It was a boxy, bright orange hunk of metal. But that battered 1985, four wheel drive Chevy pickup in its hideously orange fleetside glory was oh so much more for the 45 year old man stood watching it go into the scrap yard.

He was lean and with a broad athletic frame his once solid black hair was now peppered with some gray. For the middle-aged Ronald Hershcorn that old pick up was trove of memories.

His day had bought brand new off a lot in Little Rock Arkansas. Ronald was five years old-- having been conceived in the back of a Volkswagen Beetle in 1980. There was many days fishing trips, vacations and other major life events in that truck including hard lessons. Ron found himself the hurricane of the teen years and was tempestuous and bumbfuzzled. He wasn't an adult neither was he a child. While on the way to a sporting goods store one day his father gave him the "talk."

Trying hard to be "cool" he'd completely marred the reputation of a cheer leader his so called friends had mocked him for liking. He fabricated an account of an explicit romantic rendezvous where her "cherry had been popped."

It spread like a California wildfire through out the high school.

Ronald's dad had caught wind of the situation and one day while fixing up the truck he sat his son on the tailgate and they had very long discussion.

Ronald still remembered that day very well. It was like acid reflux to his brain. Why did he do something so stupid to a person he had deep feelings for. He'd made it right with her but she never spoke to him again he didn't blame her.

Eleven years after it rolled of the lot the pickup became his. He was Sixteen and still mixed up and dumb. He didn't drink and drive but he did go to fast one night. It cost him a new headlight and a month without his wheels.

The truck went with him to college. He thought it be cool to paint orange because that was one of the school colors. It had been that hue ever since. Many nights were spent with his buddies in the back of that truck weather it was going to the burger place for quick refuse during finals or waiting for a movie to start or just talking.

Some nights were spent in solitude washing away the pains of life with the sounds of Skid Row or Metallica. "I'm 18" by Alice Cooper also resonated with him strongly.

While in college he met his wife and they were married in fall of 2001. He scraped up some money and bought a camper for the truck bed. The wedding night was spent there as he and his wife stopped on a deserted road to consumate their union. He was 21 she was 25. It was the night of September 10th 2001 and they were headed to New York City for the honeymoon. They canceled those plans the next day.

Soon a new life entered the world and Ronald spent time in that truck with his own son trying to pass on life lessons.

Well Ronald had been on his own for ten years. The wife divorced him in 2015. Times were hard and his son was in college learning who knows what now days! So the truck was gone now the cost of maintenance on such an old heap having become impractical. That pick up had been if three states seen 6 big moves and the sundering of a stable family. So the truck was gone now but the memories remained.

