A Letter from Marion Jaden Massaro

In the golden age of our lady Victoria’s reign, those of her role have power only in name given as gifts, gentle songbirds in a cage love for thousands in a compelled exchange.

The woman in white hides her tears behind a veil, she whispers of another to a sister to no avail. And, oh, he knows! Save her soul and his life for she loves him though she is to be another man’s wife.

From the look on her face, he learned the other’s name, hands on her shoulders, he says “Dream of him in pain. For you belong to me, as do your jewels. Be happy with me, or you will both be fools.”

So, she dons a false smile and a gown white as snow to be joined to the man as cold as its icy glow. And being only a woman there is nothing I can do, but I can assure you, my friend, her heart still belongs to you.

This is the greatest rebellion of her age: refusing her heart though her hand signed the page. My dearest hope is that someday those like her may choose but for the time being, her love is not his fortune to lose.

A Tad Odd Rebekah Pulaski

Andrew always knew he was peculiar. He knew from the way that people looked at him on the streets, from the way they introduced themselves to him, from the way he couldn’t tell if people really liked him or were just interested in him. But he did not know what had made him peculiar.

Maybe it was his profession? Andrew was a mortician. He dealt with dead people and knew that people did not think this was normal. He could always recall that familiar expression: the mouth dropping slightly slack, the tiniest raise of eyebrows to make space for the hidden astonishment in their eyes. He could tell that being a mortician was not quite the same as a dentist or a teacher or a lawyer.

Or maybe it was Andrew’s home life that threw them off? Andrew was not married and had no children. He was what people might call “alone,” but Andrew had always been alone in a way. He had parents of course, but they didn’t speak anymore, and he couldn’t actually remember most of his childhood. He tried not to dwell on the past.

Despite Andrew’s reclusiveness, he did not spend time calling himself lonely. He did have a social life. He liked to get coffee with his friends, on Thursday nights especially. The coffee shop they went to, Lily Pad Roasts, hosted poetry night—and Andrew loved poetry night. He loved it because it was an event. On the rare occasions he had gotten coffee without an event, he didn’t seem to know how to carry a conversation the same way his friends did. He wasn’t quick enough, couldn’t just say what was on his mind because—to his horror—his mind didn’t seem to work the same way his friends’ minds worked. But that all melted away on poetry night. Their conversations didn’t follow the same topics they usually did. Instead, they all sat, unified by the nerves that come from sharing the most vulnerable parts of your heart with people you barely know, pleading with the universe that these unknown faces won’t leave the room and immediately discuss how awful your work is, how stupid your voice sounds, and how awkward you look when you stand on a stage.

These were the things Andrew usually contemplated on his morning train ride to work. He occupied his mind to distract from the fact that it seemed everyone was watching him. But to Andrew’s annoyance, his thoughts were interrupted by a tall, intimidating man. “Hey where do you come from, man?”

“What?” Andrew said, wondering why he was being bothered and why this man was bringing more attention to him. “I’m from here, I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Oh,” the man blurted out, seeming embarrassed. “Sorry, I just…” he trailed off. “I feel like I would’ve seen you before.”

“Right,” Andrew said, trying not to be rude. “Chicago’s a small world.”

The man smiled, relieved that he had exited the conversation successfully.

Luckily, Andrew’s stop came just then and as he stepped out of the doors and onto the platform, his lungs finally filled with the outside air and he could forget his loneliness.

Andrew walked through the doors of the mortuary and was met by Sarah. Sarah was his secretary. The face that could greet the grieving families in a way that Andrew never could.

“Morning, Sarah,” he sighed, tired from all the thinking he had been doing and the strange conversation with the intimidating man.

“Good morning, Andrew.” Sarah smiled. “You have a woman waiting for you in your office.”

Andrew never understood how Sarah seemed so happy all the time. She was constantly surrounded by death, and even though that didn’t bother Andrew, it never exactly made him happy.

The door of Andrew’s office was slightly ajar, spilling the slightly green tinted light that came from his wallpaper onto the floor. He took a deep breath and pushed through the door with his clammy hand.

