Trial

A lawyer must battle his drug-induced paranoia to escape a fantasy land nightmare

         I watched intently out the tall, ceiling high window of the waiting room and into the street, where a smoggie was either breakdancing on a flattened cardboard box in search of spare change from strangers or having a seizure on his now ruined home. The reactions of passersby, the quick thinking of one woman who took out her phone and dialed the police, and the arrival of a MedShip and several paramedics all led me to conclude that the smoggie was, indeed, seizing. He was swiftly hoisted up and into the MedShip via Hover Cage and, I liked to think, was about to be given top notch care inside of it as well as the nearby hospital, where he would be given blood coagulants in order to remedy his now Dusted mind. However, once I saw the MedShip leave, the sea of businessmen and women crashing down around the now flattened smoggie palatial estate, and the resumption of quote on quote "business as usual", I realized that the smoggie would most likely be dead within the next few minutes and some mother would weep tears. I named him "West" because he was picked up on Norberton West Ave and said to myself "I hope you died fearless, West" because having a fairly successful lawyer and a weeping mother to remember you is better than one weeping mother and no lawyer.
         "Mr. Poroshenko, Mr. Alav-Powers will see you now." I removed myself from the window and stood, straightening out my suit and tie in the process, and thanked the receptionist for the information. This was out of habit, though, because the receptionist was nothing more than an automated Receptron Mk III Legacy Edition, a fine addition to any respectable business for your recepting of clients and meeting managing needs. I pushed open the smoked cedar double doors and saw Cornelius Alav-Powers, owner and CEO of The Plant Corporation, tapping his fingers on his desk and staring through me into the waiting room. He was, I presumed, writing emails on his Cerebral PC, most likely strongly worded ones to General Managers who didn't live up to his expectations. I took a seat on a lovely padded desk chair and waited until he stopped tapping his desk, praying that I was correct in assuming he had a Cerebral PC and not any serious mental issues. The tapping ceased and Mr. Alav-Powers blinked a few times before coming to his senses.
         "Ahh, Mr. Poroshenko, pleasure to meet you," he finally spoke.
         "The pleasure's all mine, sir." I gave a courteous, lips shut smile.
         "Well, I've got a busy schedule, and I'm sure you have other things to do today, so let me make this quick." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I'm in deep, Mr. Poroshenko."
         The CEO let the words hang in the air like a looming rainstorm cloud. I think he expected me to reply with "How so, Mr. Alav-Powers?", but I've learned that asking clients about problems they're already aware of doesn't go over so well. I sat and listened, hands folded over my waist, my right leg resting over my left and hanging to the side. Cornelius stood from the desk and walked to the window, looking down at the streets below.
         "Those mutated plant's rights activist hippies are suing..." Cornelious turned around to face me, one arm still positioned above his head on the glass, "'cause they think the treatment uh our Smog trees are..." He then scowled and walked to his desk, pulling out a tan piece of paper, then a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket, and began to read, verbatim and accenting each syllable, from the page. "Unjust to the beauty uh the natural order and detrimental to the recipients uh their byproducts, henceforth referred to..." And finally, he looked up at me with a serious gaze, stern and mighty. "...as Smog." He handed me the sheet of paper, which I took in my right hand, and recognized it as a Court Summons for the case the MPJ Legion v. The Plant Corporation. "I need some good representation on this, Mr. Poroshenko, and I mean good."
         "That won't be a problem, sir." Mr. Alav-Powers was a hefty man with graying hairs on his sixty seven year old scalp and a silvery mustache hanging down on either side of his mouth that made him look like a walrus. His eyebrows, equally gray, shielded his eyes from the invasion of dripping sweat beads appearing on his forehead. If that wasn't the case, I wouldn't've been able to tell he was nervous. Otherwise, he seemed like he was ready to crush someone's skull beneath his freshly polished brown leather boots. I'd always heard older people like Mr. Alav-Powers call certain bothersome individuals "hippies", but I never bothered to ask them what it truly meant. They were usually too annoyed at the hippies to seem approachable and rational.
         "I sure hope it isn't, Mr. Poroshenko. You came to me recommended by a close friend uh mine, the owner uh Lito Barbido's on 7th and Cocote Street. Said you got his daughter out uh a bit uh a tizzy recently." While he spoke, he took a seat and appeared to loosen up a tad, now talking with his hands more and pointing here and there as he described a case I worked on a few months ago; a girl sent a classmate to the hospital because she called her "fat".
         "It was nothing too special, sir, a minor dispute settled out of court."
         "And that's just what I need: out uh court." He leaned in as he enunciated the words "out of court" like he was teaching bratty children to read law books. "Spendin' thousands uh dollars, hell, even any dollars on this case is a waste uh money that can be used elsewhere for matters that don't concern these flapjack flippin' idiots." Why they made flapjacks in Mr. Alav-Powers' mind didn't make sense to me, but I kept my mouth shut and nodded. Maybe it was a courtesy not to swear in front of his lawyer, but then again he didn't seem like the most courteous person, skull crushing demeanor and all.
         "Disputes like this are settled out of court ninety eight percent of the time, Mr. Alav-Powers. I'm confident we can reach an agreement in due time."
         Mr. Alav-Powers leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, breathing in deeply and exhaling, causing his walrus tusks to flap with his breath. "Good," was the word that was uttered before a silence fell on us like a damp towel. I did have one question that I needed answered.
         "Mr. Alav-Powers, I assume your company has its own legal team to deal with these matters."
         "Why pay a team hundreds uh dollars an hour to deal with these bozos when I can compensate you with a fifth uh the money and still come out with the same result?"
         I pondered for a moment.
         "Fair."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         The room we'd just entered after a walk and talk about the details of the case was, in essence, a giant metal box supported by thick concrete pillars stretching up to the roof. Otherwise, all I could see was green: green to my front, green and green to my left and right, respectfully, and looking down and through the glass viewing overpass granted no new colors. They were leaves, leaves that were the size of school buses each, if I had to estimate, which I did. They protruded from what I only could imagine were equally scaled up branches, and those branches protruding from equally scaled tree trunks.
         "Each weighs around 50,000 tons, and that's just barren, no fruit whatsoever," Mr. Alav-Powers said after I had my fair share of staring time. I noticed that the trees were swaying, leaves rustling as though a slight breeze was shifting them.
         "How big are the fans?"
         "Pardon?"
         "The fans you use to aerate the facility."
         "We don't aerate the facility." Mr. Alav-Powers placed a finger on the glass, pointing directly at one of the rustling leaves, his sausage fingers surely leaving a mark. "That right there," he said with gusto, "is these trees talkin' with each other." He turned to face me, no change in expression. I waited patiently for a chuckle or an explanation, anything to help me in understanding what this man just said to me.
         "When my Daddy, rest his soul, founded this company with the first Smog trees, they were no bigger than your average peach trees. You old enough to remember South Carolina?"
         "No, sir, my parents talked about it some, but I never knew it personally."
         "Yeah, well, you probably know it better at the Carolina Glass Flats. My friend Craig owns the quarry there, that's why it's called SC Glass Company. Anyways, after the nuke fell, the radiation turned my daddy's peach tree orchard into Smog producin' freaks uh nature. The peaches, he thought, were just rotten. But oh no..."
         Mr. Alav-Powers stepped away from the glass and over to an elevator door. The down button lit up fluorescent yellow once those sausage fingers did their work.
         "Them sons'aguns were producin' the most potent hallucinogen since we discovered that suckin' on toads in the Amazon made you see God, Mr. Poroshenko. They also confer with one another, talkin; to each other in some kind uh tree language. I haven't the faintest clue what they're yammerin' 'bout, but none uh them have kamikaze fallen on top uh the workers yet, so I guess they're just discussin' the weather." Mr. Alav-Powers scoffed. I wondered how much time a day he spent wondering about what the trees were talking about. The elevator door opened and Mr. Alav-Powers and I stepped inside. He continued with his spiel.
