Éric

Éric has had an eclectic career which ranges from casino dealer to canal boat captain to radio station DJ. Since 2009, he’s worked as a desktop publisher for the federal government. During his off time, he works as a freelance typesetter for various Canadian-based authors and publishers, roasts gourmet flavoured coffee, runs several pen-and-paper role-playing games, writes, and helps run JenEric-Designs.ca (Home of the TravellingTARDIS.com).

He lives in Ottawa, Ontario with his author wife, daughter, and son.

DIY or FML?

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Hello My Imaginary Friends,

I have noticed something strange among people I know (or follow online). It transcends age groups, social groups, and economic groups.

There seems to be a collective “looking down the nose” towards people who don’t do it themselves.

Snobbism?

How did this come about? I’m not sure. I assume it’s the backlash to big businesses selling and doing everything (and doing it as cheap quality as possible); the same backlash that has seen a resurgence of crafts people and small businesses.

But when did, “Oh, that’s hand-made? Where’d you get it?”, turn into disdain because we didn’t make it ourselves?

Maybe it’s the hundreds of DIY shows that make it look like people who know nothing suddenly can do amazing things. Reality (show) check; they’re coached and taught by professionals.

Ego?

Because there is so much information on the internet about everything and a lot of websites that trick you into thinking you’re doing it yourself for cheaper, people assume that they can do anything.

And that might be fine for a drywall patch or a regular dessert or even setting up your television system. However, no one is perfect or good at everything. When I make a cake it tastes good and looks like something a toddler put together. I know so little about drywall that if I tried alone I’d probably just screw it up.

It’s ok to admit that you don’t know everything and can’t do everything.

Small Business and Freelance Professionals

I know why this happens and how to fix it.
I know why this happens and how to fix it.

There are certain things you might be good at and that’s wonderful, work on those and improve yourself. Maybe you have the persistence to turn it into a career.

As a Freelance Layout Artist, I have worked on my profession for years. I did my first professional book layout 17 years ago and I’ve been doing it for private and government for 10 years. I have tools, tricks, and resources that most people don’t. The same goes for your friends and family who are professionals in their trade.

Do you know the downfall of most freelancers and small businesses? It’s not that they suck at what they do or that they aren’t skilled in their craft. It’s the business part that’s hard. It forces us to stop working on our passions to become salespeople.

You’re not Bothering Us!

My wife is a travel consultant. Read her travel articles, and contact her for all your travel needs.

She and I get plenty of emails that start with or include, “Sorry for bothering you” or “I know it’s a hassle”. It’s NOT, it’s our job and we love it.

If I could lay out fiction books for the rest of my life, I probably would never retire. It’s my passion and something I enjoy greatly.

My wife relishes finding the best price for someone. My photographer friends love taking pictures. My baker friends love baking. My clothes making friends love making clothes. My graphic artist friends love art-ing. Etc. Etc. Etc.

No one starts a small business, or goes freelance, unless they love what they do.

MONEY!

It all comes down to money. Some people DIY because they can’t afford anything else… or can they?

I understand that not everyone can afford to buy coffee from JenEric Coffee. It’s a luxury item and I don’t get annoyed seeing people drink Starbucks.

I do cringe when I see friends and family booking cruises or vacations “on their own.” No one books travel “on their own”. They use online sites with catchy names. These sites charge you for the privilege of searching for your own travel. Good travel agents make their money by taking the commission from the vendor not the traveller. That means the cruise ship pays commission not you. (Airfare is different and requires a small fee but is usually cheaper than doing it yourself.) So you don’t pay for a travel agent and they can get you better deals than doing it yourself.

Every profession is different but most don’t, or shouldn’t, charge a fee for discussing what you want. And if they do charge a service fee, they are obligated to tell you so at the beginning of the conversation. We love our jobs and are more than willing to discuss things with you. I’ll talk margins, kerning, and fonts all day (and I have).

My Point

Before you waste long amounts of time, get a quote or extra information from your friends who do it for a living. You might be surprised at the amount of frustration and money you’ll save in the end.

And if you truly want to do it yourself, ask us to teach you. I’ll gladly teach you how to roast your own coffee, or work with InDesign.

