Thank you, Alison!

As we wrap up the St. Patrick's Day Critique (didn't leave leave a comment yet? It's not too late!), HUGE thank-you's go to our special guest critter, Alison Weiss, who took the time to leave super awesome feedback on all the entries! You rock, Alison!

Critique can be hard, so during this time it's important to make the choice not to let the faults of your work override how much you love it. Take a deep breath, step back, and tackle those problems when you're ready!

Thanks for participating, and hope everyone enjoyed.

Until next time!

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #9

TITLE: Aqueous
GENRE: YA contemporary fantasy

“Where’s my camera?”

Dad looked thunderstruck. “Is that all you can say? You almost died. You shouldn't have been out in the first place. This is why I--"

“Lane!” That was mom. “Shut up! Just shut up, will you?” She stroked my hand. “How are you feeling, honey?”

“I want to know what happened to my camera.”

“Well, where did you have it last?”

“On the boat.” I swallowed an unwanted lump in my throat. “I put it in one of the storage compartments.”

“It should be fine. When Joseph realized you were gone, he circled back to look for you. He ran the boat ashore.”

“And left it there?”

Mom nodded, patting my hand gently.

“But my camera!”

“Do you mind?” dad snapped. “That camera almost cost you your life!”

I knew dad talked louder the more upset he got, but it didn’t soften the sting of his words.

“The best thing you can do right now is try to relax, and get some sleep,” the nurse said, her calm voice a lifeline in a sea of discord. “You've had a close brush with hypothermia.”

I bit my bottom lip, and then winced. It was swollen, painful to the touch. What had I done, bit a chunk out of it?

“Can’t hypothermia kill you?” I asked.

The nurse’s forehead creased. “Yes. Very easily, and very quickly. You’re extremely lucky.”

I wasn’t sure if I felt lucky. I wasn’t sure of how I felt about anything. Except that I wanted my camera back.

I wanted those pictures.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #8

TITLE: Practissimo
GENRE: Historical Adventure/Romance

Taylor lifted his weapon—a sharp stick—and jabbed Manerow in the face.

Eric roared, clapping his hands to his cheek.  “Guards!  To me!”  His call rang across the garden.

Eric swiped, and Taylor ducked, thwacking the branch across Eric’s knees, and the man stumbled back, almost hitting Addie.  She jumped to the side and ran around the fountain to the the hedge opposite him.

Manerow stepped forward and swung, keeping a hand to his cheek, and Taylor cracked the stick against his wrist.  Eric grunted and swiped again from the right, and Taylor lashed him near the eyes, sending him backwards.  The strategy held for now, but against more than one opponent, he wasn’t sure.  He wasn’t sure against just the one.  He hadn’t planned for things to get this far.

Eric abandoned his one-handed attack and lunged for the branch, managing to grab the end.  Taylor jerked at it, but it didn't budge, and Manerow rammed the stick into his gut, forcing a yell from him and thrusting him back into the hedge.

Taylor pushed off the branches, getting halfway to his feet, and Eric punched him in the face.  His vision flashed dark, pain shocking around his left eye.

“Eric, please, that’s enough!” Addie cried.

Another powerful blow dug into his stomach, and he curled in on himself, dry heaving into the leaves.

“Eric, please!”  She sounded close.  The rumbling of boots on dirt surrounded them, and Taylor glanced up.  Addie had wrapped herself around Eric’s arm, and ten guards filed into the alcove.

She stepped back, rose petals falling from her gown, eyes at her feet.

“Sir Manerow?” one of them asked.

Eric pointed at Taylor, red-faced with exertion.  “This is the intruder.  Take him to the king’s dungeons as instructed.”

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #7

Title: Begging to Breathe
Genre: YA mystery

I spend the first length of the pool underwater, dolphin kicking along the bottom, dragging my fingertips across the tiles. The bulkhead that separates the part of the pool for competition from the part of the pool for easy swimming floats two or three feet off the bottom, and from my perspective, I can see a shadow of something trapped underneath it. Something big.

I porpoise up, take a deep lungful of air, and dive back down. I’m less than five yards away, and my heart is pounding, because what I think I see can’t be real. I need air again, even though I can usually hold my breath for a couple minutes. I start to remember last year. As I tread water, taking deep, shaky gulps of oxygen, oxygen that refuses to inflate my lungs, Blue comes up behind me.

