better look and there she was.

Sitting on my deck. Smoking weed. Smiling right at me.

“Oh. Hey Greta,” I said, slightly annoyed she didn’t give me a heads-up before showing up.

“Hi,” she replied, exhaling smoke.

“Want to talk in the garden?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“So I can get eaten alive by all those damn bugs? No thank you. I’ll wait up here. I’d rather just talk inside anyway.” She packed her one-hitter with more weed. “You really should spray some OFF and get rid of all those bugs. It would make sitting out here much more enjoyable.”

Greta hates the garden and always acts like she’s not allowed in here.

I took my time finishing deadheading and watering while she smoked weed and stared at me with that smile.

“Want a hit?” Greta asked with a sly smile as I closed the garden gate. She flicked the lighter between her fingers like a kid showing off, then raised an eyebrow.

I hesitated, and she rolled her eyes, leaning back against the fence with a casual shrug.

“Sure. Just one. You know this messes with my sleep and wakes up my anxiety. So I can only microdose.”

I grabbed the one-hitter, inhaled while Greta lit it for me, and of course, I immediately started coughing.

“This is why I’m trying to slow down on the smoking. I end up smoking too much and the rest of my day is gone. Everything I planned doesn’t get done and I end up doomscrolling. That shit gives me headaches and messes with my sleep. You need to slow down already, Greta.”

We were walking into the house as I said it.

“Well, well, well,” she snapped, voice low but sharp. “You take one hit and suddenly you’re better than me. I came over to have a nice conversation about why you’ve been avoiding me, but I guess we’re squabbling up right away.”

“What do you want from me? I just want you to leave me alone already. You’re always making me feel like shit and never being supportive or happy for me.” I tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“I’ve been here for you your entire life. And now, just because you want to be an author, you spit me out like trash. News flash, Crystal, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have anyone else. You keep chasing things you don’t have when you should just realize all you need is me. Forever!” Greta yelled, her voice sharp and raw as she ran her hands through her hair, then pressed her palms against her face in frustration.

I took a shaky breath and stepped back. “You don’t get it. I’m done being trapped.”

Her eyes flashed, and in an instant, she lunged.

I stepped back and instinctively grabbed a kitchen knife.

“Ha ha ha ha. What are you going to do with that? Do you even know how to use it? Are you trying to hurt me?” Greta sneered, slow and deliberate like a predator circling its prey. Her smile was tight and cold, never quite reaching her sharp, unblinking eyes that bore into me.

“You can’t hurt me. As much as you don’t want to admit it, if you hurt me, you’re only hurting yourself. You love me, Crystal. Now and forever.”

Her fingers lightly traced the edge of a second kitchen knife as she reached for it. Her breath was steady and calm, unnervingly controlled. She leaned in just a little, invading my space with the faintest tilt of her head, as if mocking me.

My heart hammered in my chest as Greta’s eyes locked onto mine. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

I gripped the knife tighter, knuckles whitening. The cold metal was a strange comfort in my trembling hand.

Her calm, mocking stare made my skin crawl, but I refused to look away. I wasn’t going to let her see me break.

“Stay back,” I warned, voice low but steady.

A shaky breath escaped me, but I forced it down. This wasn’t just about fear anymore. It was about fighting for the life I wanted, one where I wasn’t trapped by her anymore.

“Or what? You’re going to stab me? Do it. I dare you.” She walked toward me slowly, eyes locked on mine.

“You’re nothing without me. You’re worthless. Your chances of becoming a published author are next to none, Crystal. Stop fooling yourself. You can’t do it.”

Without thinking, my hand shot forward and I lunged at Greta. It was like my body betrayed me, moving before my mind could catch up. The knife plunged into Greta’s arm with a sickening resistance, sharp pain jolting through my fingers as warm blood oozed out and soaked my hand. She gasped, eyes wide with shock and pain.

“You bitch! How dare you sta—” she cried out.

Again, it was like I didn’t have control of my body. I ripped the knife from her arm and stabbed her again, this time, the other arm. Then her chest.

She collapsed to the floor, and I kept going. Again. And again. And again.

When I finally stopped, my hands were shaking, soaked in blood. It was on my face. I could feel it drying on my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to wipe it off.

“You’ll never be rid of me,” she whispered with her last breath. “I am you.”