Éric

Coffee is a Comfort Food

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The earliest memory I have of coffee is my mother saying, “Don’t bother me until I’ve had my coffee and cigarette.” The dark brown sludge of instant coffee mixed with powdered milk was bitter, thick, and beyond disgusting.

We all have memories associated with our favourite food. I read an emotional article The Case for Bad Coffee; it’s a good and emotional read. I can’t criticize anything in it; it’s an emotional piece about the writer’s relationship with coffee. I would object to associating Starbucks with good coffee, or all diners with bad coffee. The two aren’t that far apart.

My Coffee Story

Something happened when I was eight: my mom got a job. She started working full time at a women’s shelter. A lot changed because of that job. We moved into a house, she became more confident, we started buying bagged milk, she bought a drip coffee machine, she quit smoking, and she started buying flavoured coffee.

That’s when I started taking notice. The smells of Amaretto, French Vanilla, Caramel, Irish Cream, and Chocolate floated in the house instead of the burnt rubber smell of her old instant coffee.

I can’t tell you when I started drinking coffee. I know it was sometime in high school but the exact date or year is lost to my terrible memory. I do know that the flavoured coffee was mostly for holidays and special occasions and she bought Timmies for everyday drinking.

The smell of flavoured coffee transports me back to our little house and Christmas in Northern Ontario, sipping Irish Cream coffee with the smell of holiday cooking and the howls of winter outside. There was a figurative, as well as a literal, warmth to discussing everything and anything at the breakfast table over a cinnamon coffee. I still have the cheesy Santa head mugs we drank from. I haven’t had the heart to unpack them since she died.

winter morning coffee

When I moved out on my own the first thing I bought was a coffee maker. It was tiny and made one large cup. I used it for ramen almost as often as I did for coffee. I used that machine until my third year university when I needed to pull all-nighters. I fondly remember making a large pot of coffee and working from 10pm to 8am on a 2000 word essay.

Caffeine fueled my university. My video editing job was Caramelo from Second Cup, my convenient store job was Vanilla Hazelnut Van Houtte’s, tour guiding was German Chocolate cake from Timothies, and late night classes were an extra-large triple-triple from Timmies.

They were never as good as the weekends when I went to visit my Mom and we had her coffee and watched a movie, chatted, or just argued.

When I graduated, I tried to get into Starbucks or exotic coffees. They were always bitter and over-roasted (I didn’t know that at the time, I just knew it wasn’t right). I tried to be “grown-up” and drink espresso or cappuccinos but my heart always yearned for the warmth of flavoured coffee.

Heart VS Stomach

My heart yearned for the warmth of flavoured coffee, but my stomach took that way too literally. Acid reflux was the result.

Most (some exceptions like Second Cup) flavoured coffees are made from low quality beans. Low quality beans are exceptionally bitter and acidic compared to other beans. The flavour masks the taste of both of these properties.

Unfortunately due to my stomach problems, I can no longer drink flavoured coffee without multiple uncomfortable issues. (I’ll spare you the details.)

Heart Wins!

I couldn’t find any place that made flavoured coffee with high, or even medium, quality beans. I was reduced to drinking unflavoured coffee.

Although my stomach was happy I missed the days of yummy flavours.

That’s when I got the crazy idea of making my own coffee. With the help of the internet, I started roasting in a hot air popper and loving the coffee.

I looked online for coffee flavouring. I found a lot of syrups (mostly made with corn syrup and tasting of red dye #5) and a few coffee flavourings that cost over $100 a bottle.

I wondered whether coffee flavouring and candy flavouring might be interchangeable. I found a random message board comment saying something like, “I don’t see why not?” and proceeded to run several days’ worth of experiments. (There’s a secret to when you need to flavour the beans.)

That’s when I decided to sell gourmet flavoured coffee.

JenEric Coffee

I now have delicious coffee I can drink and that reminds me of my mom. I think she’d have particularly liked the Mint Chocolate Chip and the Butter Rum.

Coffee is a food that is associated with a lot of social activities and a lot of interpersonal interchanges. It’s natural that a person would associate the coffee they drink with the people who are around or the events. It’s one of the things that makes coffee special and it’s one of the reasons I love it.