“Get out of the middle of the lane,” he says, swimming forward.

I pull his ankle backward. “L-look under the bulkhead.”

“Is it a condom again?” His voice breaks. He bites his lip.

Usually he throws out dirty jokes like I throw out second place ribbons—or, like I would if I had any—so I narrow my eyes. He raises his chin. I sigh. “Ew, no.”

He turns around and swims back the other way, leaving me alone. With it. Whatever it is. I focus, exhale, then inhale, and dive down, keeping my eyes closed until my searching fingers hit plastic. I follow the bulkhead down until it ends, then I open my eyes—and let out a scream of bubbles and kick away hard, fast, choking and gagging.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Because it’s Julia.

And she’s dead.

And it’s all, undeniably, my fault.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #6

Title: Beyond the Horizon
Genre: Mystery/Romantic

As I near the turn in the corridor, my back against the white walls, my heart beating wildly in my chest, I can’t forget last night and the message that I saw. Crouching down and peeking to make sure all is safe, I turn back and signal to Tania to come. She runs towards me silently, her silver hair swishing with every step.

“Look, I know we’re not supposed to be here but I really need that book! I’m sorry if I—” I say, whispering but she covers my mouth with her hand suddenly, signalling that someone might be here. I switch off the flashlight and we both crouch down, listening to the sound of slow, heavy footsteps and our racing hearts.

A gruff, low voice then says, “I got it. Let’s get out of here.”

His partner, in an equally gruff voice adds, “Check to make sure we left nothing behind.” They then separate and footsteps begin to come closer to us. Trying to squeeze ourselves into a ball, I grab onto Tania’s hand and we try to be silent, not even letting our breaths make a sound. My mind races, thinking of where to run if he gets any closer. If we get up and run now, we might be able to make it to the second floor. Okay, God. It’s all up to You now. 

Reacting on instinct, I grab Tania’s hand and run as fast as I can, praying we don’t get caught.
“He’s seen us!” she screams, and we zip through the old familiar hallways, running towards the light.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #5

TITLE: The Night
GENRE: Epic YA Fantasy

Taeon strode out of the trees, fists clenched in an effort to restrain the fire as he approached.

“Get away from her, Varloi,” he said through clenched teeth.  The fire raged against his control, pressing in on him, wanting to burn this magician to the ground.

“I interrogate a prisoner,” the Varloi replied, unmoving.

The heat redoubled, and Taeon tried to think through its stifling presence, to consider the consequences.  “Leave her, Varloi.”  The fire licked at him, more insistent, and the invisible tongues of heat became claws.  The noon sun saturated the air around him.  He had to get rid of it, before it became too much to control.

The magician only smiled.

And then the heat recoiled, and light dimmed, flickering.  The Master Varloi stood beside him, holding a small golden box.  The metal inside glowed a deep, malevolent red.

The red metal drew more, though the heat was gone, pulling and grabbing at the fire that lived inside him until he collapsed.  He shuddered with weakness, and with the pain like daggers of ice.

“Stop!  You’re killing him,” Nari cried.

The Master Varloi closed his box slowly.  “Very well.”

Taeon gasped, stealing back his breath.  “What is the meaning of this, Varloi?”  He struggled to pull himself up as warmth returned in an aching flood.

“As an ehkel of fire, an uncontrolled display of power would prove fatal to many among us, including our prisoner.  It was my duty to the keralen to eliminate the threat.”

“I had it under control.  And it is my duty to keep the prisoner safe from your methods, magician.”

“That has been removed from your responsibilities.  You have proven yourself unfit to lead this mission, and, therefore, I shall be reinstated as master.  You will obey me.”

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #4

Title: We've all Been There
Genre: YA

“We are here today with rising country pop singer, Juliet Summer.”

This was it. I fingered my purity ring willing it to give me luck. It was St. Patrick’s day after all.

“Please my friends just call me Tex.”  I inwardly cringed at the word friends; they weren’t what-you-might-call plentiful.

“Where does that come from?” The audience laughed, I couldn’t really see what was so funny about it.

“It’s my middle name.” My slight twang seemed magnified against my host’s culturally neutral drawl.

“Alright Tex.” She specially put a cowboy sound on it. It sounded so fake it was sick.  “Do you know who Timothy Walters?” And then smiled like I should know, like everyone knew, but I didn’t.

“No.”

“Really? Well you can meet him now.”