“Greta. Greta. Greta…” I crumpled beside her, hugging her limp body. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just... I couldn’t carry you anymore.”

A voice broke through the silence.

“Hun? Are you okay? What’s going on? Who are you talking to? and why do you have a knife in your hand?”

I looked up. My husband stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

There was no one else in the room.

Just me.

TONI

As I was about to head out to the garden, my phone rang. It was Derek’s office. Weird, I thought to myself. Derek would usually just call me from his cell. Curious, I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi Toni. It’s Natalie from CR Robinson. Sorry to bother you, but I need to tell you something. I debated whether or not I should share this information, since it’s none of my business. But if I were in your shoes, I would want to know. I’m so sorry to be the one who has to do this, but your husband Derek is having an affair. With Veronica, his assistant. I just found out, but others in the office have known for a year now. It’s disgusting, and I thought you should know.”

“Okay… Thank you for letting me know,” I replied.

“Again, I’m so sorry.”

“No, seriously. Thank you. I really appreciate it. Take care.”

I hung up the phone as tears began to build in my eyes.

The words hit me like a slap. Sharp. Disorienting. Impossible to ignore.

How could I have missed the signs?

He’s been so distant lately. Gone all the time. I thought he was working overtime for us, saving for our future. The future I believed we both wanted. The one where we’d travel the world for a few years before starting a family.

I even offered to get a second job to help with money, but he refused. Said I shouldn’t be working at all. Said that once we had children, my job was to stay home.

I always dreamed of becoming an author, but I put that aside to focus on us.

I lost touch with all of my friends because of him.

I devoted the past thirteen years of my life to him. To his needs. His dreams.

I gave everything while slowly packing away pieces of myself.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The scream tore out of me before I even knew it was coming.

I dropped to my knees, as if my legs had suddenly forgotten how to stand.

For a while, I just stayed there, crying in silence, stunned and unable to move.

I’m not sure what happened.

One moment I was on the ground, falling apart. The next, I stood up.

I wiped the tears from my face and pulled myself back together, at least on the outside.

Then I grabbed my sunglasses and headed out to the garden, just like I’d planned.

The sun was high and bright, too cheerful for the way my insides felt. But the garden didn’t care. It just breathed quietly around me, green and blooming, untouched by what I had just heard. I walked past the zinnias, roses, and dahlias. The wind shifted, and I heard the soft, persistent buzzing.

Carpenter bees. Big, slow, black-bodied beauties hovering near the wooden fence. Most people found them irritating, always worried about the holes, but I never minded. They were peaceful. Focused.

I looked them up once and learned it’s the females who do the tunneling. They carve out perfect little chambers inside the wood, shaping a safe place to lay their eggs. They even get to choose whether the egg becomes male or female. Something about that stuck with me.

They moved with purpose, weaving in and out of the fence like they belonged there. Tireless. Gentle, even with their hum. Sometimes, they hovered near me longer than usual, as if they recognized me. Or maybe they just knew I wasn’t afraid. Either way, they never stung. Not once.

I stood there for a long time, watching them disappear into the holes they had drilled.

Then I heard Derek’s car pull into the driveway. I didn’t move. With the hose in my hand, I just watched as he parked, got out, and walked toward the backyard.

“Hey, baby. How’s the garden looking?” he asked as he kissed my cheek.

I stood there silently, just looking at him.

“Babe? Hello? Earth to Toni.”

“Did you ever bring Veronica home and fuck her in our bed?”

“Excuse me?” he said, like he didn’t hear me right.

“Have. You. Ever. Fucked. Veronica. In. Our. Bed?” I asked again.

“Why would you even say something like that?” he said, blinking too fast. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed, but it was thin, uneasy.

“Answer the question.” I said calmly without loosing eye contact.

“You’re out of your mind. Can we just go inside so you can cook dinner already? I’m starv—”

I didn’t let him finish.

The nozzle was still in my hand.

It only took one swing.

DEREK

Darkness pressed against my eyes, thick and suffocating.
A sharp sting throbbed at the back of my head.
Noises buzzed faintly, distant and muffled, like I was underwater.

I wasn’t sure if my eyes were open or shut. Something soft was tied over them. Fabric maybe. I could still feel the sunlight though, bleeding through the cloth, too bright to ignore. I could hear the breeze. Leaves shifting. And underneath it all, the faint smell of roses.

I was outside. I was in the garden.

