A lot of people say “War is hell,” but, you know what? It ain’t that bad, really. Of course, it certainly helped that we weren’t actually at war with any other countries and hadn’t been for the past several years. Sure, there was still some tension and the occasional pissed off radical who charged towards one of our forward operating bases waving an AK-47 around above his head, but overall things were pretty chill in the sandy dunes halfway around the world. Having said that, what decidedly wasn’t chill was the temperature. The arid, stifling air seemed to leech hydration from you by the gallon, making your tongue swell and your balls shrivel if you spent more than five minutes outside of the climate-controlled buildings. My training did an excellent job of toughening me up and putting some meat on my bones, but I do not regret the fact that I got desk jockey duty; if I had to be out in that blistering inferno hauling around 80 pounds of kit every day, I would have strongly considered eating my gun. My workstation was adorned with all the most sterling and modern equipment the Army’s vast budget can afford for a man of my position: a dusty old desktop running Windows XP and a fourteen inch CRT monitor. I thought these ancient technologies had gone extinct, but here they were before me, purring like a decrepit 45-year-old orange cat who, by all natural laws, should have died over two decades ago. Though the device was haggard and frail, it allowed me to do my duty in service to my country: shitpost on social media. It was almost like the job was made for me. Sure, I had to occasionally sweat my ass off while lugging a camera around outside to take some shots of the nearby village and the frequent “charitable and peaceful” interactions between its residents and our soldiers. That said, most of my day was spent behind the keyboard, writing up social media posts about how tranquil this desert was and how happy the locals were to have a cluster of foreign soldiers hanging out in their backyard. I got to sneak in my own bullshittery from time to time, though it did get detected once or twice by some higher brass who gave me a slap on the wrist and a stern lecturing. Didn’t care, still did it. Truthfully, our base was about the safest one there was in the region. FOB Franklin, though it was often called “Franky” by both those who enjoyed the relative safety and those who chided us for not getting shot at more often. I felt a little guilty as troops would pass through our base on their way to more dangerous locations; we may not have been at war, but that didn’t mean it was a safe country. Soldiers still died. I counted myself incredibly lucky that I wasn’t one who did, at least not at that point. Wouldn’t that have been a hell of a cliche, just like something out of an 80’s action movie: old Anon, only four days away from retirement, managed to get himself killed. I shook off the notion. I’d be fine. I was finally heading home soon. I’d finally get to see Lucy again. God, I missed her. I wanted to marry her. I wanted to love her. I wanted to spend my life with her. I stared past my monitor out the small window facing the interior of the base’s courtyard. Several guys from a different platoon attended to various busywork: move this there, hoist this up here, kick this rock over there. While none of us bemoaned not having bullets whizzing past us, the days did have a tendency to get boring. Outside of the mess hall, I noticed a particular familiar shape assisting another private in toting a container of foodstuffs. It wasn’t possible for anyone to miss Private Weston unless you had your eyes shut. He wasn’t towering, hulking or disfigured; quite the opposite of all three, in fact. To put it bluntly, Weston was an attractive, effeminate-looking man. This wasn’t just due to his scale color, slender form or slightly longer eyelashes, either. He had a rare condition where feathered wings sprouted from his pterodactyl back in place of the leathery wings that would otherwise be there if his chromosomes had done what they were supposed to while he was in the womb. When he first arrived on base two months prior and got off the wagon, many heads turned his direction. The enlisted around me started whispering to each other about the hottie, even beginning to bicker about who was going to get to bang “her” first. As he strode past us, gray feathered wings bobbing with each step, he spoke in a voice that carried a slight falsetto tone but still came out far too deep for a natural-born woman: “I’m a dude, guys. Quit being gay.” He couldn’t have possibly heard what they were whispering about, but all the same he knew what was being said. This wasn’t Weston’s first rodeo. Of course, the retards who had moments before been fantasizing about bending that hot piece of ptero ass over began chiding one another for being fags, denying their own words they had spoken in nearly the same breath. I’m proud to say that I wasn’t one of those who lusted over an effeminate dude. I’m not so proud to say that his appearance was far too similar to that of a certain verified pterodactyl woman who waited for me back home. It made my nethers tingle in anticipation, and I didn’t like that. The morons who bickered around me reversed course on their repeated declarations of “no homo” and began hypothesizing that the fresh meat might be one of those “transexual” people the military had started allowing. Maybe it was a chick claiming to be a dude. This reignited their fervor and bets began being made to see whether that fresh-faced ptero had a hook and tackle or a tackle box. All it took was one day in the showers for their disappointment to set in and several crumpled wads of bills to exchange hands. Yes; he was, in fact, a dude. This led to an interesting shift in attitude. Whereas most new arrivals were treated pretty well, though sometimes bullied and given shit jobs, Weston was avoided by nearly everyone. They didn’t treat him badly, but they didn’t really treat him any way at all. He didn’t seem too upset by this; I’d later learn that he was used to getting the cold shoulder once folks realized he was a genetic aberration instead of a sexy babe. It’s part of what got him to join the military in the first place. He was tired of being treated like a woman, so he decided to forcefully do the most manly thing he could think of. He was actually a really nice guy once you got to chatting with him. I took the opportunity to