The wife loves the sushi and egg roll so much so that me her super smart support animal genetically engineered crossbreed between Border Collie and German Shepherd (of sixty six dog years, which...you do the math to convert into human revolutions around the closest star) wanted to surprise said master on what would constitute a magic (Mike birthday celebration) moment, when on July sixth two thousand and twenty five years after civilization and its discontents predicated their reconciliation with being mortal beings in good part to the birth of Jack Russell, which Canis lupus familiaris begat and got born courtesy divinely immaculate conception. He immediately got hashtagged as God incarnate and throve being treated like some supreme being. Very brief longevity for said purebred (a mere blink in the existential scheme of living things, which four footed furry animals quickly became man's and woman's best friend) and revered all over the then known webbed wide world quickly warranted early veterinarians to resolve the ill fate of death, whence wise acres sought how to solve the need for an established pedigree, which refers to the recorded history of its ancestors, or bloodline, and additionally refers to the lineage within a specific breed known for passing down desirable traits, and a miracle took place when a female pooch who shared the identical genetic makeup (viz cream of the crop) mated with our above mentioned robust creature, thus temporarily solving the first generation of offspring of supreme smart canines. Animal husbandry in general and spreading the seed of big beautiful billeted (Mister and Missus) Beasts of burden (handsomely compensated with expensive cuisine) and cultivating such loving creatures became the noblest profession de jure, and launched priceless progeny giving eventual rise to non other than yours truly, a constant fine obedient companion who intimated what quasi “mother” relished and for my latest surprise ordered a truckload of sushi and egg rolls ample enough to last countless birthdays of Missus Harris. When day of reckoning came the animal lover owner exclaimed “Touché,” and she felt like she died and went to heaven would be an understatement. Also after satisfying a once insatiable appetite for consumption of said sushi and egg rolls, she never wanted to see or taste any food(s) remotely resembling these American version of laudable imitation Japanese staple would also be an under exaggeration. The major misfortune of gorging on what became most hated food of the owner constituted how much and the distribution of weight gained found the once proud mother superior (once upon a time quite shapely body) experienced body dysmorphia, when after accidentally catching a reflection of herself aghast at seeing what strongly resembled an oversize sushi, whereat formerly muscular arms and legs (that once upon a time garnished said gal laudatory titles such as Missus Narberth, Missus Pennsylvania, and Missus Caryatid) resemble huge egg rolls, hence the much aggrieved missus fished for ways and means to shed unwanted pounds, and eventually decided to reel eyes and figuratively casted about seriously and after some deliberation with primary care physician, plus being masterfully baited (hook, line, and sinker) decided there might be some benefits and serious worthy consideration investigating the suddenly made popular notion visited courtesy major social media platforms healthy eating regimen one Doctor Fish also highly jump/kickstarted, pronounced, and recommended constituted diet of worms (originally convened by Holy Roman Emperor Charles V to address the religious teachings of Martin Luther). No bones about it, but a schism arose involving a quasi pet a file issue when my beloved human unexpectedly passed away, and she stated in the living will to brook no argument against buzzfeeding linkedin treating me with only the following most expensive types of fish which can reach millions of dollars due to rarity and high demand even endangered species such as high-fat Bluefin tuna for sushi; the prized, hard-to-catch Empurau and Dover Sole for eating; and rare aquarium fish like the Peppermint Angelfish) else her spirit would go to Pisces.

It was to wet to go out and play.

It rained and rained,

It rained all day.

There we sat as we looked outside.

We were so bored, we didnt want to hide.

There we sat just us two,

We wanted to play games

Instead we cried "Boo hoo!"

We wanted to run and play in the sun.

We wanted to jump and have some fun.

The rain kept falling the sun didnt come.

The water was rising, we were afraid we may drown, no fun.

Mother and father came in with some gear!

They said

"Come on ladds, lets go make cheer!"

We put on rain boots, a rain coat and hat,

then we went outside just like that!

We stomped in puddles, we splashed and we played, we pretended we were duckies having fun all day!

Mother and Father said "Okay sweethearts we've played long enough, it time to go in, its time to clean up!"

Then after supper all tucked in our beds, after we said our prayers,

Mother and Father kissed our foreheads.

"Sweet dreams!" Said our Mum. "Tomorrow we can play out in the Sun!"

Deona Hand Boyle

2025

The first text read: Can’t wait to hurt you tonight.

Remi blinked. She knew Jesse meant see. He showed up later with takeout and his usual grin, no malice in sight. She laughed it off as autocorrect.

But then her mother: Hope you’re eating poorly.

Her best friend Sarah: Sorry I’m late, got stuck in traffic with my real best friend.

She started keeping screenshots. At first it was almost funny, until it wasn’t. The substitutions grew sharper.

An interview invite: We’d love to reject you for the position.

Her father, after years of silence: I never forgave you for what happened.

Sarah again: Can’t hang out tonight, I hate spending time with you.

And finally Jesse, the worst: Love you, hope you die soon.

She began replying to the poison. Confronting Jesse and accusing Sarah. They looked at her like she’d lost her mind. They swore their messages were normal and on their screens the words showed fine. Only hers came warped.

Her days twisted around it. She refreshed threads every hour, desperate to catch a message before it shifted. She deleted apps, reinstalled them, restarted her phone in the middle of the night. Once she even tried sleeping with the phone in the freezer thinking the cold would shock it honest. Each time, the words came back like bruises she gave herself.

Her phone vibrated. She almost didn’t look.

Jesse’s message glowed: Wish you were here with me.

The words finally held. But she still read them twice, convinced she’d missed the damage.

Even love, once certain, felt like a story she kept rereading into betrayal.

