​The call came from an unknown number.

I had been bracing myself for news from my dad’s healthcare team, a constant undercurrent of dread threading through my days. He had been at the University of Alberta Hospital for a month, his health condition an enigma growing darker and more impenetrable with each passing day. No diagnosis, no clarity—only the endless churn of tests, speculation, and a grim kind of waiting.

​He had been medevacked from Stanton Territorial Hospital in Yellowknife to Edmonton in mid-August, the urgency of his condition necessitating a transfer 

Arlene and her children lived in a very old one-and-a-half-bedroom house. The house was in poor repair, with missing shingles and duct tape stretched over cracked windows to keep out the harsh December winds. While the children were always scrubbed and dressed in decent clothes for school, Arlene lived on Welfare.
​
Struggling with peer pressure, Arlene spent her Christmas money on gifts for all the children who attended the school and items for their parents to keep up the façade that her family was just like theirs, although everyone knew they weren’t.

​it is early morning
distant moon pale
star-dots
jewels in the sky
 
have I told you lately
how tired I am
dear time
 
running forward
running to catch up
running around
my daily circle
circle of life
 
meanwhile your steady flow
shadow and light
endless loop passing
one infinity to the next
I wonder
dear time
how your clock never stops

On a bright, sunny afternoon, Luca pedalled down the sidewalk with his mom strolling behind him. The air was filled with the crisp scent of autumn, and the satisfying crunch of leaves under his tires. As they turned the corner, Luca’s eyes widened in awe.

He gasped, “It’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen!” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he pointed to the towering oak. “I’m going to climb to the top!”

Mom shook her head firmly, a mix of concern and amusement in her eyes. “No way! That tree is practically a skyscraper!”

​There wasn’t much to go on. One dead Terran, male, of the Caucasoid persuasion. No external trauma markers. All signs pointed to natural causes. Thomas wanted to leave it at that, but there was still the pesky matter of the weapon.

​He scanned the artifact against the Terran Archives. The results were disappointing. The database matched his scan with something called a “spork” but gave no indication of its primary function. It looked sharp enough to inflict damage if directed at soft tissue with the right 

​Astrid landed on Isle Cassiopeia a month after her grandfather passed away. It was her mother’s idea. “You should go,” she said and passed her an envelope. “He left this letter for you. Take it with you and say a proper goodbye.”

Every year the family would travel to the island for summer solstice. Her grandfather would always lead the toast on the longest day of the year. He would stand by the bonfire on the beach holding up his drink, his voice echoing across the water, “Let’s make the longest day feel like the shortest.”

Everyone would cheer. Her grandfather had a way of

​No matter how hard she concentrated, how long she practised or even after falling to her knees, praying to the heavens to help, her magic never matured beyond practical.  To have the ability to summon practical magic was not without its merits – the house was always clean and orderly, dishes done, and laundry hung.  Her meals were adequate if uninspired.  Practical magic had its place but to be able to make a love potion or conjure an effective curse on THAT WOMAN that permitted her spaniel to poop, with abandon and no pick-up, on her side yard, that would be magical.

I want to stay up! Let me stay up! he pleaded
cheeks rosy with fever, a dripping nose
the foreseeable result of Christmas
 
more presents from Santa than ever before,
more solicitous relatives,
candy canes and cookies,
late nights and noise
 
You won’t be awake at midnight, she said
you’re so tired
comfort-tucking him in

Staring into the mirror, I was confronted by the image staring back at me. There was blood splashed on her face and in her hair, and the bright, blue bruise around her cut, fattened lip contrasted greatly with her pallid flesh. The tears had stopped now, but their stains remained. I stood there, looking at my reflection; wondering how I’d become such a stranger to myself.
​
“Hello, old friend, I’ve missed you,” I whispered. Seeing her repeat the words back to me, made me smile. The first real smile to move my lips in a very long time. She smiled too, and I felt welcome in her company.

​We think Death comes as a stranger, but no. Death visits like the weird family member that we try to avoid, because Death, like family, is unmoved by our preferences. A cherished pet passes and our tears disturb their unmoving fur. A child grasps Death’s hand before the parents can wave goodbye. A wife lets go of her partner and slips into Death’s arms. Is Death a stranger then? No; we may take Death for a stranger, but we eventually grow to realize that like family, Death is always present, able to visit when needed.
​
Sometimes Death visits unexpectedly like a surprise