introduce myself when I saw him sitting alone in the mess hall for about the twelfth day in a row. I plopped my tray of grub down and swung a leg over the cold metal bench across from him. He looked up at me as though I was about to antagonize him or mock him for his appearance, but when no snide remarks came out of my mouth he loosened up almost immediately. He shared a bit about himself; he actually appreciated that the first question I asked him wasn’t about why he had a female pterodactyl’s wings and figure, but he volunteered the information pretty early on in our conversation. He had healthy pterodactyl parents, but lost the genetic lottery and manifested a rare condition. I didn’t get hung up on it; after all, I was a 20-year-old who was already almost completely bald thanks to my dad’s shitty genes, so I couldn’t fault this guy for what was out of his control. What really got us both excited was when he brought up video games. He absolutely loved gaming since it meant he didn’t have to interact with people who’d make fun of his appearance. Sure, he got called a fag or told to go back to the kitchen over comms due to his slightly higher pitched voice from time to time, but that’s just trash talk and is easily countered by laughing at your opponents and calling them triggers. The conversation afforded me the opportunity to brag a little bit about how I earned my military nickname. While I was in basic, I was absolute shit at almost everything we did. My noodle arms couldn’t hoist my body weight over the roped wall, my shirt kept getting caught on the barbed wire suspended over the mud crawl, and I even tripped on those retarded tires you have to hop through. Drill sergeant tore my ass a new one, calling me just about every synonym for “worthless” that existed in between the ceaseless stream of obscenities. It nearly got to me a few times, too, but I kept pushing as hard as I could and working to improve myself. I had made a promise to Lucy, after all. The one field in which I wasn’t absolute garbage was at the rifle range. When we first picked up our M4’s and pointed them towards the targets fifty meters away, a cacophony of popping gunpowder issued forth a sad display of missed targets and strewn earth. However, one target was peppered with holes, many of which were virtually on top of one another, dead center within the red circle adorning the man-shaped cutout. After we were ordered to hold our fire, the drill sergeant strode towards me with blazing speed and ignited eyes. He screamed at me, demanding to know what sort of training I had received prior to the military to grant me such God-like accuracy. I answered truthfully: “Video games, Drill Sergeant!” Of course, he balked at this and cursed me for being full of shit, shoving another magazine in my direction and insisting that I repeat this miracle. I did. Prior to basic, I’d never lifted a firearm. I certainly wished I had owned one back when I was living in Skin Row, but I could never afford it and my folks never had one in the house. After he got tired of trying to squeeze information out of me that wasn’t there, the drill sergeant turned to the rest of my team, noticing they all stood around watching this fruitless interrogation unfold, and barked for us all to stow our equipment and get our asses marching. The rest of the team wasn’t too thrilled that they got punished for my success, but that was their fault; get good, fags. Later, after I once again demonstrated that my marksmanship was not “blind fucking luck” but a repeatable talent, the drill sergeant would joke that he was going to pull my “expert marksman” ass off of my desk jockey position and ship me off to sharpshooter school. As tempting as it was to live out my fantasy of being Brontley Cooper from that one sniper movie, I stayed on course towards being a public affairs broadcasting specialist. Through all the excitement, I managed to earn a pretty sick nickname: “Aimbot.” Most of the other guys were familiar enough with video games, especially first person shooters, to understand the reference to cheaters and hackers who use third party software to always land headshots no matter where they’re aiming. The few who didn’t get the reference called me by it anyway. It certainly beat the hell out of my previous nickname: “Cancer.” Fucking male pattern baldness. As I finished recounting my story to Weston, he looked down at the table, his wings unconsciously twitching. “Heh. Cool nickname. Wish I landed one that good.” I inquired further. “So what’d you get saddled with?” Almost as though in response, a member of the team that had transferred in with him strode past and slapped one of Weston’s wings with his hand. “What’s happening, Ladybird? Make a new boyfriend?” He chuckled as he headed off to a table across the mess hall. Ouch. Weston hung his head. “Yep. They were trying all sorts of stuff to see what would stick. ‘Bitchboy’, ‘Feathers’, ‘Chromosomes’, one guy even shouted ‘Faggotron 3000’.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have minded that one. It was funny, at least. I made the mistake of letting my eye twitch when one of those chuds tried on ‘Ladybird’ for size. That was that.” He shrugged and looked up at me, putting on a weak smile. “Oh well. Just a stupid nickname.” I gave him a reassuring look. “Yeah, that name is retarded. You’re just gonna be Weston to me.” He looked surprised at first, even a little taken aback. He’d later reveal that I was the first person who didn’t ridicule him and dogpile the nickname. He gave me a beaming smile. From that day on we were buddies. Due to our different jobs and platoons we didn’t spend a whole lot of time around one another, but we’d sit with each other in the mess hall whenever we were both eating at the same time. I even got some of the other guys in my squad to join us from time to time, bringing them around to the fact that Weston was a pretty chill dude. Though he wasn’t in the Army for very long, we were the first people he could call friends since he started. “Aimbot! The hell are you doing?” I’m startled by a shrill voice piercing the silence. I spun around in my rickety office chair to see a perpetually irate dilophosaurus, Private First Class Hennesy. I was daydreaming and reminiscing for quite a while there; probably not a great look when it’s triggered by staring out a window at an effeminate ptero-dude. This PFC, on the other hand, was nowhere near as chill as Weston. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he’s a dick, and as he didn’t outrank me, I wasn’t about to let him give me sass. “Thinking about all the gnarly shit I’m gonna do with your mom when I get home in four days. What’re you up to, Buggy?” Not all nicknames are created equal; Hennesy pushed his enormous, awkward glasses up his snout further, slightly reducing the size profile of his magnified eyes. The awkward design to accommodate his two elongated head ridges made the spectacles appear anomalous, and his eyeballs nearly doubled in size to any forward-facing onlookers because of it. He snorted at my comment. “Well, I was going to relieve you so you could go get some lunch, but now I think I might just tell you to fuck yourself.” I balked. “What do you mean, relieve me? I’m typing bullshit into the internet. You think a tango’s gonna pop out of my computer screen and shoot me when I have my back turned?” He didn’t answer immediately, pushing his sliding glasses up again as he glanced to the side. I gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, you pervert. You’re gonna look up porn on my workstation while I’m gone, aren’t you?” He jumped at this accusation and began flailing his arms around in front of him as he stumbled over his words. “I- no! Wha- I wouldn’t! They monitor the- I-” I shook my head and shrugged. “Whatever, man. Just make sure you clean up when you’re done. If my keyboard is sticky when I get back, I’m gonna crescent punch your dick off of your body.” He couldn’t find words to retort as I strode past him and down to the first floor of the comms building. I was just fucking with him, but as porn is tantamount to high treason in the Army, Hennesy had better not actually look up anything on my PC. Military Police would teleport behind him and send his ass straight to Azkaban before he could even lay eyes on a second boobie. It would probably get me in some shit, too, since it was my computer. Honestly, he should just do what I did: think about “qt ptero gf” back home. As I stepped outside, the intensity of the sun instantly began baking me alive. Another hot one today. Sweat rapidly accumulated on my brow as I turned towards the mess hall. The path to the building on the other side of the base wasn’t terribly long, but it felt like a trek in the sweltering air. I looked up as I neared the center of the courtyard to see Weston traveling the other direction, heading my way. I raised a hand in greeting as he approached. “What’s up, Westie?” I called him this from time to time to switch up the pronunciation of his last name. Not quite a nickname, but a fun little permutation all the same. He smiled at me, his feathered wings unfurling slightly. Must be in a good mood despite the heat, though I know those pterosaurs have a much higher tolerance for the elements than us skinbags. He raised a hand to return the greeting. “Hey, Anon! How’s it g-” A thunderous crash and a wave of heat more intense than even the midday sun rocked me backwards, negating all of my forward momentum and knocking my feet out from underneath me. I landed hard on my tailbone, the sand below doing little to cushion the fall. I sat upright like a toddler that lost its balance. The hell just happened? My vision was bright white with traces of red lines where the veins in my eyeballs resided. Did some asshat throw a flashbang at us as a joke? I tried to lift my hands to wipe the blindness from my eyes, but they didn’t cooperate. They felt heavier. Wetter. Like I had just climbed out of a pool I jumped into while fully dressed. Instead, I merely sat on my ass in the center of the path, most likely looking like a total imbecile to any spectators. My ears rang so intensely I felt as though I had just walked out of a headbanger’s concert. I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t hear anything. Yeah, someone’s gonna get their ass kicked for fucking around with live munitions inside the base. I don’t care how bored you are, you don’t lob grenades for fun. After several moments, the ringing subsided and my vision began to clear. As my ears regained the ability to register anything besides their own tinnitus, I heard a distant siren and even more distant shouting. As my eyes unclouded, they communicated a world spinning violently out of control. Raptor Jesus, I’m dizzy. Can I just lie down right here? Through the whirling spectrum before me, I hazily turned my head in search of Weston. Where did he go? He must have gotten hit by this thing, too, so maybe he crawled off somewhere? I shook my head to try to fight back the vertigo and scanned more intently. Where only moments before he had stood before me, offering me a wave and a smile, there now only remained a patch of discolored dirt. It wasn’t until I started widening my search of the area that I located my friend. Pieces of him, at least. All at once, an intense pain in my chest and arms flared violently into existence. I rocked backwards slightly, fighting off the dizziness as best I could as I gazed down at my body. I was covered in viscera. Through the torn sleeves of my ACU top I saw ribbons of my flesh loosely dangling, oozing blood from the canals in my arms they once inhabited. My chest and stomach didn’t fare much better, leaking precious internal fluids from several small perforations. Mixed with my own gore were several fragments of reddish-white material. Bone. Was it my bone, or… I clenched my teeth, fighting as hard as I could to retain consciousness. If there was one thing I learned from those action movies, it’s that you don’t go towards the light. I craned my neck backwards, trying desperately to reset the position of my inner ears to shake this horrid disequilibrium. The sun blinded me a second time. A faint shadow passed over my vision. A small object gently floated downward, furtively swaying in the air as it rocked back and forth in its hypnotic descent. I followed it with my gaze, trying with every ounce of my strength to keep it in focus as my eyes insisted on focusing on anything else. The single, gray feather came to a stop on my lap, its graceful ballet concluded. It was a stark contrast to the deep red that painted its stage. A tendril of wind tickled it for a moment, threatening to send it on a new journey, but ceased its attempts, allowing the feather to rest. I collapsed backwards, the swirling world finally slowing to a halt as it faded to black. — I lunge forward from my seat, frantically