"One moment I'm important, next minute I'm background at best, can't say which one I prefer. What's making my head spin are the transitions. I know everything is 'need-to-know' and 'last minute' for a reason, but there are days it feels like my brain cells have been randomized."


Always there are more paths than clues. Jordan slumps, hands in pockets waiting for Neala to choose. She turns slowly, not even bothering to feign reading the map. Not once has it lead to anything it says, only trouble. Neala examines the dirt, the direction of the sun, strains her ears for any sound. None comes. For the first time since the journey began her face is completely fallen, no mask of coping left. Her eyes keep wandering, feet moving faster until she almost spins. She stops - mouth buckling, eyes wet. "Jordan, I just don't know anymore."

Thrillers / Espionage

They told me at the outset it was a solo mission. Get in, achieve the goals, get out. So who is this guy? He acts like he has all the same instructions, like it's me that's the usurper. The more I mull it over the more my brain becomes a spinning top, always finding more questions than answers. The weird part is there's a familiarity to him i just can't shake, not a memory per se, but echoes that call to my intuition.


Your words and your actions are divergent, and no, not like the book. I mean they pull in opposite directions as if your brain's narrator and navigator have entirely different ideas about the world. You talk the talk of the valiant protector, yet when push comes to shove I'm on my own. Over and over I'm left to my tormentors before they have their fill and throw me back to you. You love me with words, resent me with actions - actions that slip from you more easily than leaves from the fall trees. So why can't you just let me go? Is it pride? Guilt? Are you confused too? Or do you not see your actions for what they are? Either way I've given up trying to figure you out. I'm just a ball bouncing, appearing free to the casual glancer yet always restrained by a pretty rope.

Family Life

Cara glances upward, her mouth pursed but slightly open and loose. Her eyes are fixed as if she's looking at something a yard behind my head. I call her name. She blinks, refocuses. "Where are we, dear? Did we get to the shelter on time?" I smile and nod. She's lost in the war again, another five minutes should have her back with me in 2016, just in time for her favourite show.


Ivan's proud frame was slumped like a two decade hobo on the metal park bench. Clarissa hadn't come. If that woman had been a minute late in her life someone was dead, and this time he knew it was him - he just didn't know why. He had loved her, worshiped her. Running would never be an option, not with her connections. Then, after ten long minutes she sat next to him, removed her gloves and commented on the weather. Ivan sat up straight and looked at her with borrowed eyes, his expression giving away all of his thoughts as usual.


Lara is slumped at the breakfast table, her brows creased and face tense. When Mom sits, coffee in hand, she asks "What's up?" her tone casual and light.

Lara's scowls at her scrambled eggs, "I don't know whether to do basketball or swimming. I like both but I only see Claire at swimming."

Mom takes another sip and then continues, serious faced, "I see, well, what's does your gut tell you? Which one do you want more?"

Lara's face crumples again, "I don't know!"

Mom makes her face straighter than a poker player and says, "Lara, you're not going swimming." For a fraction of a second the corners of Lara's mouth twitch upwards, until her conscious mind asserts control again. Then Mom says "Actually, no, you're not going to basketball." Lara's face is serious all the way from her eyes to her mouth, no pleasure at all, not even masked. "OK," Mom says, "We'll finish this set of swim lessons, then switch to just basketball. You can still see Claire every week, OK honey?"


Okay, my dream, and now this? I'm really confused. Bryer eyes me weirdly while the council members stare at me in awe. "Look away." I mutter self-consciously.

By aria, January 2, 2015.