It was Tuesday. John hated Tuesdays. Sure, Monday was the more traditional day, but he’d gotten used to them, knowing that no matter how long the weekend was, there would always be a “first day after the weekend.” Tuesdays, on the other hand, were just evidence that the week was far too long in corporate America, and the weekend far too short.

And so by the time he dragged his grey-suited ass into his cubicle and plunked down in front of the sleek, black computer screen, he was already in foul mood. He stared at the chipper blue login page blankly for a moment. Then for a second moment.

After a third moment had passed, he decided he was clearly too tired and went to get a coffee.

After he had stared at the blue screen for a full minute, coffee still steaming in his hand, John knew there was no denying the truth any longer. He’d forgotten his password.

Sighing in frustration, he put his coffee down hard, getting up from his desk. Luckily, there weren’t many people in the office yet as he made his walk of shame over to the IT department. He passed by the rows of blue screens before finally approaching Dave’s desk. Dave was cool; he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Dave was just sitting down at his desk when John got there. John was always envious that IT could wear jeans and a t-shirt into the office. Dave broke into a smile when he saw John walk in, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

“Hey John! What’s up today?”

John passed him the coffee, giving him a sheepish grin. “I know it’s early in the morning, but I need your help. Seems I forgot my login password.”

Dave laughed, taking the coffee. “And I suppose this is a bribe? No worries, let me just reset that for you.”

He sat down heavily into the leather chair, swivelling into the desk. John watched his fingers tap over the keyboard until he was at the blue screen himself. Then stop.

“Huh…” He stared at his screen uncomfortably. “I think… I think I’ve forgotten mine too.”

The day was a blur after that. John watched as one by one, employees started to trickle into the small IT department, crowding up the floor to complain about forgotten passwords. Dave spent the first hour in conference with the other IT members, then the next 3 on the phone. Jogn was even locked out of his smartphone, staring down at the keypad in confusion. He knew it was a simple password… But now he couldn’t remember it. Couldn’t remember any of his passwords, for anything.

Finally, the boss had come downstairs himself. Said this had happened across the country, no one could remember any passwords. Not just passwords but secrets had been forgotten, mostly recipes. The receptionist, a pretty blonde girl who said she’d never bothered to lock her phone in the first place, even found one article saying it was happening worldwide. After another hour passed with no progress, the boss announced they could all go home.

Flopping onto his couch back home, John flipped on the TV as he loosened his tie. The news reporter was just getting on the air when the home phone rang. He picked it up curiously.

“Johnny! There you are, sweetheart!” His mother’s voice rang clearly through the headset. He winced slightly, holding the phone an inch from his ear.

“Yeah, they sent us home early. How’d you know I’d be here, Mom?”

“Well I was trying to call your desk but you weren’t picking up and I know you’re normally in the office. I thought you might have been home sick.”

“Oh…”

“Anyways, honey, I was just calling to ask if you’d gotten a chance to read my email yet.”

John sighed. “Mom, you know you don’t have to call me every time you send an email. That’s like…. I don’t know, knocking on someone’s door to see if they checked their voicemail yet.”

“Oh I know dearie, I just never trust these new-fangled things anyways.”

“And no,” he continued, “No one in the office could remember their passwords. They say it’s worldwide or something.” He was about to go on a rant when a thought snuck into his head. “Wait, how did YOU remember your email password? You never remember it!”

“Oh you know darling, I just got so tired of forgetting it, I wrote them all out on a post-it note and stuck it to the side of the monitor. Now then, about Aunt Edda’s potluck dinner….”

The First time he saw him
His smile caught his eye,
Thin lips and a crooked grin.
In that classroom filled with grim.

From the back of the hall
Filled with students and books
The smile pierced the distance
Like the red of his car in a grey winter rain.

But it vanished in the lecture
Behind numbers and letters.
And he lost it somewhere
Behind the waves of other people.

The Second occasion
Was a time for celebrating.
He was at a birthday party,
With no expectations.

When he sighted the boy
Across the fuss and the glitter,
His heart took a dive,
As he posted to Twitter.

He begged his friend
For a quick introduction,
But the ways to romance
Fell flat to talk of the weather.

The Third time was better
Though the boy wasn’t there
Just two girls talking
About the shine of his hair.

He was just barely listening
Dreaming of the slopes
But the words that they said
Raised a glimmer of hope.

“He’s gay.” she whispered,
Crushing her friend.
But his heart went awhirl
With thoughts of the future.

The fourth time they met
Was his favourite time yet.
A chance interaction
At a soccer ball tournament.

His team scored the goal,
straight in for the win
In the chaos that followed
He just caught that grin.

He pushed through the crowd
Heedless of the cheer
Until he stood by the boy
His face flushed to the ears.

“I heard a rumour.”
He heard himself say.
“I heard one too.”
Came the wanted reply.

“Perhaps after this scene,
We might get a drink?”
The crowd parted, it seemed
As if afraid to invade.