         "He quit farmin' right then and there and began purifyin' the insides uh those peaches like his life depended on it. He started small, eventually worked his way up to turnin' it into an anti-nightmare supplement. Then lung cancer hit him like a freight train late to drop off and I took over."
         The elevator opened to reveal a small room filled with hazmat suits and gas masks. Mr. Alav-Powers took some time from his story to say "I'd put one on if you don't want to see... well, whatever it is you're scared uh, God knows what." I complied and got into a hazmat suit along with Mr. Alav-Powers, who now just looked like a walrus stuck in a banana. I didn't laugh. He walked over to a door and input a passcode, causing the door to pneumatically unlock with a hiss.
         "And now we're here."
         What was once a sight of all green was now a bustling cityscape, if the buildings were tree trunks, the people were all clad in yellow latex suits, and the cars were massive oil tankers going this way and that. Peaches the size of houses were being transported by Hover Cages far above us to an unknown location, and both Mr. Alav-Powers and I stood in the doorway, both staring out into the room with differing emotions. Him with pride. I with awe.
         "Beauty, ain't it?"
         I didn't speak, only watched as the peach rounded a tree trunk and out of view.
         "Yeah," he replied, understandingly. "We make enough Smog yearly to supply every American with a box of twenty pills every month." We bagan walking on the sides of the room, out of the well-oiled-machine's way, as Mr. Alav-Powers continued. "Now, while that's a lot of Smog to go around, a majority goes to pharmaceutical companies to sell, a portion goes to our labs for testing and quality assurance, and a portion is completely unusable because of peach contamination. It's just a byproduct of good business." That last part was said with a confident smirk and a turn of his head.
         As I listened to this tale being spun, I gazed around and up, looking at the undersides of the massive leaves I'd just recently been seeing the tops of. Not-yet-ripe peaches hung from the branches, cultivating more of the potent drug with each passing minute they grew. As our stroll through the facility continued, and Mr. Alav-Powers gloated about his business, I noticed a faint layer of black powder accumulating on my face shield. A swift wipe ensured that I could see the oncoming researchers carrying a tray of black pills and dodge them accordingly.
         "How much goes to waste?" I was finally able to muster.
         "The Smog? 'Bout a quarter, I'd reckon. We just dump 'em in the incinerator at the end of the day, it gets the job done."
         "And you've never thought of purifying them?"
         "Son, if I didn't think that purifyin' 25% of my product would greatly help my business, I wouldn't be here talkin' to you. FDA'd be up my keister for potentially givin' someone with a peach allergy and a case of Agoraphobia an undeserved trip to the ER twice over."
         "I see."
         The tour, as I pictured it, was now over, and after stepping through the decontamination chamber and removing our hazmat suits, we rode the elevator back up to the surface.
         "So. What'dya think?"
         "It's big."
         "Heh! That's a good one! It's big? It's huge!" The elevator let us out. "And I want to keep it that way, Mr. Poroshenko."
         "I understand."
         "You'll have ample work space in our corporate offices upstairs," Mr. Alav-Powers continued, fumbling for a pen in his pockets and pulling out a small notebook from his shirt. "You can call... this number-" He handed me a piece of paper with a phone number. "And request any documents that you might need from Ms. Christine Ortone." We began walking towards the entrance to the facility, the light of day shining through a wide open lobby's window wall. "She'll also be your co-council for this case."
         "Co-council?"
         "That a problem?" The phrasing of the response indicated that it was not a problem.
         "No, sir. I just wasn't briefed that I'd have help on this case."
         Mr. Alav-Powers gave a half hearted chuckle. "Mrs. Ortone just passed the BAR. You'd be lucky enough if she was able to help you decide if a murder was first or second degree."
         I felt it wasn't appropriate to say that I didn't even know what differentiated a murder from first or second degree. Mr. Alav-Powers sighed.
         "Well, I think that covers all uh it. We'll have you start work tomorrow. You can stop by the help desk over there and ask for a complimentary Smog pill if you want. Personally, I wouldn't touch the stuff, but we have so much of it we hand 'em out like breath mints. Be seein' you, Mr. Poroshenko. Oh and one more thing... don't mess this up." He tipped his hat and ascended a set of nearby stairs, back up to his office, presumably. The way he left the conversation had an effect on me I hadn't felt in a while: it irked me. Was he doubting my ability to settle this case? I was more than qualified, and I hadn't done anything to make him feel like I wasn't prepared. I soon found myself standing at the help desk and asking the receptionist, a human woman this time, for a free sample of Smog. She rummaged around in a bag and pulled out a black pill, placing it in my hand. She then went back to typing an email on a Cerebral PC without another word. I walked away and looked at the pill in my hand, feeling its noticeable weight and odd texture, almost gravelly. I put it in my pocket and headed home for the weekend, passing through a crowd of people holding signs and wearing green tie-dye shirts, screaming and chanting for the liberation of the Smog trees. So that's what a hippie is.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         "Tonight in Celebrities, multi-millionaire and singer-songwriter Derrick Davis and fiancee Chloe Sawterit split after two years. What led to their breakup now revealed."
         Another news broadcaster interjected. I sat on my couch eating a bowl of Nature Flakes, which is what you'd get if you watered down toilet paper and seasoned it with grass. I forgot to buy groceries this week.
         "A massive ten car pile up happened on I-20 just off exit 44. More on Traffic in just a few minutes."
         A final news broadcaster staked his claim on the air time. As I ate my Flakes and watched the news, I wondered how ten cars were able to pile up, but the eleventh was able to stop before any collision happened. I pondered what differentiated the eleventh car from the tenth car.
         "And finally, in Sports, twelve players on the Vermont Stingers football team have been suspended for their drug tests coming back positive for Smog. Why sports fans are not too happy about this ruling and more tonight."
         The theme song for the 8 P.M news resonated through my apartment as flashes of previous stories and the news anchors wiped by the TV screen. I finished my Nature Flakes and put the now emptied bowl into the sink. By now, I'd gotten home, set down my work bag on the table, and got out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I fancied an old yellow t-shirt with a picture of a lion and a bunch of rats chasing each other in a more perfect circle than that scenario would cause. I never wore it outside of the house, nor let anyone see me in it because this wasn't the kind of shirt that I thought was tasteful to display to people. I completed my outfit with a pair of black jogging shorts with a white line coming down on the outside of the pant leg.
         I remembered that Mrs. Ortone's phone number was still in my other pants pocket, so I found my work pants and shuffled around in the pockets, finding the small piece of paper and the small black Smog pill. I held both in one hand as I walked back to the table and set down the pill, then pinning the note to my corkboard and pulling out my phone. I dialed the number and waited for an answer, in that time sitting down at the table and picking up the pill in my finger tips. I thought about Mr. Alav-Powers' comment: "Don't mess this up". As he turned, I remembered seeing his face change, from a smirk to a leer. Both looks were almost imperceptible from one another, maybe it was the change in light from those windows that hinted me towards it. Did he really leer at me? What was he-
         "Hello, this is Christine." I snapped away from the pill and out of my thoughts.
         "Hello, Mrs. Ortone. This is Leon Poroshenko, I'm working on the case for The Plant Corporation and I was informed that you are my co-council. I just wanted to call and introduce myself before we started work on Monday."
         "Oh, well, nice to meet you, then, Leon. I'm Christine," She giggled a little bit. "You already know that, though."
         "Yes, I do. I was also wondering which office space would be good for us, there were a lot in the building and Mr. Alav-Powers didn't specify."
         "Well, Office C6 should be fine. That's the one with this great view of Bernadet's Coffee House, I can always see if the lines are too long and going there for my lunch break doesn't make any sense. It's a really handy piece of knowledge to have on you, especially when you're working for numerous hours during the day and just need that little boost."
         It was like listening to a squirrel describe the exact location of the nuts it stored for winter last year, so I just chose to be polite.
         "That will be handy, thank you. I'll see you on Monday at 9:00 in Office C6."
         "Alright, see you then, Leon."