 

Enjoy what you love!

Éric

Wargrave Island (Serial Story) Part 8

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List of Characters | Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Everyone but Riko ran back to the relative safety of the hotel. She just stood there, her tears merging with the torrential flow of rain over her body. The lightning danced over Lake Ontario and each set of thunder mimicked her heartache.

One of the flashes of light was reflected by something on the beach near her. She walked towards in zombie-like in her grief. She’d crossed the beach before she realized how stupid she’d been. There was no way to tell if the killer had placed more mines.

When she found what was reflecting, she gagged and sobbed simultaneously. It was Ethan’s father’s watch. Cracked down the middle and stopped at the time of his death. The watch was still attached to his arm. She assumed it was his arm. It was burnt beyond recognition and not attached to the rest of his body.

There were various other body parts strewn, as if by a careless child, all over the beach. Her first instinct was to collect all the pieces. She didn’t. Instead she turned around and walked towards the hotel in the same fugue like state as she’d walked onto the beach.

His dying words to her were that he loved her. She hadn’t known. She’d loved him since they’d been paired together two years ago.

The others had congregated in the ballroom. When she walked in, Zoe went over to her and gave her a towel. She was shaking but she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the trauma.

“Sit down… I’ll get you a hot chocolate,” Zoe rushed out of the room.

Riko guessed they’d gotten over their fear of being poisoned and let out a little giggle. They all looked around awkwardly, none of them meeting her eyes. Curiosity pulled her from her grief and she asked, “What’s up?”

“Sandrine has a theory but you’re not going to like it…” Zane looked almost guilty.

“We have enough of the killer playing games… what’s your theory?”

All their phones started ringing and the screens around the ballroom roared to life. The showed the growing, gruesome, and irritatingly vague poem:

Twelve naughty kittens all trapped on an island; they’re all going to die for certain.
The first betrayed love for cash; now she’s ash.
To violence and hate the second clung; now he’s hung.
To gossip the third fixated; now she’s been asphyxiated.
The fourth preferred those who were incapacitated, now it’s his turn to be penetrated.
The fifth was a jerk who loved a good burn, now in a ball of fire it’s his turn.
The sixth was a model citizen, a spy; and not Canadian but Russian.
The seventh wasn’t what he seemed; he was but a dream within a dream.

“That was written by someone who doesn’t understand poetry, or truly hates it.” Zoe said it, probably intending it to be a joke.

“Sandrine, what’s your theory?” Riko asked. She didn’t want anyone else to die and she didn’t want to die. Her survival instinct was paired with a pang of guilt, should she really be thinking about this sort of thing when so many others had died? Shouldn’t she be in a state of shock longer? She pushed away those feelings and concentrated on trying to save everyone.

“I don’t think he’s dead!”

“What?”

“Ethan… I think he faked his death.”

“Why?”

“The poem says ‘Twelve Naughty Kittens’ but we were thirteen. That means one of us isn’t part of this or one of us is the killer.”

“Ok, but why Ethan?” Riko tried to hide the defensiveness in her voice.

“As a cop he has the training, he wasn’t always with the group, and there’s no way to make sure he died.”

“I saw his body. At least parts of it. His arm was still wearing the watch his father gave him…”

“It still makes sense to me that it’s him. I can’t imagine anyone in this room could do it; it has to be someone who faked their death. Ethan was the only one who wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Zoe sighed and said, “It can’t be Kate, unless she’s faking her paralysis. The boathouse isn’t accessible. I can’t believe you’re behind it.” She pointed at Riko.

Kate nodded. “And let’s be real. There’s no way in hell Zane and Blane would kill everyone. This is way too tacky for them. Same with Zoe.”

They all looked at Sandrine who lifted her hands up and said, “Hey. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t go through all this trouble. There’s also no money to be made here. It makes no sense.”

“Jonathan died so far at sea that we couldn’t see him,” Zoe said, her face paler than normal. “What about him?”

“Maybe,” Sandrine said. “I don’t think it’s Arun. We saw him die.”