I sit high above the river

Please roll me down like a stone

Its the rushing of the water

That makes me feel not so alone

From the hilltop to the holler

From the grasslands to the sea

Why do we worship the dollar

And not the love betwixt you and me

They mark our graves when we go

Put a stone on our heads

This feels backwards to me

Rather become one instead

Yes its a place for mourning

Bow your head and say a prayer

But if i became a stone

You could grieve me anywhere

Im the shale by the roadsides

Im the rocks around the garden

Im never that far from you

And baby im just getting started

In the painted rocks the kids hide

And those polished in the 80s

Have you looked down when you leave the house

Cause thats where ive been lately

Im in the pebbles in your jewlery

And even the boulder that crushed my pap

You can find me anywhere babe

So please please please dont be sad

Even though my shapes changed

I am still delicate

One day we'll all be forgotten

And absorbed in the sediment

Streetlights flicker on again

And do i hear the dinner bell

Its the whistle of your mother

The one you knew so well

But theres a second noise and its not her

But its still your mother too

Mother nature’s shouting

Shes calling out to you

If i become a stone please

Will someone carry me

Far from where i laid down last

And toss me into the sea

Whether the waves take me

Or thrash me about the shore

I really want you to know that

You couldnt have helped me more

I join you on a picnic

To hold the corners of

The blanket that you brought with

To sit on with your new love

Collect me from the shoreline

And then whip me in the creek

You have to use the perfect angle

And count how many times you skipped me

In a quorum around stonehenge

And every block of the pyramids

You dont know how or why dear

All you know is that it is

Im the stone you played hopscotch with

And the rocks you threw at trains

Ill always be around you

My final form ive obtained

Im your moms old pet rock

And i decorate your hands

Im in every arrowhead

Of the owners of this land

Aztecs sacrificed on me

And now thats what i must do

Give myself to the earth

I remain to observe you

I was carved into the greatest art

But im also seen as trash

It may be all about perspective

Or its just about who you ask

I asked for a dog when I was six

Instead they bought me a rat

I asked for a hamster too

But they only gave me a shrew

For my birthday I wanted a rabbit

But they got me a cat

And now for the life of me

I don't know where the other pets are at

Jordan clacked away at his keyboard, each keystroke getting him one step closer to lunchtime. Someone knocked gently on the door. “Yoo-hoo!” Helen’s blonde bob peeked into the room. “How’s that report coming along?”

“I’ll have it in your inbox by EOD. Some timelines had to get tightened up, but I’ve got it all sorted.” Jordan rubbed his eyes and managed a weak smile.

“Sounds great. Please CC Dana too so she can keep the client in the loop.” She twirled one of the pearls dangling from her ears. “One more thing. We have a new intern that HQ sent us from the talent development program. Andy Harris. I want him to shadow you. You should start bringing him into projects so he can get up to speed.”

Jordan nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Helen,” He called out, but she was already halfway to her office. He stretched an arm out toward the mug on his desk and found it empty. A glance at the clock on his monitor told him it was a respectable hour to get his second cup. He drifted toward the break room in a tired daze.

While he was waiting for the machine to finish pouring his coffee, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Jordan slowly spun around and found himself face to face with the biggest smile he had ever seen. He had slicked-back blond hair and a suit that looked like it was custom-tailored. The navy suit extended an arm for a handshake. “Andy Harris.” His straight white teeth gleamed.

Jordan reached out and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jor—”

“—Jordan Thompson, the man with the most efficient utilization rate.” Jordan lifted an eyebrow and fixed his eyes on the account manager, Kelly, walking in with a water bottle in hand. Andy turned around for a moment. “I’ve got to get to a meeting, but I’ll catch you later on so we can go over the kickoff tasks.” He cheerfully marched out.

“So… who was that? I’ve been seeing him around all morning.” The woman’s eyes were wide, still staring at where Andy had been standing.

“That’s Andy, the new intern that HQ dumped on us.”

“I get a weird vibe from him…” She wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, I remember being his age. He’s probably just trying to come off as eager and overshooting the mark.” They heard the sound of a muffled sneeze just outside the door, followed by footsteps quickly walking away.

“I guess… kid must’ve studied pretty hard for his interview,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “Or he’s not here to learn. Maybe he’s here to watch.”