grasping at my forearms and chest. My eyes bulge from my head as I try to suck in air. Searing pain blasts through my upper torso as the shrapnel and bone fragments embed themselves all over again. No blood flows from my scars, but they reopen all the same. I clench my teeth as I desperately fight back the phantom pain. In an instant, a pair of brownish-gray hands grip me by the shoulders and steady my frenetic movements. Ripley’s voice speaks calmly. “Anon, it’s okay, son. You’re fine.” My eyes lock with his as I become aware of my surroundings. My heart beat slows and my breathing steadies. The pain slowly subsides. I’m not in that God-forsaken desert again. No… I’m in the waiting room at the hospital. I slump back in the chair as Ripley loosens his hold and takes the seat next to me again, watching me carefully to ensure I have calmed down sufficiently. I’m not sure if I screamed or not, but based on the look the receptionist is giving me, it’s probably a safe bet. I glance at the clock affixed to the wall: 3:04 AM. I try to do the mental calculation, but numbers are not processing in my head right now. “How long was I out for?” Ripley looks up at the clock. “... Only about ten minutes.” God damnit. What am I doing sleeping? Lucy needs m- Ripley cuts me off. “Anon, relax. You sleeping for a few minutes isn’t going to hurt Lucy.” It’s been over nine hours since the ambulance pulled up to our home. The EMTs came rushing into our bedroom as I was getting ready to perform CPR on Lucy. They had to pull me aside so they could get to her. Thankfully, they were dinosaurs with the inherent strength to toss me away from my wife with ease; I was so frenzied that I couldn’t distinguish their faces or forms at first. Most of that surrounding half hour is a complete blur in my mind. I know the EMTs transported Lucy towards the ambulance, forcing oxygen into her beak with an elongated bag valve mask. I hazily followed them out of my home, unable to properly see or hear anything around me with only one exception. Samantha was screaming. She and Ripley were charging down the sidewalk in our direction. Ripley later told me that they heard the ambulance flying down our street and looked outside to see where it was headed. When they saw it stop near Lucy and I’s home, they immediately went out to investigate. When they were a block away, they saw their daughter’s silhouette on the stretcher. Ripley ran over to me, grabbed me by the shoulders and frantically asked what had happened. I didn’t respond. Truthfully, I don’t even remember him asking me anything. The only sound I remember was Samantha’s screams. One of the EMTs had to forcefully pick her up and move her away as they loaded Lucy into the ambulance. Ripley let go of me and ran to his wife, both embracing and restraining her as she shrieked in horror and panic. I was admitted into the back of the ambulance with Lucy. Ripley threw Samantha over his shoulder and ran back to their car to follow us to the hospital. She was still crying out for her daughter. I can’t believe I let this happen. I’m worthless. “Anon, that’s enough.” I don’t turn to face Ripley as he speaks to me. “You need to stop beating yourself up over this. Everything is gonna be fine.” I can sense that even he only partially believes his own words as I see him wringing his hands from the corner of my vision. We’ve been in this fucking waiting room for over nine hours. I haven’t even been able to see Lucy since they brought her in. The doctor gave us an update about two hours after we arrived. TCA overdose. A dosage such as the one she took wouldn’t have done a tremendous amount of harm to a human, but because of a pterosaur’s increased sensitivity to sodium channel blockers it effectively tripled the impact. She’s been unconscious and periodically seizing. He informed us that there isn’t anything they can do besides monitor and attend to her as she rides out the storm and passes the chemicals through her body. When the doctor identified me as being the one who made her purge, he gave me a smile and said, “That very well may have saved her life. She didn’t digest the full dosage; if she had, things could have been a lot worse than they are.” Yes, and if I hadn’t been stock-piling those unnecessary pills for absolutely no goddamn reason, none of this would have happened in the first place. Tell me again what a fucking hero I am, doc. Of course, even with his “encouraging” words, he made sure to remind us that we’re not out of the woods yet. A myriad of things could go wrong. He assured us that she was in capable hands, but added that we can’t see her yet due to her condition. With those words, he left us to our cold plastic seats and the agony of waiting. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to shake off the weariness. I just want to see her. I want her to run around the corner, arms outstretched, calling my name as she embraces me and kisses me, telling me this has all just been a bad dream. I double over in my chair and grapple my knees. Ripley places a reassuring hand on my back and rubs slightly. I want so desperately to throw his arm off of me and scream at him. Stop comforting me. I don’t deserve it. This is my fault. I hear approaching footsteps. Samantha’s hoarse voice momentarily beckons me out of my self-pity; I glance up at her from my doubled over position. She barely speaks in a whisper. “... Here’s your phone, Anon.” About an hour ago, she volunteered to head home temporarily for anything we might need. What she was actually volunteering for without saying it out loud was to clean up Lucy’s vomit from the bathroom floor. They hadn’t seen what occurred in the bathroom, but I shakily gave them the details once we had received the update from the doctor and we had all calmed down enough to speak coherent sentences. Recounting the events made Samantha break down all over again, her husband comforting her the best he could as they both stared down the very real possibility that their daughter might die. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. I hazily accept the device that she offers to me, tucking it into my pocket. Truthfully, I didn’t even remember that I had left it behind. The only thing I asked Samantha to do was to throw away all of the pills in the medicine cabinet. I should have done it from the start, but I didn’t. Samantha takes a seat at the chair on the other side of me and also places her hand on my back. Hers and Ripley’s hands graze one another as they both comfort me. Fucking stop. Stop. I don’t deserve your consolation. It’s my fucking fault! “Anon, don't say-” Samantha begins to protest as I spring to my feet and dart down the hallway towards the front entrance. As I turn the corner, I catch a glimpse of Samantha having risen to her feet to try to follow after me, but Ripley catching her by the arm and beckoning her to remain behind. As I pass through the sliding metal doors, cool early morning air rushes over my body. Standing in the center of the sidewalk in front of the entryway, I close my eyes and sharply suck in as much oxygen as I can. I want so badly to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to bellow and weep, I want to tear my clothes and pound my chest. But I don’t. I simply exhale the cool air as slowly as I can. When my lungs are expended, I slowly draw the air back in, repeating the process several times. Lucy isn’t dead. She’s in bad shape, and there’s still a chance things can turn for the worse, but she’s still alive. I slowly open my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the luminosity of the hospital entrance as it beats back the early morning darkness. The sun is still several hours away from rising; only a murky void of black peppered with street lamps exists beyond the boundaries of the hospital’s lights. I take a seat at a bench next to the entrance. I feel like an asshole for having run away from my in-laws as they tried to comfort me, but at the same time I resent them for offering me comfort in the first place. Ripley trusted me to care for his daughter and protect her, and I failed him. I bury my face in my hands. Someone takes a seat on the same bench as me. I didn’t hear them approach. Fucking seriously? Couldn’t you have found another bench? Don’t you see I’m trying to feel bad for myself here? A hand is placed on my back. If this isn’t Ripley or Samantha, I’m going to clock whoever this is in the jaw. I’m not in the fucking mood to receive charitable sympathy from strangers. I move my hands away from my face. The figure seated next to me bears a familiar grayish-brown hue with an orange crest dividing his head neatly into two parts. He gives me a consoling smile and a sympathetic gaze. “Hey, Anon.” I can’t return his smile, but I manage to eke out a reply. “... Naser.” He throws his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. At first, my hands hang limply at my sides, but slowly I lift them to return the gesture. After a moment he separates us, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He gives an apologetic look. “Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. Even though the NasCar is still running, it sure doesn’t like these long drives.” I blink as the strangeness slowly dawns on me. I glance at my watch. 3:31 AM. “When the hell did you leave?” “As soon as mom and dad gave me the call.” He removes one of the hands he has on my shoulders and puts a finger to the bottom of his beak. “... Seven?” Numbers still aren’t processing for me. “But don’t you live ten hours away?” “Yeah?” … Huh. I notice that, despite his eyes looking incredibly bleary, his eyelids are opened wide and his pupils oscillate rapidly. The hand that remains on my shoulder vibrates and trembles. I raise an eyebrow. “How much caffeine have you had tonight, Naser?” He considers further. “I think… six… no, seven cans of Monster… three bottles of iced coffee… four cups of regular coffee…” I look over my shoulder at the entrance of the hospital. Good thing we’re already here. He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. It was more important that I get to you, and to…” He pauses, looking down for a moment, then back to me. “... How is she?” “Unconscious. I haven’t been able to see her yet.” He casts his gaze down again. I ask, “How much did Ripley and Samantha tell you?” “Not much at all. They said Lucy was in the hospital, in pretty bad shape. Mom was in hysterics, and I only got a few words out of dad.” He looks up at me. “Was it an accident?” I sigh. “... I honestly don’t know.” At this, Naser cocks his head and gives me a look of confusion. I, too, am confused for a moment by his reaction, but realize he has absolutely no information about what happened yet. For all he knows, she was in a car crash. I take a deep breath as I come to the realization that I have to elaborate further. “She overdosed on my antidepressants.” Naser gasps and recoils at this. “WHAT? What do you mean, she-” He cuts himself off, glancing down and furrowing his brow as he scans his memory. He looks back up at me. “Why would she be taking your antidepressants? Human drugs like that are extremely bad for dinosaurs and pterosaurs.” I lean down and bring my hands to my head again. I wish I had known that. Like a retard, I didn’t bother reading the fine print or warning labels on the medication. All I got was a cryptic line from Reed at the pharmacy: “This shit’ll zonk out a human like yourself, but I’m never touching the stuff again. Bad trip.” Reed, the ex-druggie. His body’s probably such a chemical wonderland that something like this would just come across as a “bad trip”. It’s infinitely worse for Lucy right now. I try to formulate an answer for Naser. “She never took any before last night. She was… we… we had a fight, and…” I can’t find the right words. Naser slumps back on the bench and looks off towards the inky darkness. He tries to take a deep breath but it catches in his throat, stuttering his inhalation. He looks over to me with sorrow in his eyes. “Do you think she… was she…” Was she trying to commit suicide? He can’t speak the words, but I hear them clearly. I desperately want to scream out “No!”, to defend Lucy and berate Naser for even having the gall to ask such a question, but… I cannot. I can barely say the words in more than a whisper. “... I don’t know.” Despite my blind panic at the house as Lucy was nearly dying in my arms, I didn’t cry. When Samantha was screaming for her daughter, I didn’t cry. As I explained what happened to our parents, I didn’t cry. For all the sorrow, hurt, self-hatred and anger I felt over the past ten hours, I didn’t cry. I break down. Tears begin streaming out of my eyes as I heave out a sob. I immediately bury my face in my hands, ashamed of my display. Naser puts his arms around me again and pulls me into a hug. I feel wetness on my shoulders from his own tears. He speaks in a choked voice. “I’m sorry, Anon. That