“We didn’t see Abe die but it would be hard to fake. Maybe Alison?” suggested Zoe, moving a cup towards Riko.

Riko reached out and took the cup that Zoe had been holding in front of her and took a drink. It was mostly liqueur with a little hot chocolate. It made her feel warmer inside. She said, “I don’t think it’s Abe. That would be too hard to fake.”

“Bodies!” exclaimed Blane. “The bodies.” He looked around like everyone was being dumb. “We can eliminate anyone who’s still dead upstairs.”

In an almost choreographed movement, the six moved towards the stairs and elevator.

Stopping in front of the elevator, Kate shrugged. There was no other way for her to get up to the first floor in her wheelchair.

“We’ll go up with her,” offered Zane despite Blane’s horrified look.

Sandrine, Zoe, and Riko walked up the stairs. Riko took comfort in the warmth of her drink. She was still wet. The hotel seemed even more eerie, if possible, than it had before.

They reached the door to the makeshift morgue and Riko opened it. A blast of icy air flowed from the room making her shiver. She fumbled for the lights.

The room was pristine, not only were there no bodies but there was no smell, and the room had been made up perfectly.

“This is the right room… Right?” asked Zoe, the familiar sound of panic entering her voice.

Read Next

35 Days

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Baby Dragon is due to arrive in roughly 35 days. That’s when I’ll look like the gif below… so I’m told.

Shinning Armour from My little pony

It’s also roughly 35 days until I’m on parental leave for 9 months. It feels like a really long time to be off but also feels like no time at all. I hate that I’ll be missing parts of her life.

If you follow me on Facebook, you’ll know that I have copies of my first book. It’s beautiful and I’ve already found mistakes… sigh. If you’d like a copy, come see me at Can-Con or go to Renaissance’s website.

Please like my new Facebook Page!!!

I’m working on editing the second book in the series. I’m only a little ways in, but I really like this story. It’s wild and all over the place, in a good way… I hope.

Posts are probably going to be a little shorter this month since I’m concentrating on editing and getting things ready for the Baby Dragon.

I also have a few more really exciting projects on the go and we’ll see if I can get them launched this year.

It’s an exciting time!

 

What’s new and exciting with you?

Éric

Dear Ghostbusters Haters: GET OVER IT!

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Hello My Imaginary Friends,

Let’s talk about stories. We as a species have been telling each other tales, probably as long as we’ve had language to tell them.

In school you most likely learned that there are only 3 kinds of narrative conflicts:

  • Person Vs Person;
  • Person Vs Self; or
  • Person Vs Nature.

Theoreticians, specifically Christopher Booker, have said that there are a limited amount of stories that can be told (Seven if you’re interested). A lot of those that don’t agree with Christopher Booker, agree that we have told every story that can be told. That brilliant concept you have for a novel? It’s been done. That cool hook for a D&D game? Done! That awesome 3 cord progression for a pop song? Done, Done, Done!

If it has all been done, what’s the point?

Every human being is different. Everyone sees the world through a completely different lens. What I understand isn’t what you understand.

When we write, we’re writing about our hopes, dreams, fears, and realities. This means that even if 100 people wrote a variation of Robin Hood, they would all be completely different. They would reflect the person, bias, and society they live in. (Side note: it’s quite possible that 100 is an understatement for Robin Hood.)

Combining and building stories is a form of entertainment but it’s also a way to re-enforce morals, express ideas, and explain difficult concepts.

Writing or telling a story is never a wasted exercise, it’s a form of expression.

Attachment and Emotion (AKA: My Precious!)

To Gollum, the One Ring was his purpose for life, it was everything to him. To Bilbo and Frodo, it was a security blanket; to Sauron, it was a Horcrux and means to power; but to Sam it was just a burden.

Like the Ring, people get attached to stories. They can illicit memories and emotions of a better, or perceived better, time and place. Attributing more value to a story is a form of nostalgia and often clouds peoples judgement as to the quality of the story.

What you get from a story isn’t what someone else gets. One person might find the love story between Buffy and Angel as romantic and another might find it disturbing. The reason is that we filter everything we experience through our own bias, lens, and ideals.