My mouth was dry and gritty, the taste of soil sharp and bitter on my tongue. I was gagged with what felt like gardening gloves. My arms and legs were bound tight, pinned down. Panic burned through me as I struggled against the zip ties.

And then all I could hear was buzzing.

At first, it felt like an itch under the skin, buried too deep to scratch. Then something pushed. Forced its way in. A dull, grinding pressure followed by sharp, wet heat. I could feel the tunnel forming, the way they bored through muscle like I was made of soft wood.

I tried to scream, but the noise didn’t go anywhere. It stayed trapped in my skull, echoing back at me.

I could feel movement inside me. Not just crawling, but digging. Slow. Methodical. I felt it all over, my arms, my legs, my back, my neck, my cheeks, my chest.

I just wanted it to stop.

How do I make it stop?

What is this?

I tried to scream again, but nothing came out.
As something began to crawl along my ears, I heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Slow. Careful. Getting closer.

The cloth over my eyes shifted, lowering just enough for light to break through. I squinted.
Toni was squatting down, just looking at me.

She didn’t say a word. Just stared while I squirmed, trying to break free from the zip ties.
Then she put on her sunglasses.
In the reflection, I saw them.
Carpenter bees.

Suddenly the pressure in my ears spiked. I could hear it, faint at first. A soft, chewing sound, like something gnawing through fruit. Then it deepened, wetter, more deliberate. Scrape. Grind. Scrape. I felt the grind deep in my jaw.

In the reflection of her sunglasses, I saw it.
A neat, round hole in the soft flesh of my earlobe.
Then, movement.

A black head began to push through from behind. Slow. Calm. Like it belonged there. Its antennae flicked out, testing the air. The bee had burrowed into my ear. And now it was coming out.

Toni smiled and stood up.

The hose hissed softly as she watered the garden.

As soon as my dad started getting out of bed, I jumped up, accidentally waking my sister Karai. I stretched and shook off the last of my bad dreams. I needed to get downstairs. I was so thirsty. As soon as my Dad opened the bedroom door, I bolted. I have to be the first one down the stairs. Always.

Oh! Hi! My name is Freddy, and I’m the most lovable standard poodle you’ll ever meet. Okay, back to my story because it’s a good one.

I ran to the back door and sat, not so patiently, by my water bowl. It was empty, of course. My parents always say I don’t know how to control myself when it comes to water. I’m not really sure what that means. All I know is that I LOVE water. Sometimes I dream I’m in a pool filled with water, and I just keep drinking and drinking, and the pool never gets empty. It is heaven.

Finally, my dad walks toward the back door, but he doesn’t fill the water bowl. Instead, he opens the door, which was the right choice. As always, I must be first, so I ran through the screen door, making sure I beat Karai.

“It is I, Freddy, the all mighty poodle, and this is my land. If you are here, you better leave now!” I yelled as soon as my paws hit the deck.

There are always birds and squirrels hanging out in my yard, which is just rude. I made sure to pee right next to the garden. That way, any potential intruders will know not to enter. Then I sprinted as fast as I could around the yard, running multiple laps. My backyard is huge, which is great because I can get my exercise in every day. I just have to make sure not to walk too close to the fence. There are these plants with poky things on them, and it hurts when I get too close. I think I heard my parents call them roses. Whatever that means. Now it was time to sniff everything to make sure no intruders were here last night.

“Freddy!” my dad yelled for me to come back into the house. That was my cue to find a spot to poop. I did my business and made my way back to the house. I waited on the deck until he let me in.

As soon as I got inside, I smelled her. I checked the cookie room, but she wasn’t there. I walked through the kitchen and living room, nothing. There was only one more room left to check. I charged at the bathroom door and it flew open. And there she was, sitting on the toilet. The love of my life… my mommy!! Oh boy, do I love her so much. I quickly made my way toward her so I could get my morning rubs.

“Good morning Freddy! You’re such a good boy,” she said as she rubbed my head and ears.

After a few minutes she stopped, so I quickly put my paws on her hand to let her know that wasn’t long enough. I wanted more rubs. She rubbed my head again, and then I left the bathroom.

I walked to the back of the house where, like magic, my water bowl was filled. I drank as fast as I could because, like I said before, I LOVE WATER. My dad stopped me after a while and made me sit until my next pass. I sat down, and then, out of nowhere, I heard something. A soft “pfff” sound. Where did that come from? Did that just come from me? I slowly turned my head and looked behind me, trying to figure out where that mysterious sound came from. My mom and dad were laughing.