was a stupid thing for me to ask. Of course she wasn’t. There’s no way she would do that. It was just an accident, that’s all.” I wipe the tears away from my face with the sleeves of my green dress shirt. I manage to mumble out a “Thanks,” but I’m not convinced of his reassurance. We won’t know until she wakes up and tells us herself, and even then… As I compose myself, Naser breaks off the hug once more, leaving a hand on my shoulder as he gives me a compassionate smile. After a few minutes of silence as we both stare towards the blackened horizon, he lets out a shiver. “Brr… pretty fuckin’ cold out here. You wanna get inside? I could use another cup of coffee.” I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “You could use water. You’re the one going to med school, shouldn’t you be aware of the dangers of how much caffeine you’ve taken in?” He gives me a small smile and a wink. “Exactly. I’m a professional, I’ve got it all under control.” I shrug and we both head back into the hospital. When we round the corner where Ripley and Samantha are seated, they turn our direction, expecting only to see me. When Naser’s form comes into view, Samantha gasps and springs to her feet while Ripley balks. Samantha runs over and throws her arms around Naser, a fresh set of tears building up in her eyes, as her husband places his balled hands on his hips and gives Naser a stern look. “Son, we appreciate you having come out here, but what the hell?” Ripley seems equal parts impressed with the rapidity of Naser’s arrival and scornful of the implication of the speeds he would have had to have traveled to achieve this feat. Samantha releases Naser and he steps over to his father to hug him as well. “I had to spend time in the hospital without Lucy when I was little. I wasn’t about to do the same thing to her now.” Ripley shakes his head and sighs as they break off the hug. “All the same, you need to slow down. Also, what’s going on with your eyes?” Naser blinks. “Oh, that’s just the caffeine. Speaking of-” He begins stepping around his father to find the nearest coffee machine, but Ripley catches him by the collar. “I don’t think so. You need to detox so you can sleep.” Naser protests. “But Dad! I need to be here for Lucy!” Ripley scowls. “She’s not taking visitors right now. Besides, what good will you be to your sister if your heart explodes?” At the display, Samantha lets out a miniscule giggle. I’m glad she was able to experience at least a small moment of joy… this night has been absolute hell on earth for her. As Naser relents and Ripley loosens his grip, she glances at the clock on the wall, then to her husband and son, then to me. “I do think we should try to get home and get at least a few hours of sleep. Lucy will be safe here; there’s no use in all of us sitting around waiting for-” I cut her off. “I’m not going anywhere.” She looks at me sympathetically, then to her husband who only gives her a slight nod. She turns back to me and sighs. “... Okay. But please, call us the moment you get any updates.” I nod to her as I take a seat in my usual waiting room chair. The three of them bid farewell and head home to get some rest. The next few hours pass by slowly. I nurse a cup of coffee, taking a small sip every time my eyelids start to feel heavy. I don’t need to wander back to dreamland and relive the death of my friend again. As the clock rolls over to 7:00 AM, I withdraw my phone. Even though my shift doesn’t start for another hour, I need to call in and let them know that I won’t be coming in for the foreseeable future. As I glance at the phone’s screen for the first time since last night, a small pulsing green light graces its surface. … Fuck. I unlock the device and click the familiar icon. Reed S. [ 6:16 PM ] [ u guys on ur way? ] [ or u forget lol ] [ 6:24 PM ] [ u lost? lol i can send address again ] [ 1792 pickerd st ] [ surprised ur gps dont remember it ] [ 6:37 PM ] [ is everything ok? ] [ patty is excited to meet fang she said so herself lol ;) ] [ 7:07 PM ] [ please let me know youre okay ] [ trish is getting worried ] [ 7:54 PM ] [ give me a call when you can ] The final message contains the digits for Reed’s phone number. I let out a sigh, feeling remorseful that we ghosted them for dinner, but I’m in no condition to call them and talk about things right now. I hope they’ll understand. I pull up my contacts and click on the entry for work. I get the receptionist and ask to be transferred to Rick Spears. I’ll probably have to leave a voicemail, I doubt he’s in this earl- *Click* “Rick Spears.” I’m shocked he answered. “Uhh… hi, Rick. This is Anon Mous.” “Morning, Anon. What can I do for you?” “Umm… I’m not going to be able to make it in.” Rick snorts on the other end of the line. “What? The ever-punctual Anon is calling in sick? I didn’t think I’d see the day. What ails you, my boy? Headache, stomachache, just playing hooky?” “I’m at the hospital. It’s Lucy.” Silence. “... Is she alright?” “No.” More silence. “... Which hospital are you at?” “West Volcaldera.” I hear the faint scratching of a pen. “Understood. Take all the time you need.” “Thank you, Rick.” I hang up the phone. Glancing around, I notice the hospital beginning to come to life, the quiet late night staff being replaced with a steadily increasing abundance of nurses, doctors and patients. I pay closer attention to my cup of coffee than to the passing people, refilling it occasionally as it needs. I don’t have a crippling caffeine addiction like Naser seems to, so just a few cups of joe keep me alert enough to remain on standby for Lucy. About an hour later, the family returns. Naser looks like absolute death, obviously not having gotten very restful sleep with his jacked blood pressure, and yawns repeatedly as he struggles to keep his eyes open. Ripley and Samantha don’t exactly look well-rested either, but they were at least able to change their clothes and clean up. Ripley carries with him a sack of breakfast sandwiches from a nearby fast food restaurant. I don’t usually care for eating this kind of garbage, but given the circumstances and my growling stomach I’m thankful for the gesture. Samantha has a change of clothes for me in her arms. She holds them out to me. “I hope you don’t mind, I got these from your dresser.” She also extends a plastic bag containing some of my toiletries. “I figured, if you didn’t want to go home, you might still like to brush your teeth.” She gives me a small