Precious

Don’t be Gollum

Once you accept that everyone already has their own version of stories, you have the choice to either open up your mind and learn from others, or be a Gollum and cling angrily to your version. This gets even worse with re-tellings, re-imaginings, or remakes.

The important thing to remember is that your Precious isn’t going anywhere. No one is going to burn all the other versions, no one is going to erase them, they’re still there for you to enjoy.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS RUINING YOUR CHILDHOOD!

I’ve heard this phrase a lot and the memories you have of your favourite Precious, cannot and should not be tarnished by a new version.

The only way something can be ruined for you is if you re-watch it and realize that it was crap all along. But that doesn’t negate your emotions or the enjoyment you had watching it for the first time.

Ghostbusters

It’s officially the most hated movie trailer on Youtube. You’ll find more anger towards it in internet comments sections than any other human endeavor. There are conspiracy theories that anyone who liked it was paid to say so by Sony.

The hate for the movie is completely unjustified. It is a re-telling of a movie that was a re-telling of other myths. (Frankly it would be easy enough to map the journey of the heroes with the traditional Hero’s Journey, or more specifically, a rip off of Beowulf.)

I realize that most of the hate for this movie is misogyny veiled as nostalgia, but that’s a whole other post.

Ghostbusters

Conclusion: Get Over It!

Stories will be told and re-told ad nauseum, either get over it or stop consuming anything new. It’s not your place to dictate what others create or consume. If you believe it is, you’re wrong.

 

Myths, Legends, and Stories will continue to be explored. It’s human nature to explore our existence through stories. What better way to explore themes of humanity than by re-telling our favourite stories?

Éric

Dear Dragon – Looking forward to meeting you

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Hello Baby Dragon,

It’s the end of July and that means you’ll be here in a month and a few days. (Probably. Everyone keeps telling me babies arrive when they want to.) I’m extremely excited to meet you, to see who you’ll be, what you’ll like, how much you’ll sleep.

Everyone else is just as excited to meet you. You already have fans among our friends. It’s amazing to see people who we don’t get to talk to much get really excited about you.

Right now the person who seems most excited to meet you is your grandfather. He’s making sure that everything will be perfect for you. Even stressing your mom and I a little with his excitement. You’re really lucky to have him. He seems gruff sometimes but he has the biggest heart and will accomplish impossible things for those he loves. He’s a wonderful father, father in-law, and he’ll be a fantastic grandfather.

It’s going to be amazing to see you grow and become your own person. It’ll also be amazing to see what happens in the world and with technology during your life.

You’ll always think I’m old, but in my 33 years I’ve seen some astounding scientific and technological changes. The Chicken Pox and HPV vaccines, the internet, the discovery of the Higgs Boson, interactive media, and so many music and video formats it’s not funny.

Right now the world is obsessed with a game called Pokémon Go. You might remember it (I’m sure we’ll play it for at least 2 or more years.) It a game that players walk around and look for digital things in the real world. Using GPS and a map of landmarks, the game randomly generates Pokémon (cute pocket monsters).

For you, this will be an old idea but for the rest of the world it’s something new. I predict that when you look back at 2016 it won’t be 4k TVs or another feeble attempt at virtual reality that is the big tech news, but the dawn of augmented reality. It has the potential to change the way we interact with our world.

We live in exciting times and you’ll see your old Papa geek out a lot over new technology. I hope it’s something we can share.

I love you Baby Dragon,

Your Papa Éric

Éric’s 5 Rules for Being Professional

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Hello my Imaginary Friends,

I was taught from a young age that the secret to professionalism was subservience.

  • Don’t make eye contact;
  • Call people Ma’am and Sir;
  • Never call an adult, client, or superior by their first name;
  • Always use formal pronouns (It’s a French thing);
  • Don’t complain;
  • Don’t get involved; and
  • Don’t look or act differently than others.

It could be that my rural upbringing was extra strict or it could just be the area. If you wanted respect, you needed to give back to the community, or have money.

My mother isn’t who taught me this, she was a progressive feminist hippie. She taught me to judge people’s worth by what they did and said, not by their money or appearance.