“All the boys in this house are always farting,” my mom said with a smile.

I sat there with my ears drooped and my head low, waiting for one of them to give me the okay to drink more water.

“Okay, go ahead,” my dad said.

I drank and drank as fast as I could until the bowl was empty. That was not enough water, so I sat there patiently, waiting for the bowl to be refilled. My mom looked at me and told my dad I looked like Eeyore. What is an Eeyore? I thought to myself. It didn’t matter, because a few seconds later, there was more water.

The morning went on like usual. Nicholas, my older brother, came downstairs and got ready for summer camp. My mom and dad worked out and then got ready for work. My mom didn’t make her lunch today, which meant she was working from home. Those are my favorite days because I get to spend the entire day with her.

Nicholas and Dad left for the day, and then Mom, Karai, and I settled into the cookie room. As Mommy worked, I plopped onto the floor right next to her. I had to make sure my head and paws were on the bottom of her chair. I love being so close to her, and I also need to protect her by making sure the chair doesn’t start moving while she is trying to work.

After a few hours, Mommy got up from the desk and started putting on her gardening shoes, which meant one thing, she was going outside, so I had to join her. I spun around multiple times in excitement. She put on her sunglasses and gardening gloves and opened the back door. As usual, I must always be first, so I bolted through the screen door, beating Karai.

“It is I, Freddy, the all mighty poodle, and this is my land. If you are here, you bett—”

“Freddy. No. Freddy. No barking,” my mom said, cutting me off.

“I’m just trying to warn off any intruders and protect you, Mom!”

“Freddy, no barking or you’re going inside.”

I quickly stopped and decided to get my exercise in by running as fast as I could around the entire yard, from the basketball hoop to the soccer net on the other end. As I did this, Mommy moved the crates in front of the garden gate and entered the garden.

“Freddy, come! Come!” she yelled in fear. I came running as fast as I could and saw it right away. There was an intruder in her garden—and the worst kind—a squirrel. Not on my watch. I ran toward it, yelling,

“Get out of my mommy’s garden now or feel my wrath!”

It quickly scaled the chicken wire. It was fast. I followed it around, yelling at it, making sure I didn’t touch any of Mommy’s plants. I was so focused on the squirrel’s movements I didn’t even notice Mommy had left the garden.

A few minutes later, she was back with a large stick in her hand. She started hitting the outside of the garden, trying to scare the squirrel, I assumed.

“Okay Mommy, I have a plan. You keep hitting the garden to scare the squirrel, and I’ll chase it all around until it leaves your garden,” I yelled out.

Mommy kept following the squirrel, hitting the frame of the garden, and I ran as fast as I could toward it. I almost caught it, but she yelled and stopped me. I’m not sure why. I could tell Mommy wasn’t happy and was scared of the squirrel. I must protect her at all costs. She went back inside, so I continued to chase and yell at the intruder.

“Leave at once! I will catch you and this will be the last time you ever step foot here. You’re ruining my mommy’s plants and you must pay. This is my land, and if you do not leave now, you will feel my wrath!” I yelled.

Mommy came back with the hose and tried to scare the squirrel by spraying water near it. As much as I wanted to stop my chase and try to drink water from it, I continued after the squirrel. And then, out of nowhere, the squirrel ran out of the garden as fast as it could. Naturally, I darted after it, almost catching it, but Mommy stopped me again.

“Freddy, you are such a good boy. You are my hero. Thank you for helping Mommy get the squirrel out,” she said while rubbing my head.

Or at least I think that’s what she said. I wasn’t really paying attention because I was just so proud of myself for protecting her and really enjoying the rubs.

I wandered the yard and watched her while she cut flowers and brought them into the house. I love when Mommy is happy, and I know that flowers are one of her favorite things. That’s why I always pee next to the garden, to warn off the intruders.

We went back inside, and I was rewarded with water and a bone. I ate the bone on my bed and realized how tired I was. I went back into the cookie room, plopped down next to Mommy, and let myself dream. Days like this are the best kind, the kind where I get to help, get treats, and just be near the people I love. It was time to enter dreamland, you know, the place where I can sit in a pool while drinking unlimited amounts of water and it never runs out.

Paradise.