         The phone beeped and I set it down on the table, mentally preparing myself to hear high pitched squeaking for the foreseeable future. I stared at the black pill on the table. The sounds of the city's nightlife droned about: cars passing, hovertrams groaning, the occasional dog bark. My apartment was one of the nicer ones in the Community Hub, as they were called. When the nuke fell, people were displaced from their homes due to radiation, so these Community Hubs were constructed to house them until everything could be resolved. Once the people moved out, there was so much space that people began to buy multiple rooms and tear down the walls between them to make bigger rooms. Now, each floor was a hodgepodge of oblong corridors and misshapen living spaces. I heard someone walking outside of my room, talking on the phone, although it probably looked like they were just talking to themselves on their Cerebral PC.
         "...lawyer... yeah, yeah..."
         I realized the pill was hovering less than an inch away from my lips. My fingers caressed its brittle plastic exterior, mindlessly pushing it closer towards its consumption. I pulled away and set it back down on the table. I was afraid of being tracked down by Mr. Alav-Powers. Or someone he's paid to get me. Why would they come and get me? I couldn't say, but the idea terrified me. I gazed over at the clock on my wall. 9:25 P.M. A Smog trip lasts 30 minutes maximum. That takes me to 10:00 P.M. at the latest. That gives me eight hours of sleep before I wake up at 6:00, workout for 30 minutes, get ready for the day by 7:00, leave and eat breakfast down the block by 8:00, and I'd still have an hour to kill before I'd need to be at The Plant Company. Maybe an hour after the trip to recover, collect my thoughts. I grabbed the pill and sauntered over to my couch, sitting down slowly, as if that would do something useful for me.
         I finally popped the pill in my mouth and swallowed it dry, and then I waited. It tasted of peaches, like Mr. Alav-Powers had described. I looked at the clock again to reassure myself that I was still sane, but I was greeted with a window. It was a circular window quadrisected with birch branches and enclosed by birch planks all around it. I looked away to my TV and was greeted with a view down an alleyway and into a bustling square. Music could be heard playing, a melody of lutes and flutes, the fanfare of a fair. As I kept gazing at this world around me, I realized I was in an alleyway, wearing the same clothes I'd just been wearing, lion and mice in all. The place smelled of cakes and pies, and the people passing by... wait, those aren't people. Two midgets with battle axes and beards that hung down three inches from the floor passed by, arms over one another, singing a tune I couldn't place. A creature with scales wearing leather pants and shirt passed the opening, its tail swinging this way and that as it mossied through the crowd. With bated breath, I walked towards my hallucination, and into the sunlight.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         As the sun shone down on the bustling square, creatures of all shapes and sizes passed by in droves, some with families, others just by themselves, enjoying the market fair. Some that passed by me gave me a strange look, one that said "And who're you supposed to be?", but they never stopped to act upon it and kept walking. I began to merge with the crowd, the atmosphere of the place relaxing me some, but mostly I was still confused and rather uncertain as to what was happening. Buildings made of wood and stone lined the blocks and presented shops, taverns, hotels and brothels, and in the center of the square were vendors selling all kinds of things. I walked up to a stand and caught a whiff of something sweet, a picture of what looked to be a cinnamon bun painted on a wood plank confirming my nose's assumption. The vendor was a shorter, stouter man with a very long and red handlebar mustache, gizmos and gadgets hanging from his belt, his glasses, and every other place you could hold a gadget.
         "At'll beh tree 'ol fur meh sweetloofs, sar."
         I must've been staring at him with wide eyes, signaling I had no idea what he was saying, because he made a noise that sounded like he meant "Oh okay you don't understand me". He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and a gizmo attached to his glasses began to draw something on the paper. He handed it to me shortly afterwards, of which I saw three gold circles, an arrow pointing away from it, and a picture of the same cinnamon bun as was on the sign. He wanted three gold coins for a cinnamon bun.
         "I... I don't have those..."
         "OH! So yer brook'n ya eeskinmeh tacokya sweetloof fer NOOTIN, den?! Yu 'specen meh tacok YU meh grapapa's femos sweetloof fer NOOTIN?!"
         The short and irritable man turned back around, resuming his business. "Pehbrin trahvelar..." he muttered under his breath. I assumed that meant that I wasn't welcome if I didn't have money, so I left, feeling even more lost than before. I came across another tent, this one selling different sharp-edged weapons of differing length and make. I wasn't too keen on knives or swords, but these were definitely not any type of sword I'd ever seen. Some were wavy and bent at weird angles, some were blunt, but still resembled a sword, I guessed.
         "Uhh... son?" I looked over at the voice and was greeted with a large turtle standing on its back legs, metal spikes coming out from its shell. This was a warrior, and he had the scars all around to prove it. His voice bellowed beneath a bandana covering his mouth, and he wore an eye patch over his left eye. His shell was really beat up, and I was giving him the same puzzled look that'd been plastered on my face ever since I got... was transported... came... I was tripping out and now I was here.
         "That there is what I like to call the Wall of Shame. That's all the failed merchandise while forgin'. These..." he gestured as he pointed to a display case, "are the real weapons."
         "Are... is this all... real?"
         "Real as these here scars. Rogues like me only make the best weapons, and you look like a fella who could use somethin' to defend yerself."
         I stood, mouth agape.
         "Okay, look, I don't need a weapon, but you need to tell me where I am," I said in a hushed tone, not wanting to seem overly crazed.
         "Son, yer in Pewterville Square, although how you don't know that is a little concerning."
         "Alright, in what city?"
         "Uhh... Zazerby."
         I thought for a moment. "In what state?"
         "Son, are you feeling alright?"
         "N-no! I took a hallucinogenic pill and now there's lizards and dwarves and... that guy over there and I'm now in a fantasy festival talking to a turtle who makes swords for a living!"
         The turtle stood, processing what he was hearing.
         "It sounds to me like you're lost, son. Really lost."
         "Yes, yes I am very lost. Where can I go to get some answers?"
         The turtle motioned towards a building with a giant gold spike at the top of the roof.
         "That right there is the town hall. You can pro'ly find someone there who can help you."
         "Thank you, thank you." I rushed to the town hall building, finally coming down from the shock and beginning to panic. I took the pill, wasn't I supposed to be facing my fears of being attacked? I mean, I was afraid, so does that mean Smog just makes you afraid so you're not afraid of the thing you're afraid of? Yeesh...
         I got to the door and opened it, more creatures and humanoids were inside, going about their business. I found the receptionist, a lady with pointy ears and long blond hair sitting behind a desk in the center of the building.
         "Hi there, how can I help you?"
         "Hey, listen, I took a pill and now I'm here in this crazy fantasy world with lizards and turtles and all this other crazy stuff, so I need to know how to get back to my own world and back in my own home."
         The elf lady stared with big eyes and unfaltering eye contact. Finally she spoke.
         "Umm... sir, can you... just wait here for a minute..."
         "Why, for what?"
         I heard a door open and two men with similar pointy ears and blond hair were walking towards me. Clad in black suits and sporting badges of some sort, they looked to be the police of this world. And they were coming for me.
         "Hey hey hey! I need help! I don't want to cause any-"
         One of the officers stuck out his hand and a pink circle appeared around his wrist, followed by a streak of pink, and then I fell to the floor. I tried to stand up. Nothing. I tried to speak. Nothing. I tried to do anything at all. Nothing. The two police officers dragged me by my arms to another room in the building, opening and closing door after door as we descended further into the town hall. Soon, we reached a place made of pure stone, and I was hoisted into a cell with a chair and a table. The officers propped me up into the chair and then undid whatever it was that they did to me. I screamed and jolted, finally able to move again.
         "What the hell was that?! You-you-you can't just do that! Hey!" The two officers exited my cell without a word and I was now sitting alone, imprisoned. "Jesus Christ, holy crap... okay, okay keep calm... Uh, I want a lawyer. Yes, I want a lawyer! Do you hear me?!"