This post by a nurse with amazing hair brought back a lot of frustrations for me. As have countless other articles or posts about “Kids these days”. You know, the ones about Pokémon Go, or those I’ve already complained about.

The world is changing quickly and everyone is dealing with it differently. Some are nostalgic for the 90s, some are lost in hate, and others are just delusional.

I deal with clients or customers in all of my jobs (Civil Servant, Layout Artist, Sales person, Coffee Roaster, and Author) and I think I can speak with some authority on how to be professional in this new and changing world.

Éric’s 5 Rules for Being Professional

5. Treat Everyone Equally

Respecting everyone and treating them as your equal is easy but has a huge effect. People like to feel valued and will think better of you for doing it. Nobody likes being treated as stupid or beneath them.

Don’t assume that because they’re wearing biker gear, that they’re part of the Hell’s Angels. They could just as easily be a Doctor or Lawyer that likes to ride a motorcycle.

It’s important to remember that this is about respect and not assimilation or standardization. Treating someone equally also means respecting their ways, beliefs, and how they want to be treated.

4. Judge Others by Their Actions

This is the simplest rule. If someone wears the perfect suit and looks like the perfect employee, it doesn’t mean they’re good at their job.

Don’t judge someone by their race, skin colour, make up, ethnicity, sex, gender, body alterations, sexual preference, clothing, religion, weight, attractiveness, etc.

Judge them by how well they do their job and how they treat other people. You can learn a lot about a person by how they interact with someone who can’t benefit them personally.

3. Never Denigrate Others to Elevate Yourself

If you’re good at what you do, be proud. Tell people that you’re proud. I am immensely proud of my book. It’s ok to tell people that you think your stuff is awesome.

Never denigrate others to elevate yourself. My book is a YA Urban fantasy and I think it’s entertaining, but I’m not going to sell it as better than *insert popular YA here*.

By insulting others you are not showing pride in your work but disdain for others. It doesn’t elevate you, it brings others down. This applies even when the other person’s work is absolute crap.

2. Work with Others

Those people you insulted? They have strengths and weaknesses. If they’re in your field, you’ll be around them again.

If you work with those you consider competition, they become allies. Sharing information can greatly improve both your work.

There are people who just suck and you don’t want to be around. They may be purposely mean, hateful, or destructive. It’s ok to cut those people out of your life or request not to work with them.

But remember #3.

1. Be Polite

Being polite is nebulous and fraught with cultural bias. In its most basic form being polite means the same as all the other rules.

But go one step further and say: Thank you, Please, and Sorry. To Everyone!

If someone accidentally hurts you, physically or emotionally, accept their apology. An I understand, or I accept your apology.

If someone does something for you, thank them.

Finally try your best to follow the immortal words of Wyld Stallyns:

“Be excellent to each other!”

bill-and-ted

Éric

Wargrave Island (Serial Story) Part 7

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List of Characters | Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Blane and Zane both swore at the same moment, Zoe started to softly weep, Sandrine and Riko just stared at Arun’s body.

“This place is booby-trapped. That’s bullshit!” Zane voice held a small amount of panic but by this time they’d all seen so much death it was starting to feel natural.

Riko was numb. The reassurance she’d been clinging to, that they would be rescued soon, faded and she was starting to wonder if they’d survive. The feeling of impending death didn’t fill her with fear, just a sense of loss. She’d spent her entire life trying to help people but now she was completely helpless. Who would hate them so much that they’d torture them? Who could be this hateful? Who could be so crazy?

“It was me!” Sandrine yelled and collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

“What?” asked Riko.

“I hit Kate. I was so angry and…” Sandrine drifted off still sobbing.

Rolling over to Sandrine, Kate put her hand on her and said, “It’s ok, Kate. You didn’t do it. Jonathan came to me a few years ago and told me everything.”

“He what?”

“Yeah he told me he woke up drunk in his car after the party with a dent in the front. He said he drove into me when he was so drunk he couldn’t remember.”

“That’s not what happened…” Sandrine took a deep breath. “I took his keys while he was asleep and I drove off. I was just so angry and stupid. That little snoop Kingsley had caught Arun and I…” She drifted off.