“Okay.”  I  stood up and turned my head toward the entrance I came in.

In walked in T.W. the famous, like really famous singer, who hadn’t heard of him? And I had just said I never had. So much for luck. I had never really believed in luck before. I knew God orchestrated all those details. So more likely it had been bad luck for me to believe in luck.

“Tim I would like you to meet Tex.”

“Hi.” I shook his hand, blood creeping up my face.

He sat down next to me on the couch and I was sweating bullets.

“I think I have heard of you before. I mean I just didn’t recognize your full name. Sorry.” I didn’t know to whom or why I was apologizing. It was just something I had to do.

“We’ve all been there.” He laughed at my stupid, naïve mistake.

Before I could respond, I heard, “And we will be right back with more from Tex and T.W. after this.” And we went to break.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #3

TITLE: A Gamble
GENRE: Fantasy

Only three Blots landed purple side up. Famiem huddled closer to the back of the Drawn's wagon, her shackles clinking.

Raylen took a deep breath, and slid the Blots toward her competitor.

Bad toss, that was. Pity. The trader smirked as he shook the flat disks. Purple and green flashed between his fingers, whirling and clashing but never escaping his grip.

He's experienced. Raylen gritted her teeth. But only luck matters here.

So said the Drawn, who watched impassively at the side of the board, gauging and measuring and weighing, as always. The youngest fidgeted.

With a flourish, the trader spun the Blots onto the board. Half spun straight into the dust, yet more than three greens remained. Raylen's mind stalled.


What does that mean?

Her heartbeat quickened, the trader swore, and the oldest of the Drawn shook his head.

"Poor luck. Very poor luck," he said slowly. A pause as he regarded Raylen, then Famiem. "The girl has freed herself. But she must bet that freedom back again to win her sister."

Hardly a daring wager; she'd already staked her life on the Blots to catch the Drawn's interest.

Raylen scratched her wrists. She shook the Blots. Then her eyes closed - dropped them onto the board and jammed her fists into her armpits, waiting.

"Lucky girl," the old Drawn said. Respect laced his voice. "A perfect win."

Raylen opened her eyes. Purple stared up from every Blot.

And the youngest Drawn stared hard at her from across the board. Here came the real gamble.

The boy slowly cleared the board as the other Drawn ran off the "luckless" trader and removed Famiem's shackles.

He didn't say a word about the pouches strapped inside Raylen's sleeves, or the purple paint coating both sides of the disks.

Raylen had been lucky.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #2

Title: Substitute
Genre: Science Fiction (short story)

Some people have skeletons in their closet. Things they don’t want as public information, whether out of fear or shame. Things that shouldn’t have happened. Things that shouldn’t exist.

Some people have skeletons. The Senate of Eochatos has me.

“Claudia.” said a loud voice. I jerked my head up. The doctor stared at me, his glassy eyes shifting as he looked over me. He stroked his chin with one steel hand, “How is your emotional processing?”

“Just fine.” I said, smiling tightly as a grey-clad nurse approached with a syringe and two-inch needle.

She murmured, “This won’t hurt a bit.” and began to wipe the back of my hand with a sanitizing cloth.

The doctor leaned back against his silver chair, “Senator Drendle said you’ve had trouble sleeping lately.”

The needle sunk into my hand, sending a thin plastic tube into the vein. I watched out of the corner of my eye as blood filled the capsule on the table. “I guess.”

“You know, Claudia, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” he said, irritation bleeding into his tone, “That’s why we’re here, you know. To help you.” Because without us, you won’t be here. Without our help, you’ll fall to pieces. 

“I’m tired of being treated like glass.” I said finally, pulling away from the nurse. The tube tugged against my hand, “I’m not going to break if I don’t come see you every week, Dr. Mallon. Besides, you’re the psychologist--it’s not good for people to be controlled this much, especially not at my age.”

“Not good for people.” he repeated, putting emphasis on the last word.

I clenched my jaw, “I am a person.” The nurse silently pulled out the tube and threw the needle aside, capping the vial of blood.

LUCKY CRITIQUE ENTRY #1

TITLE: Extraction
GENRE: YA Sci-fi

I sink to my knees and scoot back from the edge as far as I can, gritting my teeth and trying not to think about slipping. I am too high, too high, too high.

A loud whirring arises in the streets below me. From around a corner, a round silver contraption lifts into the air, its rotors spinning a cloud of dust. A flight pod, come to rescue me.