smile. I nod to her. I still can’t return the smile. “Thanks.” Several more hours go by. Naser dozes off in his chair a few times, being elbowed in the ribs by his mother once his snoring grows too loud. He snorts and clambers awake each time, looking around as though he doesn’t recognize that this isn’t his bed back at med school, before he starts to slide down his chair again and close his eyes, repeating the cycle. To her infinite credit, Samantha stays as chipper as she can, doing her best to make light conversation and keep spirits high. However, every time the silhouette of a nurse or doctor rounds the corner from the direction of Lucy’s room, she spins around to face them, anxiously awaiting their news. They never have any for us, simply walking past as they attend to other patients. Ripley, on the other hand, wears only a stern expression. His arms have been crossed for long enough that I expect his hands are suffering nerve damage. He offers grunts and nods in response to Samantha’s conversation queues, but doesn’t speak more than a word or two. Occasionally, he glances in my direction, but when my eyes meet his he maintains eye contact with me long enough to wordlessly communicate his feelings before averting his gaze. He’s furious with me. And rightly so. As lunchtime approaches, I excuse myself for a moment to use the restroom. The nearest public bathrooms are around the corner and near the front entrance. I begin making my way there, rounding the corner and heading in the direction of the masculine human and dinosaur silhouettes adorning the wall next to its entrance. “Anon.” The voice I expected to follow me here stops me in my tracks. Sighing, I turn to face Ripley who stares down at me with a level of intensity I haven’t seen from him since I was in high school and spending time with his precious daughter. He didn’t like me then, and he doesn’t seem to like me right now. “Ripley, what do you want me to say? I fucked up, and Lucy’s here now because of it. I broke my promise to you. I faile-” In an instant, Ripley is directly in front of me. He grabs the front of my shirt and hoists me up to meet him at eye level. My feet don’t leave the ground, but they’re not far from leaving it, either. He speaks in grated words from behind his teeth. “ANON. Shut your mouth right now. I mean it. Stop talking for a minute and listen to me.” He looks down at me with an intense gaze… but it isn’t one that is filled with hatred. He holds me until I manage a slow nod, at which point he slowly lowers me and releases his grip on my shirt. He does not back away, continuing to look down at me from only a few inches away. He takes a deep breath. “Ever since last night, you’ve been beating yourself up over this. You’ve been blaming yourself for what happened. And I’m telling you, right now, father to son… you need to stop. This is not your fault.” I try to avert my gaze, but he claps a hand to my shoulder and squeezes hard. The pain makes me flinch and I look back towards him. He continues as he loosens his grip, still leaving his hand on my shoulder. “This is not your fault. I don’t give a shit if it was your medicine she took. I don’t give a shit if you two had an argument. Hell, I don’t give a shit if she looked you dead in the eyes and said ‘I’m going to hurt myself and it’s your fault;’ it’s not your fault.” He tightens his grip slightly to emphasize his point. “Lucy is a grown woman who makes her own choices. We don’t know if this was an accident or not, but YOU beating yourself up over this is only going to do more harm. You have only ever been a loving and caring husband to her. Sure, you fucked up and kept a secret from her that you probably shouldn’t have, but trying to blame yourself for what happened…” He shakes his head. “No. You have to stop blaming yourself.” After a moment, he releases his grip on my shoulder. As I process his words, he speaks again. “Do you remember what I said to you when you asked me for my blessing to marry Lucy?” I nod. “You asked me to protect her and keep her safe. And I-” He sharply cuts me off. “Wrong . That’s not what I said.” I look up at him, confusion spreading across my face as I try harder to recall his words. He fills in the gap for me. “I asked you if you would be the man to be there for her when things were difficult. I asked you to be the man Lucy needed you to be: someone to love and support her.” He shakes his head. “If you had abandoned her, running off with some other woman, you would have failed me. If you pushed her aside, unwilling to help her when she was hurting and needing someone to support her, you would have failed me. You have done neither of those things. You have only loved and cared for my daughter, just as I asked, and because of that… you will always be my son.” He throws his arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace. I blink away at the tears that are forming in my eyes as I return the hug. “... Thanks, dad.” As we separate, Ripley gives me a loving smile, his own eyes being misty. “Alright, go on and take a piss or whatever you were doing. I’m gonna gather the others and we can go get some lunch real quick.” I shake my head. “I appreciate it, but I’m not really feeling hungry. The sausage sandwich from this morning is still sitting in my gut like a brick.” He chuckles. “In that case, we’ll bring you something back. Same deal, let us know the moment you hear anything, okay?” I nod. Several minutes later, I sit alone in the waiting room once more. Samantha had suggested they get something from the cafeteria, but Naser quickly shot the idea down, knowing all too well from his schooling how horrid hospital food can be. They opted to hit up a nearby restaurant, offering to bring me back something that I could eat later when I got my appetite back. I consider what Ripley had said to me outside the restroom. His words were touching, and he has a point about Lucy being her own person, but… am I truly blameless here? I saw the signs: she was acting so strangely the two days leading up to the incident. We had our fight, she was understandably furious with me, and I thought we made up, but… It was something about the way she looked at me. When I apologized to her on the couch after dinner, when she threw her arms around me and told me that she loved me… something in her eyes told me that something was still wrong. Why didn’t I do anything about it? A voice breaks me out of my own thoughts. “There you are.” I glance