Zoe looked over and said, “But that was the night he gave me the promise ring. You Bitch!” Zane and Blane held her in place as she yelled at Sandrine.

“I know that’s why I was so pissed. I didn’t want anyone finding out.”

“You were so angry you drove someone else’s car? While drunk?” Kate didn’t sound angry, she sounded disbelieving.

Nodding, Sandrine looked up at Kate and said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re an idiot. Why the hell are you telling me now?” Kate gave a bemused smile.

“We’re all going to die.” Sandrine giggled a little. The fear and barely controlled hysteria behind the giggle spoke to how Riko was feeling.

“Look at me Kate. I’ve fought with my body, society, and gravity since the accident. I’m not saying it’s been easy, but I refuse to let it end here like this. We need to figure out if it’s one of us or if it’s someone else, find the person and beat the shit out of them. Ok?”

Sniffing, Sandrine replied, “I’d like to beat someone up.”

“There’s the badass I know. Now, who do you think is doing this?” Kate looked at Riko. The authority in Kate’s voice snapped her out of her self-pity.

“I think it’s Allison. She has the tech knowledge and the body we assume is her is too burned to be sure.”

“That’s a good theory. Any other ideas?” Kate took over the group in the same way she’d taken over all group projects or sports teams, with confidence and determination.

“It’s Ethan…” Zoe’s eyes were still filled with tears and she spoke looking at Arun’s corpse.

“Why?” asked Kate.

“He’s the only plus one who came. All the others conveniently couldn’t make it. He’s not one of us and he creeps me out.”

Kate nodded and asked, “Riko, did anything come up for Ethan?”

“Yeah, he told me he had been offered a special assignment.”

“Why didn’t he take it?” asked Kate.

Zane rolled his eyes and said, “Isn’t it obvious? The boy is madly in love with her and she with him.”

Everyone looked at Riko and she blushed not knowing what to say.

They threw around a few more suggestions including Kingsley, the girl who’d tried to film them at the party, but nothing concrete presented itself. Zane and Riko brought Arun’s body up to the makeshift morgue while the group argued it was a government experiment.

They were on their way back when they heard yelling from outside. They ran down the stairs towards the beach. Standing in the sand in only his underwear and wristwatch, a gunmetal timepiece that had belonged to his father, was Ethan.

The sun was setting over the island and the sky was on fire with red and purple. The air was crisp and smelled of salt water. Riko couldn’t help but think how beautiful the island would be if it hadn’t been one large tomb.

“Stay off the beach!” He was yelling at Blane, Zane, and Sandrine that looked like the wanted to run to him but everyone seemed frozen in place.

It took Riko a few moments before she realized why no one was moving forward. There was a glint of silver metal under Ethan’s foot and even at twenty or so metres away she knew what it was.

“Ethan,” She gasped before saying, “Let me try and help.” She’d taken basic bomb training.

“NO!” Ethan shouted. “I know you have some training but this beach is littered with other landmines.”

“I have to do something.” A strong breeze blew at her suddenly and the overwhelming smells of ozone and petrichor assaulted her nose.

“There’s nothing you can do for me, I’m already dead.” His words caused her chest to become tighter. “but promise you’ll catch the bastard and make them pay for this.”

“I love you.” Her words were barely a whisper so she repeated them. “I love you, Ethan.”

Smiling he replied, “I love you too,” as he stepped off the landmine.

“No!” she yelled as a loud explosion rocked the quiet of the evening and a ball of fiery energy engulfed Ethan. She ran forward but was held back by several sets of hands.

A second loud crack assaulted her ears and it started to rain hard.

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Jess Goldie – Part 2 of 2

by

I’m on vacation but enjoy this story!

Read Part 1

It was a terrifying place. I almost turned back but I saw movement and had to investigate. I followed the movement for a little, thinking I was hunting it. It lead me to a small clearing before two more of it came out of the forest.

It was fascinating; a grizzly sized capybara crossed with a teddy bear. As I looked at them in adoration they started to sing the sweetest song, layering harmonies. Before I knew what was happening, the one I’d followed had closed its jaws on my shoulder. The pain was excruciating and cut through their siren’s song. It ripped off a part of my shoulder and then salivated on it. Its saliva dripped onto my wound and I felt myself healing. I also learnt everything I needed about it.