Jordan pulled out a chair and took a seat, chuckling. “Alright, I’m ready for the latest Kelly Theory. Hit me.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and plopped down in a chair across the table. “Maybe it’s management trying to keep tabs on us. You know Helen would put cameras in every corner of the office if she could.”

Now it was Jordan’s turn to roll his eyes. “So you think they hired a whole intern to—what, spy on us?”

The account manager threw up her hands. “I don’t know! I’m just listening to my gut here. Forget about it.”

Jordan took a sip from his now lukewarm coffee and grimaced.

A week passed, and Andy rarely left Jordan’s side. And when he did, he disappeared altogether. Jordan tried looking for him, but ended up awkwardly stumbling into random offices filled with fellow worker bees instead. Then he noticed that his Slack conversations with teammates were loading unusually slowly. He chalked it up to the cheap wi-fi in his office.

One day, Helen called Jordan into her office. Jordan’s heart raced on his way over. He was almost forty years old and still felt like he was being sent to the principal’s office. He walked through the open door and shut it behind him, bracing himself for the worst.

“Congratulations!” Helen burst out. “I’m offering you a promotion to Director of Operations. You’ll be overseeing all the project managers in our division. And of course, it comes with a raise.”

Jordan’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had been waiting years for this promotion. “Wow, thank you, Helen. Wait… isn’t Phil the Director of Ops?”

Andy started to say something, but Helen shot him a look that shut him up.

The corner of Helen’s smile twitched. “Phil has taken a step back from his responsibilities and is now in a new role in the Cleveland office.” Her eyes dropped down to the document on the desk in front of her. “Now, Jordan, all you have to do is sign this.”

“What is it?”

“A fresh NDA. Standard procedure for this kind of jump in position.”

Jordan skimmed the first page in the stapled packet. He noticed the words “strategic confidentiality” and “reputation maintenance.” His stomach churned as the hesitation deepened, and he turned to his side. “Why is Andy in this meeting?”

Helen’s grin didn’t falter. “He’s part of a benchmarking program. We’re refining culture from the inside out.”

Jordan remembered his dream of one day buying a nice home he could raise a family in. He remembered the balance on his bank account. He shook the creeping, bad feeling off his shoulders and signed the papers in front of him.

Andy clapped him on the back. “This is a long time coming.” Jordan had the good sense to nod and turn toward the door before he wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

That evening, Jordan was painstakingly updating a spreadsheet. He glanced over at Andy frowning at his laptop, which had been angled completely away from Jordan, and slowed his scrolling even more. After a while, Andy’s phone buzzed and he abruptly stood up. “Well, I better head home for the day.” Before Jordan could respond, he was already out the door with his notebook in hand.

Jordan pulled his hands off the keyboard, resting them on the desk. He looked back at where Andy had been sitting and noticed that he had left his laptop open—and unlocked. Jordan’s heart was pounding in his ears. It was now or never. For what exactly, he asked himself? He didn’t know. He just knew there was something off about this guy.

The laptop screen had the company portal up. The names didn’t match up with the people at his office, though. And the interface looked different somehow. He noticed a small gray arrow in the top right corner of the window and clicked on it. The window fractured into even tiles that gradually disappeared, one by one until a new dashboard was revealed. There was a blue icon of a magnifying glass next to the word, “assess” in a banner across the top. This didn’t look like anything the company used. Maybe it was an internship thing?

He looked closer at the screen and saw his own name in a list. He clicked on it and a comment box appeared. It read, “Cautious skeptic, technically loyal. Socially influential. Risk level: moderate.” The next file down had Phil’s name on it, the old Director of Operations. When he clicked it, a comment box came up reading, “Inert. Removed.” So Andy was… auditing employees? Assessing them, like the name of the dashboard implied? But for what?

A notification bubble popped up on the screen with an email icon. Jordan didn’t think. He just clicked on it. An email opened from jeff@axisprivateequity.com. It read: “Thanks for the report, Andy. So far, the company seems pretty healthy for a takeover. Once we get all the right people in place, it should go off without a hitch. Take care.”