         "I want a lawyer!" I screamed as I shot up from my couch. As I took in my surroundings, I realized I was back in my apartment, standing and screaming at the top of my lungs like a lunatic. I breathed heavily and sat down, back on my couch. I gazed around, almost not believing my eyes. Then I began to laugh, a childish giggle escaping from my mouth. I really was crazy now, laughing at nothing. But who wouldn't laugh? I'd just been arrested in my own brain by pointy-eared police officers and thought it was real. And now, here I was, safe and sound, back in my apartment. Safe... yeah, about as safe as a guy in his apartment screaming for no reason and tripping out on Smog. I had to be more careful. If they're coming... well, I guess the Smog didn't work, I'm still paranoid. I gazed at the clock on my wall.
         10:02 P.M.


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Babe's, or Babe's Breakfast, Brunch, and Lunch Eatery, was a restaurant made some years ago by Janice "Babe" Zasto after her home in South Carolina was atomized, and the land deemed too irradiated to return. She, luckily, was in New Montana at the time visiting family and was unharmed. After claiming government stipends and heading to Georgia, she bought Criscomelle Boutique and refurbished it into Babe's Breakfast, Brunch, and Lunch Eatery, or just Babe's. I knew this because I was reading it right off the mural of a wall describing the journey of the restaurant whilst eating what was dubbed the "Smelter Melter Egg 'n Cheese Delight". I pondered the fascination with overly long names that Janice might have or not whilst savoring the delicious breakfast sandwich. As I ate and watched the people of the city go this way and that, I saw a very muscular man in a black t-shirt and jeans pass by on the other side of the road. I had no idea why this person in particular caught my attention, but as I did he too turned my way, met my eyes all the way on the other side of the street, turned away, and kept walking. I stopped eating my sandwich. This was getting out of hand. The clock read 7:45 A.M. Not even two hours after I've woken up and I'm starting the day with more paranoid thoughts of Plant Company people hunting me down. I kept staring out of the window, praying I wouldn't catch a glimpse of anyone else trying to spy on me. Four people passed that I thought were about to look my way, but just sneezed or checked their watches instead.
         "'Cuse me, mister?"
         I turned to face who I could only assume was Janice from the mural wall. "Yes?"
         "You alright? You've been staring out at the street not touchin' your sandwich for ten minutes."
         I blinked and checked the clock. 7:53 A.M. "Yeah, I'm alright, just gazing."
         "Ahh, alright just making sure you weren't havin' one of them Smog induced seizures, you never know these days."
         Her voice was creaky, matching her apparent age. She looked to be around seventy five, maybe eighty, curly dark hair held back by a blue bandana and clad in an apron that kind of reminded me of the MPJ Legion protesters yesterday.
         "Right, right... Uh... thanks for the sandwich." I paid for my meal and exited the restaurant without another word.


         The office was small, beige walls with white trim, very tidy. Christine was right, there was a good view of the coffee shop down the road, and there was no line as she had alluded to. I set down my bag and pulled out my I20 Processor 512 Gig Laptop and calibrated the eye tracker. It was out of fashion, I knew that, but the computer was a gift from my mother when I first started in law school, and I felt it a shame for it to not be put into use. Besides, the company that made these computers was going out of business once Cerebral PCs were selling like... well, Cerebral PCs. They made these old laptops so durable and long lasting that it would probably last me the rest of my life, and I didn't mind. A woman approached the glass doors clad in a dark navy suit, frizzy blond hair bobbing with her every step. Two all white boxes were hovering behind her as she entered the room, both of which landed on the table and opened with a slight hiss.
         "Mr. Poroshenko?" she asked.
         "Hi, you must be Christine." I walked over and shook her hand.
         "Pleasure to meet you! This is my first real case to handle, so I'll help in any way I can, I just want to topple those MPJ Legion, no good, scum suckers to the floor, am I right? Let's give 'em the hammer!"
         I smiled. "Let's."
         We took our seats and Christine got logged into her Cerebral PC as I began booting up my laptop.
         "Wowza, I ain't seen one of those since I was a little girl. My daddy had one just like it before we got him a CPC for his fiftieth birthday. Oh, he was so happy about getting his hands on a new gadget, I got mine when I went into law school. At first it made me feel all dizzy anytime I tried to send an email, but after a while my body finally adjusted and viola now we're here!"
         "Funny, I got this laptop when I went to law school."
         "Oh! Well you've got to try this CPC sometimes, it really does work wonders. Well, once you try it, it doesn't come out so maybe I'll just tell you about it later, I'm almost in..."
         And with that, Christine's face muscles relaxed as her mind was preoccupied with the neural interface created by the Cerebral PC. I booted my laptop up and logged in, ready to look over some of the files Christine brought up from the hovering boxes. Documents began flooding onto my screen shortly after I inserted a data chip from the box into my computer. I began glossing documentations of previous MPJ Legion contact with The Plant Company and taking notes, seeing what kind of a case we had on our hands. Documents after documents of angry letters, pleading cries, and even threats, which I found useful incase we turn this thing into a harassment charge. Regardless, work continued like this for some time before I needed to step out and get some fresh air. The hallway outside of the office had the occasional intern walking with coffee or some other worker with documents and paperwork stacked miles high. I found a water fountain near a ledge that overlooked the main entrance to the building. As I paced a bit and took a drink, I noticed a man overlooking the entrance from the floor above me on the other side of the building. He wasn't doing anything, more or less just standing there overlooking the people going by. Soon, he looked to be speaking to no one in particular before walking away, barely catching my gaze before regressing back into the hallway and heading to whatever location he was heading to.
         I pulled my gaze away from the space where the man had been and went to take another drink. As my hands went to press the button to dispense the water, I realized it was shaking. The vibrations of my shaking hand were noticeable enough to slightly change the water stream intensity as I tried to drink. This feeling of paranoia needed to end, I could barely drink water from a fountain, let alone work on a case for my employer who I believe is hunting me down. I needed to conquer my fear.
         I glanced back up to the balcony, making sure that it was still empty of that man, then made my way back to the office. Christine was still clacking away at the table, mimicking the movements of typing something, as I grabbed a notepad and a pen. With both in hand and a plan in mind, I made my way down to the faulty Smog pill incinerator. It wasn't super hard, holographic signs lined the intersections of hallways that pointed me directly down there. As I descended some stairs, I was finally greeted by an employee who appeared to be on lunch break. He was a man about my age, covered in either soot or Smog dust, but judging by how neither of us were hallucinating, I'd say soot.
         "Whatcha doin' down here, fella'?"
         "Hi, Leon Poroshenko, Attorney at Law," I said rather rushed.
         "Attorney?! I ain't getting served, am I?"
         "What? No, the company is- Look, can you answer some questions and show me around the incinerator room?"
         "Uhh... sure-"
         "Great, can you state your name and date of birth for me while we walk?"
         "Yeah uh my name is Seymour Finnigan born...." He began leading me through a door and into a concrete hallway. I tuned him out and wrote down scribbles as we entered the incinerator room. A large boiler with a roaring flame greeted us at the end of the hallway. It was dark, even with the flames, and dim bulbs lined the ceiling as we walked. "Uh, mister?"
         "Yes, right right Seymour. Look, can you tell me about your time here?"
         "Well, I started here in '53, so it's been about 10 years of me working here as a waste manager..."
         A large shipment of Smog pills was dropped into giant bins on vehicles in the distance. These were subsequently driven towards the furnace and dropped like a dump truck to the landfill. A glint of the floor caught my eye, and a rogue Smog pill reflected the light from the furnace into my eye. As Seymour talked, I quickly grabbed the pill and stuffed it in my pocket.
         "And that's about when I started workin' down here."
         "Interesting. What's with the long hallway to get to the one incinerator?"
         "One? Ha!" We left the hallway and entered a room much longer than it was wide. I looked down either way and saw that the space extended into dimly lit darkness in each direction. A furnace, some trucks, and giant metal chutes that hung from the ceiling all perfectly duplicated each hundred yards, making the whole incinerator complex seem like a mirror maze. In the faint glow of the fire, a giant white 15 was painted on the wall behind the incinerator in front of me.