Its natural predator was a form of large black hound, whose skin cracked and extruded some form of burning liquid. I forced myself to change shape and mimic the magma hound. When I’d grown to five times my size, I howled the howl the haunted the Adlat’s dreams.

The three creatures ran away and I shrank back to my dog form. I felt strange like I was missing something. I was scared and alone; all I wanted was the warmth of home.

I ran back to the gopher hole I’d made leaving the city. I looked at the hole and tried to bring up the memory of a gopher. I couldn’t. The knowledge I had about gophers was gone. That’s when I discovered my memories were spread across my being and losing part of me meant losing memories. I put myself to work and dug out the hole enough that I could get back into civilization.

I was part way through digging the hole when a howl, similar to the one I’d made earlier, echoed behind me. I melted back to my original shape and hurried through the rest of the hole.

I don’t like being goo, it’s like being naked, both physically and psychically. As goo I can feel all the emotions around me, plant, animal, human, and more. I also taste and feel every part of the earth.

Whatever made that noise was big and probably couldn’t get through the gopher hole I’d made. I changed into a crow and flew straight back to Jessie’s home.

Inside I walked gently into the kitchen. Even having changed several times, my heart beat swiftly.

“Goldie?” Jessie asked behind me. I jumped and made a strange snuffling noise and he giggled. “I can’t sleep. I had nightmares.” He shivered and I got a vague impression of a clown and the terror that accompanied it.

He walked over to me and hugged me, his little face buried in my fur. All the fear, mine and his, drained from me and was replaced by his love.

He took a glass of water and walked over to the couch near the antique television. “Do you want to watch something, Goldie?” I gave a soft woof of disapproval but he took it as acceptance and put in his favourite old movies (one his father didn’t let him watch alone). It was in colour and had a large insect like alien that tried to kill the crew.

I lay next to him and he put his hand in my fur, he was asleep before the first crewmember died. I don’t sleep but I was comfortable and not paying complete attention. I should have been sharper. I should have been more careful.

I lazily turned towards the kitchen and caught sight of two glowing violet eyes. Before I knew it,, the Magma hound had pounced towards us. I moved as fast as I could but I was too slow. It bit into Jessie’s leg, pulled him, and started to shake him.

The movie behind me influenced my shape and I changed into the alien. I’d never been so big before and I could feel it draining my energy. My double set of jaws snapped at the Hound. Surprised, it dropped Jessie and tried lunging for my neck.

I contorted my new body and unhinged my powerful jaws. It caught me in the throat but I bit down on its back, snapping its spine. The hound fell to the ground with a thump.

The terror in Jessie’s eyes when he looked at me haunts me still. I changed back to my Goldie shape and tried to move closer to him. He screamed and despite his bloodied and broken leg he scrambled backwards away from me.

Pain, fear, and betrayal emanated from him as he lost consciousness. I knew from his feelings that he’d never trust me again and that hurt more than the wounds that the Adlat or the magma hound had given me.

There was a lot of blood and I was worried that Jessie’s leg was still bleeding. Remembering the Adlat I transformed into one and started to salivate on his leg. Instantly, the bite marks started closing and he started looking healthier.

I felt fear emanating from the staircase at the same time I heard the sirens. Jessie’s parents had seen me change and then salivate all over their child. They feared too and now Elmsley was coming. The private police force of the NAF would show me no mercy.

I had no other choice but to leave.

I spent a long time living as various city animals. I watched Jessie grow up. His leg was never the same after that night but he eventually lost the haunted look I’d caused with my carelessness.

I was wallowing in guilt as a pigeon when I saw a poster on a mailbox with the picture of a young girl and the caption, “Missing.” I remembered the detective movies and decided it was time I started living like a human.

The wonderful thing about humans is clothing. It hides any form of sex organs and makes it much easier to mimic them. I chose a shape that was androgynous to let my clients expectations decide what I looked like. I took on the name Jess Goldie and I’m now a Private Detective.