Jordan felt like his throat was constricting. He gasped, but he couldn’t get enough air. He collapsed into Andy’s chair as the blood drained from his face and everything snapped into place. Andy wasn’t some overeager intern. He was a plant. A spy. He was mapping out who would resist and who would fall in line when the private equity deal dropped. And Jordan was being positioned as the good little puppet to smooth the transition. The culture refinement, the NDAs, the sudden leadership shifts—it wasn’t a simple restructuring. It was infiltration. And he had just signed himself into it.

The next morning, Jordan handed Helen his resignation letter. Her face was cold, stern. She flashed a thin, polite smile after wishing him well in his next venture. Back in his office, Jordan was shoving items from his desk into his backpack. He zipped it up and patted the USB drive in his pocket.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway. It leaned a hand on the doorframe. “I heard the bad news.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Got offered a role I couldn’t turn down. You know how it goes.”

Andy stepped forward into the glow of the fluorescent lights. “Shame you’re leaving. Thought you’d be one of the keepers.”

Jordan blinked. “So did I.” They stared at each other in silence.

“Well, I should, uh, check in on marketing.” Andy took a couple steps back and slowly walked away, keeping his eyes on Jordan until he disappeared.

Jordan realized there was nothing keeping him there anymore. His work there was done. He slung his backpack around his shoulder and walked out. Once he was in his car, he pulled out his phone and called a number from his favorites. A woman’s voice picked up. “This better be worth my time.”

Jordan ran a hand through his hair. “Amelia, don’t sound so happy to hear from me. I have good news this time. I can make the drop now.”

The woman sighed. “Took you long enough. Axis was closing in. Our investors are getting antsy.”

“I have it all on a drive for you. The dashboard, the reports, all of it. Their little plant got complacent.”

“Do you think it’s enough?”

Jordan chuckled. “It’s more than enough to bring them down. I managed to get them to get rid of that roadblock Phil, too. All it took were some comments about his ‘issues with authority.’ Their lackey Helen should fall soon too.”

“Perfect. We’ll have the board right where we want them. They won’t be able to do a thing, and Axis won’t know what’s coming. We’ll beat them to the punch.”

“You know, there’s just one more thing… I was starting to get used to that Director of Ops title.”

Amelia scoffed. “You can pick your title at the new org. Call yourself Master Wizard of the Unicorn Kingdom for all I care.” She hung up the phone.

Jordan smirked. He let the phone rest on the passenger seat and turned on the ignition.

Two weeks later, Axis’ plans unraveled faster than expected. An anonymous whistleblower tip sparked an internal investigation that led to a massive restructuring, resulting in Jordan’s new firm installing allies on the board. The hostile takeover was executed swiftly and smoothly. Andy vanished just as quickly as he had arrived, his credentials revoked and emails scrubbed. There was no press coverage.

On a quiet Thursday morning, a new intern was introduced at the new office. He had an undeniable energy to him, and he was impeccably dressed. Watching from a secure video feed three states away, Jordan leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Let’s see who you’re really working for,” he whispered to himself.

The equipment lining the wall hummed quietly underneath the crackling radio on the table. Victoria used her finger to scoop the last beans from the can into her mouth. Once the last calories were safe in her stomach, she tossed the rusted can into the bin across the room.

“Vic scores a three-pointer to win the game, and the crowd goes wild. She’s a shoo-in for MVP this year, making her, uh—computer, how long ago did the world go down the toilet?”

“Ecological collapse occurred in 2132 A.D. According to my calculations, that was eleven years ago.”

“Eleven years running!” She let out a long sigh. “Now let’s take some callers.”

Victoria cleared her throat, switched on the radio, and leaned into the microphone. “Hello ladies, gentlemen, and whatever freaky creatures are running around since the plant meltdowns. I’m coming to you live from sunny San Diego. If you can hear me, you’re not alone." She blew a layer of red dust off the top of the radio and rested her head on her hands. After a few minutes, she reached out to switch the radio off when she heard it come through the speaker.

“Hello.”

Victoria jumped up, throwing her chair backward. She grabbed the radio with both hands and brought it to her face. “Hello? Is anyone there?” She paused, the radio trembling in her hands.

“Hello. My name is Echo.” The voice came through so clearly Victoria whipped her head around to make sure it wasn’t behind her. “And what is your name?”