up, slightly shocked by the two figures with whom my eyes meet. “... Rick? Bill?” Rick gives me a nod as he steps closer, clapping a gargantuan hand on my shoulder. “Figured I’d swing by on lunch break, bring you a sandwich. Having to sit in a waiting room like this for hours is agony, doubled by the shitty cafeteria food.” He pauses for a moment. “How is Lucy?” I reply, “Still unconscious, we haven’t gotten any updates.” I look over to Bill as he gives a sheepish wave and holds up the bag containing their gift of sandwich. “Hey, Anon. I’m… sorry to hear about Lucy.” Rick glances over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t stop asking about where you were, seemed hellbent on the idea that Kevin tracked you down and shot you or something.” Bill balks. “I was serious! We were worried about Kevin seeking revenge on us for…” He trails off, not wanting to fill Rick in on the ‘cupcake incident’. “... For our bad relationship in the office. After Saturday, I was-” He abruptly stops and turns my way, eyes wide in horror. He stutters, “He didn’t- it wasn’t Kevin that- ” I raise a hand to stop him. “No, Bill. Lucy being here doesn’t have anything to do with Kevin.” This is only a half-truth as Kevin is a big part of why this entire nightmare began. Bill sighs in relief. “Thank goodness. I-” Something else interrupts Bill. He glances behind himself, nods and mutters something, then turns back to me. “Erm… well… there’s… someone I want you to… well, ‘meet’ isn’t the right word…” At this inelegant introduction, a familiar green stegosaurus steps out from behind Bill. I didn’t see her given his rotund shape, but now that she’s in view the realization rapidly sets in. She brushes a bit of her long green hair away from her face and offers a meek wave. “... Hi, Anon.” I sigh and shake my head. “PreCure was your favorite anime. ‘PreCureCutie’. Of course it’s you, Stella.” Bill interjects. “S-sorry I didn’t bring it up sooner. I was-” Stella interrupts him. “I asked him not to tell you. I’m… I’m sorry.” I looked up at the pair of them. So that’s why he suddenly got so clammy about bringing her up. I assumed he was trying to not jinx himself, but it turns out she didn’t want me knowing about her. I cock my head. “... Why?” She looks down for a moment with an expression of sadness before glancing at Bill. He takes the cue and turns to Rick. “Uhh, hey, Rick, let’s go get some coffee.” Rick nods at this and the two of them head down the hall and around the corner as Stella takes a seat next to me. Her head still hangs low and she speaks to me without making eye contact. “I… still felt bad about what happened in high school. I felt like everything was my fault. Me and Rosa worked behind the scenes to try to get Fang and Trish to become friends again, but we caused more harm than good. I… didn’t think you’d want to see me again.” She looks up at me. “I only came today because Bill told me that Fa-” She cuts herself off. “... She’s calling herself ‘Lucy’, now?” I nod to her. “Fang was only a nickname in high school.” She nods in return. “... Bill told me that Lucy was in the hospital. I wanted to come and make sure she was okay… and to apologize.” I shift in my seat slightly. “Stella, you don’t have anything to apologize for. What happened in high school wasn’t your…” I trail off, Ripley’s words from only a few minutes ago echoing in my mind. “... We all make mistakes. You were operating with the best intentions, and it didn’t work out. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Stella smiles at me, her eyes growing misty. “Thank you, Anon.” We sit in silence for a moment as the hustle and bustle of the hospital continues around us. I speak up. “Erm… how did you know that Bill and I worked together?” At this, she gives me a warmer smile. “You know Bill. He’s a talker. The moment he said his bald human coworker had a pterodactyl wife, I knew it was you and Lucy.” She momentarily stutters as she says Lucy’s name, still becoming acquainted with it. I raise an eyebrow. “He describes me to people as ‘bald’? Huh. I’ll keep that in mind.” Stella giggles at this. “He didn’t mean it in a bad way. He was just describing you to me. It is one of your more prominent features, after all.” I shrug. Guess she’s got a point. After another moment, I feel urged to ask, “So… what exactly do you see in that guy?” At this, she gazes past me as a dreamy look overtakes her. “Hmm… he makes me feel special.” “Well, he’s a special one himself. I hope it works out between the two of you.” She giggles again as Rick and Bill return from around the corner. Bill plops the sandwich bag onto the seat next to me as Stella gets up. I also stand to shake their hands and bid them farewell, thanking them for stopping by to check on Lucy, and for the sandwich. As they move towards the exit, Stella stops for a moment, then turns my way once more. She speaks over her shoulder. “Uh, Bill? I’ll just be a minute, I’ll meet you outside.” He acknowledges her wish and continues out with Rick. As she takes a step towards me she reaches into her back pocket, removing a familiar deck of cards. She glances at them for a moment, nods, then flips the deck over, fanning them out in my direction. “I… know you don’t believe in this stuff, but… draw one, please.” I hesitate for a moment before reaching forward. As my fingertips touch a card, she jerks the deck backwards and adjusts it, fanning the cards in a way that causes one to stand out in the center. I raise an eyebrow before drawing it and looking at it. Stella does not see the card I drew before speaking. “Upright Lovers. It stands for partnership, unity, and love… but also for the challenges that the path of love presents. There’s never one perfect, correct direction to go, and there will always be hardship… but you are traveling down that path with Lucy.” She smiles at me. “Stay strong for her.” With this, she gives me a small bow and departs, not retrieving the card back into her tarot deck. I stare at the image on the card for a long time. A man and woman hold hands as they stride forward down an unseen path. The way is not sunny and beautiful, nor is it gloomy and morose. It simply is. The lovers do not wear expressions of joy and cheer, nor one of dread and sorrow. Their expressions can only be summarized with one word: determination. A woman’s voice from behind causes me to turn. A nurse addresses me. “Mr. Mous?” “Yes?” “Your wife, Lucy, is awake. You can see her now.”