The Party

"Everything needs to look identical to the way my parent's left it before they went out of town." Susan and her friend Derek had been cleaning all day, despite their hangovers. It was worth it though, they had thrown a fabulous party.

"The toilet's finally unclogged," announced Derek emerging from the bathroom, plunger in hand.

"Next time we are getting a keg," Susan declared, holding up another small piece of a peeled Budweiser label she'd retrieved from under the table.

Finally, everything looked immaculate. They heard the key turned in the lock. Derek had just opened the fridge. There, in the door, sat one last bottle of beer from the night before. The two teens saw it and froze. Susan gave Derek a nod. He grabbed it and bolted out the back door.

Legos

So many pieces lie strewn across the sunny living room floor on a Sunday morning. The prized possessions of a childhood eclipsed by adolescence. He plays with the large 747, mostly intact, as I paw through boxes filled with Legos, so many unique, so many identical. We used to be able to pick up any piece from the thousands and remember which set it belonged to. Now it's getting harder to remember. We debate the net worth of the collection on Ebay. He puts on his sneakers, grabs his phone, and goes out with his friends.

Tunnels

Søvndrake stops and considers which of two identical tunnels to take, one curves to the east, one to the west. She must make a choice, down one lies a path leading to certain doom. Trapped in another, her captured lover. Fear constricts her throat, but she puffs out her chest and decisively makes her decision despite the uncertainty. The passage is dark and the terrain uneven. Bats, spiders, rats and other unearthly creatures brush past her, but these are no matter. Bones of those who came before litter the trail. They crunch beneath her feet. And then a blast of fire lights a dark chamber before her. Her heart flutters. It's him. She returns his call with her own breath of dragon fire.

Identical, Not Identical

We are screaming down a bobsled run we never wanted to go on, that none of us chose. At first glance, the track is identical to the one we've survived before. "We've done it before, we can do it again," shouts the captain. I try to find comfort in his words. But a few yards down the run and we realize it's not identical. The track is icer, and faster. Much faster. We hold on tight as the rig shakes. Our brains rattle, as we wonder if the sled will hold us or fall apart, go off the rails, over the edge of the cliff, or spontaneously combust like a meteor bursting into flame as it enters the atmosphere.

Will we make it to the end of the surge again in one piece? Or not?