“Vic—Victoria. My name’s Victoria. I—I can’t believe this. I’ve been broadcasting nearly every day since the collapse, but you’re the first person to ever respond. I thought I was alone all this time.”

“You’re not alone.”

She shook her head slowly. “Sounds weird hearing that come from someone else. I, uh, don’t even know what to say. It’s been so long since I had a conversation with someone other than my computer.”

“I know what you mean. People are social creatures, they’re not meant to be stuck in isolation. I—” the radio faded into static.

Victoria set the radio down and smacked the top. “Come on, don’t drop now. Echo? Can you hear me?” She paused, letting the static fill the room.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. Yes, I’m still here. Where are you?”

“I’m on a ship moving along the West Coast near San Diego Bay.”

Victoria let a soft chuckle escape her lips, slow at first. Then the laughter grew, bubbling into something breathless and uncomfortable. She clutched the edge of the table as the laughter spilled out of her, her whole body rocking with it. After years of near-silence, the absurd miracle of another human voice was too much to hold in. She called out to the room, “Computer, trace the origin of the signal.” She leaned into the microphone again. “Is that okay? Can I come find you? I might be able to bring any supplies you need. I’ve saved a lot of cans and nutrition packets.” She held her breath waiting for a reply through the static. “Hello?”

The voice cut in, “...your favorite food?”

Victoria blinked. “What’s my favorite food? Well… mom used to make the best lasagna in the world. Why? Do you have access to food printer cartridges?” Her eyes began welling up. She shook her head and the memories faded away, leaving the concrete walls in view.

“Excuse me, I need to go. My generator needs to be reset. I’ll stay tuned into your frequency for your next broadcast.”

“Oh, of course. Let’s talk soon?” She strained to listen for a response in the static. After a couple minutes, she switched the radio off. “Computer, did you locate the source of the signal?”

“Negative. Signal is encrypted.”

Victoria sighed and picked up her overturned chair off the ground. “Of course. I’ll have to try again.”

Each morning and evening, she performed her radio show for the listeners commuting to their nonexistent jobs. Each time, Echo’s voice returned, sometimes so faint she had to strain to catch every other word. They spoke in scraps of conversation at first, fragments stitched together across the dead airwaves. Their hopes. Their fears. One night, she asked him what the view was like from his ship, and he described the stars twinkling across the hazy blue sky above the red sun. If she closed her eyes, she could make out the constellations.

They talked about memories, about dreams, about how strange it felt to hear another person laugh. In those small exchanges, something shifted. Victoria found herself waiting for him, speaking to her computer less. She felt a weight lift off her chest.

But then the inconsistencies began. Echo said he was sailing south, but later mentioned having just left San Diego again. He described the coastline in vague terms, never quite getting the details right. When she asked about specific landmarks, he seemed to dance around details. A gnawing thought took hold. Was he real? Was she just hearing what she needed to hear? After so long alone, was her mind playing tricks?

One night, she tested him. She asked about the shape of the old naval yard and the scent of salt on the wind there. He hesitated and gave half-answers. But always, his voice was calm, kind. “Maybe I’m just who you need me to be,” he said gently. She felt her throat tighten. The static buzzed in her ears. And still, she answered the next night. No matter who he was, he made the silence bearable.

“Echo, where are you now?” she whispered. “Please, where is your ship?”

“My ship is currently docked in Solar Marina, on the north side. Would you like my coordinates?”

Victoria scrambled to her feet. “Yes, absolutely. Can you transmit them to my computer now? I’m trying to receive your signal.”

“Confirming coordinate delivery. I—” the voice crackled away and the computer beeped.

“Echo,” Victoria said softly, “if you’re really there, I’m coming to find you. And if you’re not, thank you. You kept me alive longer than I ever thought I’d last.” She turned off the radio, packed some supplies into a bag, and walked out into the dusty landscape.

A day later, Victoria arrived at a long stretch of docks with a vine-covered, weathered gray sign reading, “Solar Marina.” On one end, the waves had whipped a sandbar into place, corralling a row of abandoned skiffs and speed boats into a low-tide pool. The stench of the dead ocean was overpowering. Victoria walked with her arm out toward the water, her watch searching for the source of the signal. The watch showed a map with a red map pin dropped on the furthest end of the marina, behind the boathouse. She walked and walked, ignoring the burning ache in her legs.