“I’d like that, I think.”
Said the boy with the grin
“Now go celebrate, dink,
You just won the game!”

Image by Eran Fowler

The great white owl wove a path through the dense birch trees, the black slashs in the tree’s bark the only thing that set them apart from the snow that carpeted the forest floor. In a spray of snow, the owl settled onto the shoulder of a figure cloaked in layers of thick grey wool, cooing gently. A withered finger snaked it’s way through the layers, stroking the soft feathers.

“A girl, you say.” The figure spoke softly. “What would bring a child of summer so far?”

The owl cocked it’s head, peering at the woman’s wrinkled face and greying hairs beneath her ash-coloured hood. Sabine chuckled softly.

“Yes yes Meridia, I suppose I should go ask her myself.” She set off with a slow, halting walk, leaning heavily on her twisted walking stick.

Sabine stood at the edge of the clearing, blue eyes scrutinizing the scene carefully. The snow lay thick on the ground all about her, except for this perfect circle of green grass, dotted with small pink flowers. Though snow fell lightly about the circle, any flakes that entered the dome quickly melted, falling like a soft rain on the girl who lay in the center of the circle.

She looked young to Sabine’s eyes, no older than 16 and far too skinny beneath her thin sweater, with pale blonde hair, cut short around her ears. She lay curled up on her side, so still that Sabine worried she might be dead until she saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Asleep then, despite the fussing of the large red and blue bird that sat atop her, plucking at her hair with a long, black beak.

Hesitantly, Sabine came a step closer. The bird whirled around at her with fire in its eyes, its head lowered and wings extended. Its wingspan was impressive, covering the girl from head to toe, revealing red and gold wings, patterned with blue designs. Long tail feathers of red and blue wrapped about the girl protectively. Sabine felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she read the message clearly. Back off, this girl is mine.

“I don’t mean any harm.” Sabine said softly, coming to a halt. The bird didn’t budge, watching her closely. Sabine continued to talk, keeping her voice soothing. “I just mean to help. Is the girl alright?”

The bird ruffled his feathers at her more, but she thought she saw a glimmer of hesitation in his dark eyes. She edged her way closer still and the bird didn’t move, still glowering at her over the form of the unmoving girl, until Sabine stood at the edge of the circle, careful not to cross the line where the snow made way for grass. A cold wind blew past the old woman, washing over the sleeping girl and the wary bird. The girl shivered violently as the cold reached her bare legs, sending ripples up through the bird’s wings. The bird broke eye contact, peering down at his charge.

“Please let me help.” Sabine whispered. “You can’t hold this spell forever.”

With a look of defeat, the bird folded his wings to his side, stepping off the girl. Sabine bustled her way to the girl’s side. The inside of the circle was warm, like a little pocket of spring, but when she picked up the girl’s hand it was wet and cold as ice. The girl stared up at her face with blank eyes, as green as the grass around her. Sabine smiled calmly at her.

“Hello, my dear. Let’s get you warmed up.”

After a bit of fuss, Sabine had the girl bundled up under her robes, one thin arm over her hunched shoulders. As slowly as the witch arrived, the pair left the springtime glade, following the path of the red bird chasing the white owl.

The man walked through the kitchen lit only by the pale light of dawn, humming a gentle tune as he ran a hand over his balding head. The thin light bounced off the grey cabinets, revealing a spattering of black mold, but he seemed oblivious enough to the filth beneath his slippers as he poured the black grinds into the small coffee machine. It gurgled to life as he flipped the switch, the red light illuminating a newspaper bearing yesterday’s date. Peter swept the paper off the table, leaning up against a rotting countertop to better read the headlines in the grey light.

“PRISON BREAK AT MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON!”

The headline screamed at him, bold capitals prioritizing the front page. The image below showed the the jail behind chain link fences. On the cover, hapless guards tried to cover up their incompetence, but Peter didn’t waste his time on that article. He’d heard enough of the snivelling guards already. He had flipped to page three, where the local journalist had covered a charity project at the local college. There, sandwiched between information on bus cancellations and a model airplane meet, three girls stood proudly behind a table covered of cookies and muffins. The middle one beamed a smile that looked like she had been practicing it since birth, shoulders back with straight blonde hair pulled back by a pink headband. The caption happily bore her name.

“Melissa Jenkins, Penny Andrews, and Heather Delours, all students here at Uppertown College and members of the Nu Rho Delta Sorority, proudly display their bake sale to raise money for breast cancer.”

Peter ran a dirty fingernail along the image of Penny’s cheek. It had been 7 years since he’d seen her last, he wondered if she would still remember him. The coffee maker clicked off and the man casually pulled the chipped blue coffee cup out from beneath it, sipping at the brown liquid. The stale beans had made for musty coffee, but the drink still tasted like freedom to him. The sun had flooded into the kitchen as Peter sat down at the small table, flipping over to the crossword on the last page. He still had time, Penny had classes until 8.