Only, no way is it really for rescuing. I'm going to need a clever story.

As the pod nears my beam, my throat tightens. The chances of them letting me into the Core, letting me grow old and live to save Logan are next-to-nothing now. Why did I do this? I should have found some other way to escape the boys, not started climbing a restricted building.

A door slides open, and an official reaches his hand out. “You'll have to jump,” he shouts over the loud rotors.

Act. Innocent, I tell myself. That's the only thing that might help me.

I jump with a cry into the pod and stumble when my feet hit the metal floor. The patrol catches me as the door slides shut, silencing the wind's roar.

Hands release me, and my legs give out.

“I'm s-s-sorry,” I fake-sob. “I didn't mean to c-c-climb!”

“It's all right.” The official drops to a knee beside me. “We're going to catch the kids who were chasing you.”

Shaking from the cold, breathing unsteadily, I stare at him.

His eyes are narrowed, but not in the way I am used to. Like he's on my side, all of a sudden. Still programmed to harm, but this time it won't be me. This time, it will be for me.

I don’t know how I ever got so lucky.

St. Patrick's Day Critique SUBMISSION WINDOW CLOSED!

The submission window for the St. Patrick's Day contest is now officially CLOSED! All the entries will be posted TOMORROW, open for critique by anyone who visits the blog, as well as our special guest critter, Alison!

Make sure that, if you entered, you critique a minimum of 3 other entries.

Good luck, everyone!

Special guest critter announced...

We're STILL TAKING SUBMISSIONS for the St. Patrick's Day critique, until tomorrow at 6pm EST or when we hit 15 entries, whichever comes first.

All the posts will be open for critique by all the Write On! teens, anyone who visits the blog, and our SPECIAL GUEST CRITTER. That special guest will be Alison Weiss of Egmont!

If you don't already know from our monthly Ask-The-Editor rounds, Alison is an editor, and has agreed to give feedback on all the St. Patrick's Day entries. Get your lucky excerpt/scene together, and submit while there's still space!

St. Patrick's Day Critique -- SUBMISSIONS WINDOW IS OPEN!

Aaaand it's time to get those no-more-than 300 word lucky scenes ready, because the SUBMISSION WINDOW IS OPEN! Full guidelines below.

We're accepting NO MORE THAN 15 ENTRIES, so waste no time getting yours in!

• The submission window closes FRIDAY, MARCH 16th at 6PM EST.
• You may only submit if you're 13-19 years old. Sorry, grownups!
• Submit no more than 300 WORDS of your lucky scene. It can be part of your WIP, an unfinished novel, or simply a 300-word piece you wrote up specifically for this crit round. The focus is your writing skills, so don't worry where the words come from!
• You may only submit one entry.  Subsequent entries will be disqualified.
• Send your submission to writeonDOTsubmissionsATgmail.com with the subject "LUCKY CRITIQUE."
• Format your entry EXACTLY AS FOLLOWS.
• SCREEN NAME: (type it here)
• YOUR AGE: (type it here)
• TITLE: (type it here)
• GENRE: (type it here)
• (Put your lucky less-than-300 words here)
• You will receive a reply email with your post number.  Please be patient! Mad will be taking care of submissions by hand.
• By entering this critique round, you are giving implicit permission to have your work posted and publicly critiqued.
• By entering this critique round, you agree to critique a minimum of 3 other entries.
• All entries will be posted anonymously.  (Your age will not be included, either.)

We're aiming to post our entries ON ST. PATRICK'S DAY! 

St. Patrick's Day Critique!

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, we're having a special critique round. This is an opportunity to have your work read (and critiqued!) by teens, adults-- basically anyone who reads the blog! You interested yet?