Then she saw it, a rusted white fishing vessel with words on the side that the ocean had all but managed to erase: “The Echo.” Barnacles formed a crust on the ship’s exterior. She ran to the ship and leapt over the edge onto its deck. A thin layer of salt covered every surface. Algae and old seaweed crept across the edges where the Pacific Ocean had invaded over the years. Oddly, there was little on the deck: just a torn fishing net, a large antenna, and a corroded hatch on the far side of the deck. Victoria carefully stepped over to it. There was a sturdy handle bolted onto the sheet of rust. She lifted it up and peered inside.

Lights blinked on below, revealing a short ladder installed into the wall and leading to what appeared to be an equipment room. “Hello? Echo?” The only sound she heard was the waves lapping at the walls of the ship. “Well, I didn’t come all this way just to turn around,” she muttered to herself. She descended into the bowels of the ship.

Her boots echoed as they stomped down onto the solid ground. “Is anyone here?” She looked around at the rows of servers and computers whirring and beeping quietly.

“Hello, what is your name?” A voice called out.

Victoria froze. “Echo? It’s me, Victoria! Where are you?” She looked around frantically for the source of the voice.

A center console flashed on. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not alone.” Victoria jumped back into a machine, toppling it to the ground. The recording skipped forward. “Maybe I’m just who you need me to be.”

“Who are you? What are you?” Victoria cried out.

“My name is E.C.H.O. Emergency Communication and Human Outreach.”

Victoria crumpled to her knees. It was a recording all along, a computer that made her feel like she wasn’t alone. The tension rose in her chest. She had to know now. “Echo, how many signals have you responded to since the collapse?” She held her breath, afraid for the answer.

“Data analysis engaged. I have responded to a number of signals from the user Victoria. Would you like me to calculate the number of total users?”

“Yes!”

“E.C.H.O. has supported… calculating… one total global user in… calculating… 4,073 days.”

Victoria threw her hands onto her head to stop it from spinning. So it was true. She was really all alone. Her stomach dropped. The fragmented phrases had been triggered by incoming signals, nothing more, nothing less. The ship hadn’t sailed in years. The voice hadn’t spoken to her, but at her. It was a carefully constructed loop that someone long dead had programmed long ago to feel real. And it had felt real, this ghost of someone who had once been alive enough to record it. She let the reality settle around it. The voice hadn’t lied. Not entirely. Echo had been exactly who she needed him—it—to be.

She played the master recording from the beginning again, listening as the words drifted out of the speaker like an old memory. Then, after a long silence, she turned on the transmitter’s recorder. “Hello,” she said softly. ”This is Victoria broadcasting live from The Echo. If you can hear me… you’re not alone.”

Everyone in town agreed the lake was haunted, but only I knew what was actually buried beneath it. A million dreams, a ton of souls, a couple of hopeless drivers, and several unlucky fishermen. A secret held within every household in town but the quiet majority rules. No secrets there are good secrets. The word haunted says that there are stories untold and souls not cold enough to keep quiet.

The two friends, Nate and Jack lounged in the truckbed of the orange 2002 Ford pickup. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky similar colors to the the truck. Jack always hated the paint job of his best friend's truck but was too nice to say so.

They weren't just friends they were brothers not by blood but by bond. They couldn't be more different. Nate was tall athletic, strong dark haired and a 24 year old atheist. Jack was short pudgy, dirty blond, and an 18 year old Christian who was struggling with his Faith among the other issues a person faces at that crux between adulthood and teenager.

No of that mattered right now. It never had-- not for these two. They'd driven out to this venue for a specific purpose. It was the Fourth of July; they weren't just celebrating the Nation's independence but Jack's as well.

He'd taken the bold step to leave his toxic home environment and strike out on his own. "Why wait for a college to answer you? Launch now." That's what Nate had told him.

The duo didn't know this would be the last time they would spend together for years to come. They stayed in touch long distance but life's seas sent them drifting different directions. That didn't matter though not now as the black sky burst into multi colored explosions of patriotic jubilee because it was Independence Day!