         "There's lots more than one, buddy."
         "Wow... a- and how would you say you've been treated these past 10 years?"
         "Not too bad, there's the occasional yellin' I get from the boss, but that's just because..." More rogue Smog pills lined the ground, fallen from trucks and saved from destruction. I gathered them like berries from a bush, each taking its own place in my pocket. As we walked and he talked, I counted that I'd gathered 34 Smog pills. We moved out of the way from a large transport truck that was dumping more Smog pills into the incinerator. As the truck rumbled by, each bump caused handfuls of Smog pills to fall from the top of the basin.
         "Impressive, ain't it?"
         "Hm? Oh, yes, very impressive, very impressive. Well, that's all I really wanted to talk to you about, mister."
         "My pleasure. Exit's ov'r there."
         Right where his finger was pointing was an exit sign, fluorescent green and hanging over a similar hallway like we entered minutes prior. I thanked him and headed out, feeling the weight of each pill resting in my pockets, my heist now considered a success.
         I returned to the office, scribbles on a notepad and a considerable amount of sweat beading up on my forehead. Some of it from the heat of the furnaces, some from the thrill. Christine was still dragging her fingers on the table, the same blank expression as before. I took my seat and wiped my forehead. Christine came out of her trance shortly after and blinked a few times.
         "Hey, sorry, I was just going over those case documents. Find anything interesting? Anything we can use or something like that?"
"Uh, yeah, I talked to some of the workers downstairs."
Christine seemed confused.
"You mean like the Smog tree workers or just any old worker at this company?"
"No, just one of the incinerator workers downstairs."
         "Well, how does that help with the case? I mean, they're suing us for improper treatment of our Smog trees, the incinerator workers don't fit in."
         "Well, on the surface, yeah, but what you need to realize is that they're still part of the process, right? They're still credible, in terms of if we need to bring any of them to testify, which we won't because we're settling the case and or counter suing for harassment. If we can show that we're dealing with the Smog tree products legally and safely, then we have some grounds for backing up a faulty harassment suit."
         Christine stared at the point between my eyes before nodding slowly, then picking up pace and smiling.
         "You're absolutely right! Why didn't I think of that, jeez. Well alright then, we've got that covered. Here's what I've got so far, it's actually the old deed to Mr. Alav-Power's family farm, where the trees were first grown and cultivated..."
         I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. As a lawyer, painting a story about a guilty client was my job, and I was on the job. The rest of the day was spent skimming documents and writing notes. Occasionally, I'd spot someone glaring for a little too long through the glass as they passed the office, and I'd take a break to make sure they were gone. After a lunch break and some more work, we finally called it quits for the day and said our farewells. All the walk home, I felt those pills in my pocket, and made sure to check over my shoulder every now and again.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         In the confines of my apartment, I stared at my stash of Smog pills I'd stolen. I had already locked the door and made sure that the shades on my windows were pulled down so no one could see inside. I was eager, a bit nervous, mostly just scared. If anyone saw what I was doing, they'd for sure call someone and attract unwanted attention. I needed to do this, for myself and my well being.
         There were 34 pills in total, meaning there was 17 hours in total of hallucinating. I could do 8 hours maximum, accounting for coming off the drugs and getting another pill, and still have time to get to work. That's 16 pills. I counted them out on the table and set the rest aside. I brought them over to the couch and set them on a little side table next to it. Taking some deep breaths, I attempted to center my mind before all this happened. I didn't know what "all this" would entail, I just knew that I needed to do it. The first pill felt heavy in my fingers as I went through my first trip. That familiar smell of cinnamon buns filled my nose, and as I looked around my surroundings, I realized I was still back in the cell. The same rocky everything and the scent of cinnamon buns coming from outside the little window near the roof. It was nighttime, and there was a guard sleeping near the staircase I was brought down originally. I was surprised I was back in here, but I needed to get out somehow.
         "Psst! Hey!" I whispered into the darkness. I heard a jolt and some grumbling before I saw the outline of the guard rise from the shadows.
         "Wha... Hey, you're that thing..." The guard came into what little moonlight was shining in from the window. He was a tall guy, straight blond hair and those pointy ears I remember. His eyes appeared an emerald green, two illuminated circles in an otherwise dingy prison.
         "Thing? I'm a human being."
         "Well, whatever you are, you're cursed."
         "Cursed?"
         "Well what else would you be? One minute you're in your cell, the next minute you're nowhere to be found. It's been three days."
         "Three days? It's been one for me."
         "You see? Classic Curse of Vanishing. I need to call the Practitioner."
         "Wait, who's that? Hey hey!" The circles and hair receded up the stairs and out of view. I listened closely and heard muttering, then silence, then what I could only describe as a "woomp". Soon, two sets of footsteps were descending the stairs, and the guard reappeared with another person behind him. The figure began to mutter some kind of chants before phasing through the bars of my cell. I screamed and backed up against the wall.
         "Fear not. I only seek to help you," the figure muttered.
         "So... you're... the Practitioner?"
         "Yes, I study all forms of magic and curses."
         From what I could gather, the Practitioner was draped in a purple robe and his face was lost inside of the hood drawn over his head. The robe had gold lining and covered the majority of his body, save for his hands. They were old hands, yet his voice sounded rather young to be coming from the same body as those hands. He raised one towards me and muttered again, causing bright pink tendrils to spring from his fingertips. They swayed this way and that in my general direction. I thought it wise to not move or speak. After about a minute and a couple more mutterings from the Practitioner, he retracted the pink tendrils and turned towards the guard.
         "This being is pure. If he is affected by a curse, it is far outside of my scope. Tell me," he uttered, turning my way once more. "Where do you come from?"
         "Georgia, on Earth. When I was here last, I was told this city was Zaz-somthing or other."
         "Zazerby. Where is this Earth you speak of?"
         "Wait, this isn't Earth?"
         The Practitioner emanated a hum of deep thought and bowed his head, apparently contemplating something. He raised his head.
         "Through my examination, it appears that you come from a great distance, and willingly, it would seem. Would it be safe to assume that you are embarking on a quest of some sort?"
         "I guess you could call it that, sure."
         "And what would that quest be?"
         "I'm supposed to be conquering my fear..."
         "How would this be accomplished by traversing planets to a world not of your own?"
         "Look, I don't know. I took some pills a while back and they brought me here. The effects wore off and I left. Then I took them again because they're supposed to help you face your fears or something and now... here we are."
         The Practitioner remained motionless before exiting the cell the same way he entered and conferring with the guard.
         "I recommend he be kept here. The knowledge this prisoner has, if true, will surely cause panic amongst the masses if it were to escape these walls."
         "I fully agree. He sounds like a nutjob, if you ask me."
         "Then there is only one course of action." The Practitioner raised his hand towards the guard and a bright flash of light exploded into existence. The guard fell and I stood against the wall.
         "Jesus Christ! Wha- what did you..."
         "Calm yourself, he has merely forgotten the past ten minutes. Now, only you and I share this knowledge you speak of, do you understand?"
         "Y-Yeah I get it."
         "Then listen to me very closely. I know not your name nor your place of origin, but I recognize a being with a purpose. From this point on, if you are to disappear and people are to see, you will explain to them that you have been afflicted by a Curse of Vanishing, which you received in the Second Elven Crusade. If they press you, you are free to say as you wish, as your age will be indeterminable from the Curse's time altering properties. The Second Elven Crusade was decades ago, and records of the war have either been sealed or burned. Do you understand?"
         I took it all in for a moment, realizing this was this world's version of giving assistance. I nodded.
         "Good." With a raised hand, the cell door opened and I exited the rocky prison.
         "Why are you doing this?"
         "We all must conquer our fears, and no prison, real or fictitious, should hold us from it. I will take care here. I suggest finding a place to rest for the night."