The theme is luck. Whether it's a pivotal scene where your MC's luck is changing, a lucky escape, an unlucky day, or anything you can think of relating to 'luck' is up to you. Complete submission guidelines below

• The submission window opens MONDAY, MARCH 12th at 6AM EST and closes FRIDAY, MARCH 16th at 6PM EST.
• You may only submit if you're 13-19 years old. Sorry, grownups!
• Submit no more than 300 WORDS of your lucky scene. It can be part of your WIP, an unfinished novel, or simply a 300-word piece you wrote up specifically for this crit round. The focus is your writing skills, so don't worry where the words come from!
• You may only submit one entry.  Subsequent entries will be disqualified.
• Send your submission to writeonDOTsubmissionsATgmail.com with the subject "LUCKY CRITIQUE".
• Format your entry EXACTLY AS FOLLOWS:
• SCREEN NAME: (type it here)
• YOUR AGE: (type it here)
• TITLE: (type it here)
• GENRE: (type it here)
• (Put your lucky less-than-300 words here)
• You will receive a reply email with your post number.  Please be patient! Mad will be taking care of submissions by hand.
• By entering this critique round, you are giving implicit permission to have your work posted and publicly critiqued.
• By entering this critique round, you agree to critique a minimum of 3 other entries.
• All entries will be posted anonymously.  (Your age will not be included, either.)

Entries are planned to post St. Patrick's Day! Make sure to spread the word. The more people who know, the more feedback you'll get.

Good LUCK!

Are You Hooked? -- Entry #11

TITLE: Blink
GENRE: YA speculative fiction

Cold potatoes sitting in a pool of butter. Echo pushed her plate away; she never had an appetite when her parents were fighting.

“Fifty dollars!”  That was her father’s voice, coarse and angry. “You didn’t ask.”

Celeste was crying. “Ace, I—”

“FIFTY DOLLARS!” Something shattered in the living room. “You are never to touch my money unless I tell you to buy something.”

“I’m sick of it, Ace!” Celeste’s voice rose shakily. “I can’t even buy a stick of gum without your permission! We are husband and wife—”

“And the money’s mine!” Ace roared.

“So I’m not allowed to buy a dress that I—?” A slap, and Celeste cried out.

“I’m the head of this house.” Something that sounded disturbingly like a body hit the wall. “If you don’t listen to me, I will make you!”

Echo lunged across the table and grabbed little Coraly off the stack of books that served as a high chair.

“Look at me, Coraly,” Echo crooned, aware of the tremble in her voice. “Look at Auntie Echo! That’s my Sweet Pea.”

But Coraly wasn’t listening. Her eyes were large and frightened. “Gamp angry?” she asked, voice soft and tentative.

There was another crash from the living room and Celeste yelled, “Go away! Just get out of here!”

Echo squeezed Coraly tight and whispered, “It’s a game, sweetness. It's only a game.”

Are You Hooked? Entry #10

TITLE: COLLIDE
GENRE: YA Paranormal romance

P R O L O G U E

The rain falls fast, impacting against the metal of the playground with a ricocheting ping. Loud and echoing, it reminds me of bullet casings hitting the ground, like they do in the films my brothers watch. Just as unforgiving; just as final.

There was a time in my life when rain meant nothing much to me. A time where the speed with which it bounced off the ground would not have captured my attention. That was before he came into my life. He took everything I knew, and ripped it up. The way I see the world, my perception of everything, it's all changed. He taught me to see the world through his eyes, and through his eyes, rain fell like bullet casings.

Everything has a violent edge with him. There's always a hint of danger, a gleam of fear. Even the most passionate moments we've shared - our most intense kisses - had an edge of anger to them. Finally, I understand where that comes from. I understand why, in the same moment that he gathers me tenderly in his arms, he’ll be gazing at me with hell in his eyes.

It's all in his mind. It's inside of him. Half of him loves me, completely and utterly. The other half, the side merged with danger and anger, hates me. Despises, loathes and is repulsed by me. By us. By the love we share. The side that torments him.

I stalk him with my eyes, as he does me, from across the empty field.

Are You Hooked? Entry #9

TITLE: Suckered In
GENRE: I'm not quite sure... YA, maybe?

I first met Thomas O’Rourke at the Maidstone Country Club.

I was on the Club’s golf course, about to tee off on the thirteenth hole when he approached by himself, carting around a heavy golf bag. Not being the type of country club to admit any old person off the street, I dismissed him as a simple caddy. I positioned my golf club next to the small white ball, and was about to strike when the caddy spoke.

‘Excuse me, dear sir, you wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you?’ the caddy asked me in a quaint Irish accent.

My own caddy answered for me. ‘Quarter past three,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now move along, go find your golfer.’

‘I am a golfer,’ Thomas O’Rourke replied. ‘I’m here to play golf.’ To me, he asked, ‘do you mind if I play this hole with you?’