There was an odd-looking young woman sitting on the plush chair across from where he would sit. She was bent over in the usual my-loved-one-just-died kind of way, but she didn’t seem to be crying. No, she seemed to be looking. Hunched over and looking at the framed picture from his college graduation day that was sitting on his desk. “Hello Miss,” Andrew said, to break her out of her trance.

The woman jumped slightly. “Oh! Sorry, hello, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry Miss, didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.

My name is Andrew.”

“Andrew,” she repeated matter-of-factly. “Yes, I knew that actually.”

“Ah, of course. You’ve done your research,” Andrew paused, pulling his chair in underneath him, choosing his next words carefully. “You’ll have to forgive me, though, I don’t know your name. I don’t believe I had an appointment for this time.”

“Oh goodness!” The woman touched her hand to her mouth lightly, embarrassed. “Of course. My name’s Sam. I didn’t make an appointment because, well…I guess I just wanted to see for myself.”

“Completely understandable,” Andrew said with a practiced smile. “We always want to make sure our loved ones are in the right hands.”

Sam smiled at this. “Yes, and you seem to have just the hands I was looking for.”

Andrew paused slightly at this. He thought it was a strange compliment, but grieving people may say strange things sometimes, so he ignored it. “Oh well thank you, I appreciate that very much.”

“You’re exactly how they described you,” Sam said as Andrew reached in a drawer for his paperwork.

“Oh, so you’ve been recommended by a former client?”

“No no, I’ve just heard about you from some people.”

Andrew’s stomach dropped slightly.

Sam continued, “You know, how you look, the type of person you are.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Andrew stuttered out slowly, struggling to keep his composure. “I don’t completely understand.”

“Of course! You haven’t seen Rani!”

Andrew was understanding less and less. No one had ever commented on how he looked before, especially at work.

“Here she is!” Sam turned her phone screen towards Andrew to show a picture of her and Rani standing together at the beach. Sam looked as she did on the plush chair in his office, long legs, freckled arms, and brown hair. But Rani looked different from Sam. Her proportions weren’t the same. Her arms and legs were unnaturally skinny, and her torso was wide and long. Her eyes popped out of the top of her head rather than on the front of her face. She had no ears.

And worst of all, her skin was green.

Andrew stared at the picture, trying to understand what he was seeing. Then he looked up at the woman, who was smiling with an understanding tone. Then he realized what was going on. He laughed out of courtesy and relief, “Ma’am, this isn’t the place for jokes.”

“No, of course it isn’t!” She agreed. “I’m not playing a trick, sir. She really was just like you! A big, walking, talking, frog.”

Andrew slowly looked up from the phone, into the eyes of the woman who was shattering his reality. She looked as if she was speaking weightless words, explaining ideas he should’ve already known.

“A frog?” was all he could croak out.

“Yes. That’s why I want you to take care of her. Her burial and funeral. I couldn’t very well trust a normal person with Rani.”

Andrew took a long, deep breath. “Will you excuse me for a moment?’

Sam nodded her head.

Andrew stumbled out of his office, down the hall, and through the bathroom door. There was a mirror. The mirror that he looked into at least once every day. The image looking back at him was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Slender arms. Big torso. Bulging eyes. No ears. And worst of all, green. He was a frog. How had he never noticed before? How could he have been so stupid and blind? And then a horrifying thought came to Andrew, and he asked his reflection, “Does everyone know?”

“Sarah!” Andrew shouted, unable to stop himself. He flopped clumsily out of the bathroom and towards the lobby. “Sarah!”

“What’s wrong, Andrew?” Sarah said with concern in her voice, as she stood up from her chair.

“Sarah, am I a frog?”

A look of uneasiness flashed across Sarah’s face, “What?”

“Am I a frog?”

“I mean…” she paused, “I guess I don’t know what you are…but I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you knew. But yes, you look like a frog.”

The corners of Andrew’s vision got dark. He felt dizzy. What about all his friends? How could they not talk to him about this? Was everyone just pretending to feel comfortable around him this whole time?

“Are there other frogs, Sarah?”

Then