         I nodded and began to ascend the stairs, breaking into a run at the top and out of the building. The moon in the sky shone brightly on the town, now deprived of its fair from days prior. I continued to run, my tie flapping behind me, as I decided to get as far away from the prison as I could. As I ran down city streets, my shoes clacked against the cobblestone roads and resonated off the walls of homes pressed together like sardines. I finally ran out of breath near an intersection of two streets. I rested myself against a lamppost and caught my breath. I needed somewhere to stay, who knew what would happen if I stayed out here. I looked around and saw a building down the branching street with lights coming from its windows. A sign hung above the supposed entrance to the building displaying some kind of creature on a skewer over a fire.
         The sign read The Rusty Anvil Tavern.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         There are many things in my life that I never thought of. Ever. I sat at a bar counter with a small lizard person in chainmail armor to my left. To my right was a large minotaur staring into his cup of some liquid, most likely ale. The bartender was a woman in full battlegear, the right half of her hair shaved off and her scalp tattooed with symbols I didn't know. This was one of those situations that I never thought of.
         "And what'll you be havin'?" she asked me.
         "Um... what's there to have?"
         She scoffed. "Funny guy, huh? Look, you can either order something or get out of my tavern."
         "Um..." I looked behind her and saw an oddly shaped green bottle with half of the liquid missing from it. "I'll take a shot of that." I pointed to the bottle and the woman grabbed it, sliding a shot down to me shortly after pouring. I took it in my hands and tipped it back. I immediately started to cough as it slid down my throat, a potent alcoholic burn and a hint of green apple scorched my throat. I tried not to make a scene as I heard the minotaur next to me chuckling to himself. I composed myself and put my head in my hands, wondering what the hell was going on right now.
         "You've had a rough day?" I looked up towards the voice and was greeted by the minotaur.
         "Yeah. About as rough as they come."
         "I hear you. I'm doing about the same."
         "Oh yeah?"
         "Jury's not kind to big hulking minotaurs like myself, so yeah, it's been a rough day."
         "A jury?"
         "Yeah..." The minotaur looked back at his drink. "I won't survive in prison. I'm just enjoying my last few hours of freedom."
         "Have you appealed?"
         "Court date's tomorrow. They're fixing to put me away for a long time."
         "Have you spoken to your lawyer?"
         "You know," he said turning towards me, "you're a really nosey guy. What do you know about me, huh?"
         "Nothing nothing, it's just... I'm a lawyer."
         The minotaur looked me up and down. "You're a lawyer."
         "Yes, I'm a lawyer. I just needed to take my mind off things and... look, I'm sorry for inquiring."
         The minotaur didn't respond, but instead extended his hand to me. "Eleftherios."
         I shook his hand. "Leon."
         "Come sit with me in that booth over there, I need your help." I had nothing better to do, so I followed Eleftherios to the booth he mentioned and we took a seat opposite of each other. "I need you to help me win this case."
         I closed my eyes, scrunched my face, and rubbed my temple with my right hand. "Look," I said, "I'm trying to make sense of my whole situation right now, and I'm questioning a lot of stuff about my life. Plus, I can't just become your lawyer. Your current lawyer needs to file the paperwork."
         "I don't have a lawyer, that's the problem."
         I stared, a bit dumbfounded. "Aren't you supposed to get one from the court?"
         "What?"
         I sighed. "Nevermind. What exactly are you being charged with again?"
         He leaned in close and made sure no one was listening. "Murder," he muttered.
         "Oh great," I whispered back. "So you're charged with murder and you don't have a lawyer with you."
         "That's right, but that's where you come in." He leaned back. "You can help me."
         "I don't even know the laws of this place, let alone the procedures for court, nor if you were even justified in killing."
         "It was an accident. That Pixie was perched on our territory and... I didn't see him on the tree."
         "So what happened?"
         "I squished him under my palm when I was hunting. I only stopped and checked because... because I heard him..."
         "Okay okay, that's enough..." I sat in contemplation. I was here to face my fears of being hunted down. That was when I realized: I wasn't afraid. Mr. Alav-Powers, the Plant Company, all of that was in the real world. They couldn't get me here, I was safe. And as long as I was here, I had to be safe, right? I wasn't on Earth anymore, I was in Zazerby. "So what do we have to do?"
         As I said those words, I realized I wasn't speaking to anyone, but instead I was back in my apartment and staring blankly into my TV. I glanced around, and I was indeed back to reality. I scrambled for another pill and threw it into my mouth, shortly after finding myself back in the booth Eleftherios and I were sitting in.
         He was gone. The morning sun shone in through the windows of the tavern and the same female bartender was cleaning and polishing cups. I stood from the booth and approached her.
         "Excuse me, ma'am."
         The woman turned and looked me up and down. "Come back to pay for that shot of yours?"
         "Er- um no I just... Did that minotaur say where he went?"
         "The minotaur you were talking to last night? Yeah, he left shortly after you disappeared to wherever. He was visibly upset, but if I had to guess he's now back home."
         "Where does he live?"
         "How am I supposed to know?"
         I sighed and turned to leave. "Thanks!"
         "Hey, where's my gold, you stinge?!" I was already out of the door and back to running around the streets of Zazerby, passing creatures this way and that. Soon, I was too out of breath to continue running with no destination, hoping to run into Eleftherios. I needed to think. Then it hit me. The court house. He'd be at the courthouse, maybe not now but soon. And if he is, I can still represent him. I stopped a goat holding a broadsword in the street.
         "Hey, where's the courthouse?"
         "Um... it's down Greendale and then... yeah, and then a right down Vivionce-"
         "Thank you!" I took off and found Greendale Street and then kept going until I turned down Vivionce Avenue. There, down the street, was a courthouse if I ever saw one. Large marble pillars holding up carvings of old warriors in battle greeted me as I ascended the stairs and into the courthouse. I found the Clerk's Office, which was run by a crocodile-esque creature with two robotic arms.
         "Excuse me, I'm the defendant's lawyer for the murder trial for Eleftherios. He's a minotaur about yey tall, has his trial began yet?"
         "Let me check," the croc uttered, me realizing that it wasn't just his arms that were robotic but also his voice. "Courtroom 8, down the hall and to your left."
         I walked down as per the croc's instructions and entered the courtroom. There I saw a small gathering of creatures in the viewing benches, and panel of jurors, and Eleftherios sitting by himself at the defendant's table. I approached him.
         "Hey."
         He turned around to face me. "Wow, you're here!"
         "Yeah, I'm here." I took my seat next to him.
         "But you disappeared right in front of my eyes, I thought you weren't coming back."
         "Um.. yeah it's a Curse of Vanishing from the Second Elven Crusade-"
         "Second Elven Crusade?!"
         "Shh! Keep it quiet..."
         "Oh oh okay okay... But what happens if you vanish again?"
         "Listen, you call for a recess, alright? Recess by Reason of Absence. That'll buy me thirty minutes to come back."
         "Alright then. Are you sure you can handle this?"
         "Well I'm kind of in the thick of it now. Where's the prosecution?"
         As if on cue, the doors to the courtroom burst open. As the patrons, Eleftherios and I turned to face the noise, we were greeted by a small blue Pixie wearing a suit, flying down the aisle towards the prosecutors desk. The whitenoise in the room seemed to halt as everyone's eyes followed the creature.
         "Who's that?" I whispered to Eleftherios.
         "Rhys Millen," he said in a foreboding tone.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         Long ago, in the far off regions of Lanclison, the Pixie race lived in relative harmony. Inhabiting nearby sprawling forests and living their lives, the Pixies cultivated bountiful harvests of fruit and mushrooms. Their agricultural practices and dedication to nature made them reliable workers and noble individuals. Their nobility and dedication, naturally, lead to having a strong military presence amongst neighboring nations. They were respected, not feared. Well, almost not feared.
         Gnomes, in a similar fashion, were just as, if not more, hard working and nature focused than Pixies. Like Pixies, their numbers were great, and they inhabited neighboring forests on the ground level, whereas Pixies mainly stuck to the treetops. Gnomes, overtime, began to wonder if Pixies would outclass them in terms of prowess as a nation. Thus, Pixie hatred grew steadily in the minds of most Gnomes.