My caddy began to tell the man to get lost, Lord Charles Hensley didn’t share the green with a common man, but I interrupted with a raise of my hand. ‘Settle down, Jethro, the man only wants to play golf! Besides, it’s a lovely day! You can’t blame a man for wanting to play golf on such a fine Saturday afternoon, can you?’

Of course, if I had known then who Thomas O’Rourke was, I would have demanded Jethro throttle him right there on the field.

 ‘No, sir,’ Jethro said humbly. He moved aside for the man to join me.

‘I’m Thomas O’Rourke,’ the man said, thrusting out his hand. I took it and he shook energetically.

Are You Hooked? Entry #8

TITLE: POINT BLANK
GENRE: YA Futuristic Thriller

The Phoenix is watching.  As the walls of the virtual simulation room flicker around its flames, the legendary bird stares me down with its scarlet, ruthless eyes, as if it knows what I have planned.
          
Quickly, before its image can fade away, I get out my pistol from my pocket and fire, again and again, taking revenge for all those years I spent alone because of it, for all those people that died in the fire it caused. The beast shrieks and takes flight, but despite this reaction, doesn’t seem at all harmed by my flurry of bullets.
          
I pause, and then continue to shoot at it, aiming at its head this time. The flames that make up the phoenix’s feathers bristle for a moment, crackling like a hungry forest fire before quieting down like nothing happened. The phoenix’s fire somehow absorbs the bullets, just like it absorbed all the heat and energy from the bomb, the grenade, and the rocket that I’d used against it in previous simulations.
          
The gun had been my last resort.

There’s got to be a way to kill it.  I try to remember the list of weapons in one of the books about primitive warfare that I’d read before entering this simulation. After mentally going through that list, I decide on one of the weapons.
          
I then do what my weapons-instructor told me never to do in the midst of combat.
          
I drop my gun, and wait with my hand outstretched beside me.

Are You Hooked? Entry #7

TITLE: Defiance
GENRE: YA Fantasy

Birds are free. Birds go where they want, when they want. Why can't I?

Lexa wished she could stop, unpack her wings, and fly with the flock cruising above her party. Riding north––on a raining horse, of all things––was a miserable alternative.

"Lexa Warbler, you've been chosen as the honored new bride of the recently widowed Thane Jacom, heir to the Isovian throne."

Honored. The perfect word to keep her from arguing with the flock leader's ultimatum. She wouldn't anyway. The leader's word was more than law. It was the way of life. You don't oppose life.

A stab at her side pulled a yelp from Lexa; she instinctively squeezed her legs, forgetting she sat on a horse. It took a moment before she regained control; she shot Palonsy, her nest mother and only companion from Moa, a look.

Palonsy wielded a small branch like a sword, her black eyes gleaming. "We're almost to the human's capital. Why do you fantasize when you should be straightening yourself up?"

Lexa longed to watch the birds more, but she kept her gaze on Palonsy.

"Should you poke me? I hear humans care for some people more than others. When we arrive, we mayn't be on equal footing, you and I."

"Oh, please. I don't care who you're marrying." Palonsy rolled her eyes and stretched, mussing Lexa's hair. "I will always be your nest mother, chick. Where we are is a technicality."

Are You Hooked? Entry #6

TITLE: Bound In Blood
GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy

-Miles-

Across the street, blinking red letters glowed in the fogged up window: Open. From my spot on the steps of a building, I had a clear view inside. The long glossy bar and the empty leather stools positioned in front of it; the bartender standing behind the bar, with thick, tattooed arms folded and the man he was glaring at.

I lit another cigarette and waited. Out of all the late-nighters, the man had been there the longest, sitting at a table in the back. I’d lost count of how many refills he’d ordered, how many hours he sat there, frozen, with a tumbler of amber liquor in front of him. I only knew that it was long enough for my legs to grow stiff, for rain to come and go, and for the evening sun to fall out of the sky.                                                                                                            

Now, the street was dark. The street lamps lining the sidewalks were either broken or flicked at intervals, leaving the sidewalks shadowed except for a circle of golden light that spilled out of the bar window.

“Last one,” the bartender reminded the man, his voice a deep bass that reverberated through the window and into the still night. My hand brushed over the knife sheath strapped to my hip. I wouldn’t kill the bartender, not if I didn’t have to. It was more of an instinct, like my body recognized the warning and tensed for a fight. But at this point, if I had to choose, I’d probably kill the man. He was just in the way.