         This unfortunately led to what was called The War of the Trees, where Gnomes would attempt to destroy Pixie forests by cutting down Pixie trees. Pixies would then retaliate by setting fire to Gnome tree tops and using these fires to roast their food. They were called Gnomaques by the Pixie people, and as these attacks escalated in frequency and scale, full blown war broke out in the forests. Pixies descended from the trees to carry out enraged attacks as Gnomes set up raiding parties at the base of Pixie territory.
         Both sides knew that the wars would be costly and bloody, and thus many Pixies and Gnomes sent their children away to far off lands in order to avoid the fighting. One of these children was the son of a great Pixie General, General Costapoly Millen. He led many a battle into Gnome territory and has been said to have taken each Gnome's hat that had the unfortunate misery of meeting his blade. To have your hat taken as Gnome is one of the ultimate shames to be brought upon you, and these stories, whether true or not, demoralized the Gnomes and led to victory after victory for the Pixies.
         The young general's child was cast into the wind on a leaf and carried far away from the fighting, soon landing in a town called Zazerby, where he was taken in by a Fairy couple. There, he grew up, and as he grew, so did his interest in his people. Long gone were the times of war between Gnomes and Pixies, yet distaste still ran deep. As the young Pixie read more and more about the wars, he grew impassioned by the stories of great Pixie warriors who fought for their land, their people, and their nation. The young Pixie had seen where fighting had gotten his people; deaths in the thousands and thousands more left in the ruins. He knew that to truly make someone pay, to truly get to their core, the law was the way to go. He began to study the law, live it, breathe it. He became a great lawyer, renowned for his prowess, and feared for his sharp gaze.
         As Rhys Millen hovered down the aisle of the courtroom towards the prosecutor's desk, he felt confident that this lumbering oaf of a minotaur would be sentenced to prison for his crimes against his people. The blood of a Pixie was spilled due to the ignorance of a Minotaur, and Rhys Millen was certain that he'd pay for these misgivings. As he got his papers in order, the judge appeared and the court stood for him, all of them sitting in unison once the judge felt it fit to. Rhys took note of the Minotaur's lawyer, which appeared to be a far less muscular and hairy verison of the Minotaur. In fact, he didn't have any of the characteristics of any race Rhys had seen before. No matter. This was an open and shut case as far as Rhys was concerned.
         He began his opening arguments, eloquently putting his position into precise and biting words. He sensed the agreement from the jury as he spoke, and fed into their energy as he continued. As he finished and took his seat, he noted that the opposing lawyer glanced at the Minotaur with a worried expression. All according to plan. The lawyer's opening arguments were shaky, at best. He was clearly well versed in the law, he knew his stuff. He stumbled over his words at times, but otherwise kept his composure and gave a decent opening argument. He was claiming that this unfortunate Pixie was caught on Minotaur territory and thus trespassing. How that justified murder was beyond Rhys, but the trial was young.
         Rhys decided to call his first witness. She was an Elf who was one of the main people in charge of deciding nation borders on Lanclison. Rhys simply asked her questions pertaining to Minotaur and Pixie nation borders, how often did they have to redraw borders, general information. The main point was this: For a Pixie to have crossed over into Minotaur territory would require them to pass through Dwarf territory, making trespassing unlikely if not impossible. The defense questioned the witness on the tendencies for which different races would cross borders. He was fishing for any reason that a Pixie would travel so far out from their territory. Smart, but inefficient. He was crafting his argument as he went, which was never reliable. However, he was able to make the point that crossing Dwarf territory as a Pixie was one of the easiest things to do, as they could stay undetected in the trees. This was true, and Rhys couldn't deny that aspect of Pixie resourcefulness.
         Rhys then called one of the heads of the Pixie nation, Dascrum Vilow. He'd held the role as Head of Nation for some time now, and Rhys questioned him on Pixie foraging practices, and the icing on the cake was that Pixies rarely leave their territory for foraging purposes. This, the Head of Nation backed up soundly. The defense then questioned the Head of Nation as to how the nation as a whole was holding up these days. Mr. Vilow replied that they could always be doing better, but fine for now. After some pressing questions, it was revealed that the food supplies across the nation as a whole was down 8% from prior harvests. When asked if this was a topic of panic for Pixies, the Head of Nation replied that they were keeping the situation under control. The defense then inquired as to whether it was possible for a less fortunate family of Pixies to resort to cross-borders foraging. Rhys swiftly objected, saying that the Head of Nation couldn't possibly vouch for any one family in the nation. The defense argued that the Head of Nation was more than qualified to speak on behalf of his people, as they are the ones who elected him. Rhys cursed himself when the judge overruled his objection, causing the Head of Nation to say that Pixies were resourceful enough to gather food from their own land. The defense addresses the jury, explaining that Pixies, as confirmed by the Head of Nation, were resourceful, and with the knowledge that their food supplies were dwindling, could easily branch territory and grab food for their family in need. The empathy card, thought Rhys.
         Finally, Rhys called Eleftherios himself to the stand. Eleftherios recalled the whole experience, his traversal through the forest until he spotted wild game. While in pursuit he rested against a tree in order to catch his breath. That was when he heard a muffled cry, a snap, and, when turning around, was greeted with the Pixie, crushed under his back. As he spoke, the defense lawyer grimmaced at the Minotaur's confession to murder, but that was hardly the issue at hand. No, what Rhys was trying to prove was that this murder was in cold blood, that the Minotaur's suposed distaste for Pixies caused him to murder Rhys' bretherin. As he pressed, the Minotaur grew restless, but never relented on the fact that this was all an accident. Rhys was, however, fortunate enough to explain to the jury that an innocent Pixie was killed at the hands of a neglectful Minotaur, a creature that can and did kill a small creature like a Pixie with little to no effort. The defense then approached the Minotaur, but before a single word came out from his mouth, the lawyer vanished into thin air. The court collectively gasped, Rhys included. The Minotaur then exclaimed "Recess by..." followed by incoherent mumbles of some words he was trying to remember.


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         I was back in my apartment. This trial had to end, I needed an angle. But I had no time to dwell on it here. I needed to stick around longer, so I grabbed five pills from the table and threw them into my mouth. I felt myself immediately get some form of whiplash before I was back in the courthouse. The court was halted, thankfully, and Eleftherios was still on the stand. His face lit up as I reappeared right where I was. As I gazed around, shocked eyes looked directly at me. Even the small beady eyes of Rhys Millen pierced my skull. I was back, and after clarifying with the judge that I was okay to continue, I pressed Eleftherios.
         "What do you do for a living, Eleftherios?"
         "Well, I'm usually gathering food for my mother ever so often once the current food supplies run out."
         "And how often would you say you help your mother?"
         "About twice a week, maybe three."
         "And what do you do otherwise?"
         "I work as a blacksmith in town."
         I turned to the jury and addressed them. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, here we have a Minotaur who works to provide for the safety of this town as well as help his own mother in his spare time. If this doesn't constitute a good person, then you have me lost for words. A man of Eleftherios' character does not kill Pixies in the forest with malice or hatred, and, unfortunately, this Minotaur found himself at the wrong tree and at the wrong time. Now I can virtually guarantee... that this Minotaur has punished himself enough for taking the life of a Pixie. Don't punish him more than what he has already brought upon himself."
         I finished my speech and sat down, ready to give closing arguments. Rhys recapped his main points, I reiterated mine, and we all sat and waited for the jury to make their decision. It was a stressful hour. Rhys and I exchanged glances at one another every once in a while by chance. He was clearly displeased with how the whole trial went, but a twinge of confidence never left his slight smirk. After the hour passed, the jury returned to their seat and the judge followed suit. We all stood then sat as the judge instructed one of the jurors to read the verdict.
         "We the jury find the defendant Eleftherios guilty on one count of murder in the first degree."
         Eleftherios and I both turned pale. Guilty? No, no that can't be. He isn't guilty. Two balifs came over and hoisted up Eleftherios, who moved with their motions like a phantom. Before receding back into the holding cells, he turned and stared at me, directly to my soul. His eyes were empty, lifeless, like everything he knew was leaving him behind. He mouthed two words.
         "Thank you."
         The doors closed and the gavel struck, and that was the last time I was ever going to see Eleftherios. I sat in my chair as people began to leave the courtroom. This can't be true, my arguments were sound, were they not? I made the best argument I could've, I threw everything I had at it.
"Hey."
I turned to my left, only to be greeted by a small hovering blue Pixie in a suit.
"Now's not the time for gloating, Millen."
"No need for hostilities," he retorted. "I want you to walk with me."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I know how you're feeling."
"But you won."
"You think I don't know what losing a case feels like?"
         I pondered. "Walk with me." I stood from my chair and we both exited the courtroom, me feeling as though I was leaving my friend behind. Rhys spoke first.
         "You made a great argument, kid. I assume you're a fine lawyer where you come from?"
         "What's it to you, Rhys? I just left that guy hanging."
         "You didn't leave him hanging, you helped a man in need, did you not? He didn't have a lawyer to argue for him until he found you."
         "Yeah, but it just wasn't enough."
         "Listen to me, Leon, what you did back there was your best, I saw it all throughout the trial. You were making up that argument on the fly because you'd barely had time to form an actual argument. Not to mention your whole disappearing thing."
         "Is this your sick way of gloating?" I asked him. I thought about what he said. "Wait... did I ever tell you my name?"
         "You were fighting an uphill battle, Leon, a battle that few can and do win. The outcome of this case was set in stone from the moment you agreed to be his lawyer, and I think you knew that from the start."
         "Hey, now-"
         "But you did the right thing." We stopped walking and Rhys turned to me. "You saw a man in need and you helped him, and that's all anyone can ask of you. You tried your best and you still failed. Instead of dwelling on it, let it build your foundation for success later. Don't let it bog you down."
         "What is this, a pep talk? I just failed to get a man's freedom for him."
         "And there'll be others like him, Leon," Rhys said with conviction. "Do you honestly believe that you can save everyone that comes to you for help?"
         I was getting sick of listening to this twerp. "If I can help one of them, what difference is there for the next one, huh? A different charge, different witnesses? When you boil it down, I can save them no matter what."
         "So then why was Eleftherios sentenced to jail? If you can save them, why didn't you save him?"
         "Shut up!"
         "You didn't save him because that whole narrative is false, Leon! You can't save them all, no matter how hard you try."
         "Yes I can, God damnit!" I felt weak in my knees. My eyes welled up with tears, although I couldn't place why I was crying.
         "No, Leon, you can't," Rhys continued, "And no matter how hard you try, there will always be some that get away."
         I fell to my knees and wept. I couldn't take it, and I didn't know why. I've always been able to help people, and now this. It was heartbreaking. I thought I could do it. I thought I could help.
         "Listen to me, Leon," Rhys continued, "It's not your fault. You want to help people, but the sad truth is that some people are beyond saving. You've seen it first hand, I know you have. But you just brush them aside, and you never take in the fact that they were unsaveable. You've never truly accepted that there was nothing you could do."
         My tears fell from my cheeks and onto the floor. I didn't care who saw. Rhys' words filled my mind, and soon I was able to compose myself and stand. I was finally able to speak again.
         "There... Was nothing... I could do..."
         Rhys shook his head. "Don't fear failure, Leon. Failure is a part of life. You can't do it all."
         I sniffed and nodded, finally letting it all sink in. It was liberating in a way, I felt lighter than I did before. I felt unburdened, I felt free from the pressure. I wiped my face and tried to clean myself up.
         "I know... I know..."
         "Good. Then you've learned something, and finally conquered your fear."
         I looked at Rhys. "What?"
         "Your fear, Leon. Failure. It was never getting caught, it was the consequences of failing and being hunted that scared you. It was the fear of failure that plagued you, Leon. But you are free now."
         "You... you knew?"
         "We always knew, Leon." I looked around and all of the patrons had stopped going about their business and were now staring at Rhys and I. "It's time for you to go, Leon."
         "Wait wait... no, I need answers!"
         "Your brain can only take so much, Leon."
         I felt the world around me shift and bend, fading away and leading me back to my apartment. I heard Rhys say one last phrase.
         "I hope you survive to come back."


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          I fell onto my floor and could barely move my legs. I was breathing heavily and it felt like I had to cough. My alarm was blaring and some sunlight was shining through my blinds. I hoisted myself up by my arms and eventually stood on my own two feet again. I gave a wet cough into my sleeve, and upon inspection, a tiny glob of black mucus rested in my arm crease. I felt dizzy, light headed, unfocused. I needed to get to work, but how could I show up like this? I was a mess.
         Survive to come back. Survive? I wasn't dying. Was I?
         "You're not," said a familiar voice. I spun around and nearly puked as I saw Eleftherios in shackles, standing near my kitchen table. I scrambled backwards and screamed, falling over again. As I rose from the ground to confront him, he was nowhere to be found. The door to my apartment couldn't've opened quicker as I dashed out into the hallway. My feet clacked against cobblestone as I ran to the elevator. I tried to compose myself. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening. Was I still hallucinating?
         "You're gonna be late, Leon," a robotic voice uttered behind me. The croc crawled past my feet and down the hallway, and I stumbled backwards into the now opening elevator. I accidentally bumped into another person carrying groceries and yelped.
         "Sir, are you alright?"
         "Me? Yeah, no no yeah I'm doing just fine, absolutely fine..."
         They stared at me with wide eyes and backed out of the elevator as the doors shut. I was now staring at my reflection in the metallic coating of the doors, and I noticed that a black trickle of goop was falling from my right nostril. I wiped it away and cursed myself. I needed to remain calm. I needed to stay here. What had those pills done to me?
         The elevator opened and I quickly exited out into the street, sporadically making my way down the block. I bumped into people, creatures bumped into me, I would try not to notice them, I kept walking. I coughed again and more black goop coated my arm. People and creatures gave me weird glances as I passed. Just act natural. Keep going.
         "Oh, yu int luk'n soo neece, new ER yu?!" I full blown screamed at the tiny man with the gadgets and fell into a trashcan. People were now stopping to see if I was okay, but were afraid to come close to me. I scrambled to my feet and rustled my hair, pressing hard into the sides of my head.
         "Sir, do you need an ambulance?"
         "I-I need to get to work!" I took off in a full blown sprint down the street towards The Plant Company. As I did, I heard repeated gusts of wind coming from behind me.
         I looked to the sky behind me as I ran. A dragon the size of three school buses, with wings the size of a city block, pounded at the air and kept pace with me as I ran. His eyes were a sickly gold and his teeth jutted from his skull in a terrifying sneer. His oakleaf red scales reflected the sunlight in all different directions as his mighty wings carried him through the city skyline. No one batted an eye. I ran faster, harder, to try and escape the beast. As I ran, I saw the entrance to the building. I heard the dragon swoop down from the heavens and huff, and I dared not turn around. With each flap of its wings, I felt it gain on me, and soon it let out a bone chilling roar. I covered my ears and kept running toward the entrance. The feeling of heat soon registered on my back, and I knew it was ready to incinerate me. Person after person I shoved out of my way.
         Finally I dove for the entrance. I shielded my head and jumped as hard as I could through one of those giant glass windows, a me-sized hole appearing in the glass as the rest of the window fell. I felt stings of pain in my back, hands, and arms as I rushed behind the service desk. As I waited for an impact that never came, I soon rose from my hiding spot to see that the world had stopped. People were looking at me like I was a lunatic, and I clammored over the desk. I felt blood dripping down my arms and off of my hands, a red trail leading behind me as I walked to the front of the entrance. I coughed again, this time a black gloob of something landed at my feet on the tile of the building. I stared out of the giant glass windows and into the sky, and as I collapsed from my injuries, a dragon was soaring through the clouds, off to wherever it pleased.


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