As the clock struck midnight, Claire, a weary journalist, boarded the last train home after a long day of chasing stories. The carriage was dimly lit and nearly empty, save for a few passengers huddled in their seats, eyes glued to their devices. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if secrets lurked in the shadows. Just as the train began to chug along the darkened tracks, a sudden storm rolled in, rattling the windows and plunging the train into chaos. The lights flickered, and an eerie silence enveloped the cabin. Claire's instincts kicked in; she sensed something was off. Curiosity piqued, she moved through the aisles, overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and noticing nervous glances exchanged between passengers. One man, in particular, caught her attention: a sharply-dressed individual with an unsettling calm about him. He was sitting alone, tapping away on his phone, yet there was a tension in his posture that suggested he was more than he seemed. As the storm raged outside, the train came to a screeching halt. The conductor announced a temporary stop due to fallen debris on the tracks. Claire's heart raced; she knew this was her chance to uncover the truth. Driven by a mix of fear and determination, she approached the man. “What's going on? You seem… anxious,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. He looked up, eyes darting. “I'm just waiting for the power to come back,” he replied, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “But it's not just the storm. There's something more.” Before Claire could probe further, the lights flickered out completely. Panic erupted as passengers shouted and scrambled for the emergency lights. In the confusion, Claire felt a shove from behind, and the man disappeared into the shadows. Determined to find him, Claire followed, navigating the darkened train. She stumbled upon a hidden compartment where the man was frantically rifling through a bag. “What are you hiding?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Evidence,” he said, breathless. “I need to get it to the authorities before it's too late. There's a conspiracy…” Just then, the lights blared back on, revealing a chilling sight. Other passengers had gathered, their faces a mix of suspicion and fear. Claire realized the man was not the only one hiding something; each person had their own story, their own secrets. As the train resumed its journey, Claire found herself at a crossroads. Would she expose the truth and unravel the web of deception among the passengers, or would she protect the fragile alliances formed in the face of danger? In that moment, the train roared forward into the night, carrying not just passengers, but the weight of unspoken truths and the promise of revelations yet to come.

“In Plain Sight” An Investigation into UFOs and Impossible Science. (Book Review) On a recent shopping trip, I discovered this book, “In Plain Sight, An Investigation into UFOs and Impossible Science” by Ross Coulthart. The author's name was already strangely familiar to me as I suddenly remembered that Ross Coulthard had also hosted a recent NewsNation program that I had seen on YouTube a few nights earlier. In that astonishing program, Ross Coulthart interviewed David Grusch, a former USAF and US intelligence officer. In this interview, David Grusch reported that he had insider knowledge of covert UFO programs that the United States federal government is allegedly managing. This story alone, sparked my interest and I wanted to learn more about this topic. This NewsNation program interview is truly fascinating and well worth watching. But this TV program is just the tip of the iceberg and when I started to read Ross Coulthart's book “In Plain Sight”, I was amazed by what he had discovered. Ross Coulthart has started a journey of discovery into a phenomenon that has been around for centuries. If you look at global history, you'll quickly discover stories of unidentified objects flying across the sky that even today, still can't be explained. Ross Coulthart's, “In Plain Sight” book is an investigation into the most intriguing and important story in world history. During Ross's journey, he has spoken to witnesses, researchers, defence officials, pilots, and even officials in the intelligence services to find out the truth. His book contains their knowledge, and memories and describes real-life incidents around the world. For decades, governments around the world have tried to hide the knowledge of UFOs or UAPs from the public. But the frequency of these events is too common to cover up. In the United States of America, new laws may soon force the US military, and intelligence services to reveal what they know about UFOs. This data could include any retrievals and reverse engineering programs they have. “In Plain Sight, An Investigation into UFO and Impossible Science” is a joy to read as it's truly fascinating and mind-blowing with what you, the reader will discover about global history. Ross Coulthart's book also explains why we should be optimistic as the biggest story in human history may be getting ready to emerge from the secret vaults of the global establishment. If you like mysteries, conspiracies, new technologies, espionage, UFOs and cover-ups, you`ll love this book as it covers them all. “In Plain Sight”, is the perfect name for the book as it describes the greatest mystery of all time. My full review is listed on my website…https://marcjohnstone.com/book/

I only remember that dark, windy night. The accident. I was having a dreadful headache. I hit the wrong pedal, I accelerated. From there on, I can't remember anything, just me waking up in an ambulance. I couldn't hear anything, just my own breath hyperventilating. Immediately, I arrived at the hospital and the nurses took me to a private room to be checked. It was bizarre that they checked me constantly, which led me to believe I was very injured. I was trying to sleep when I heard a doctor entering the room. When I opened my eyes, I saw a tall man with a white coat. He said that I needed to be transferred to another hospital where I could be monitored by specialized equipment. They took me to a black van where I couldn't see anything through the windows. They started talking. I couldn't hear any words from the stress I was experiencing. Abruptly, I started feeling very dizzy. —Do you know where you are?— That was the first thing I heard after waking up. I was sitting in a chair looking at the wall, zoned out. I just got transferred or at least that was what they told me. Apparently, there was an accident; I can't remember anything. —Pass patient 16 to a room, he is not answering— No, no, no. What room? Get me out of here. I got to the room. I want to get out of this place, yet I don't even remember my name. I just want to get out. —Get me out of here— I repeated to myself while the people in white coats were connecting stuff to my body. I don't want this, make it stop! —Get me out of here— I yelled, but apparently, no one heard me. —Get me out of here— I cried out for help, again no one heard. I was trembling. I couldn't feel my body, which to be honest, I didn't even recognize as mine anymore. My heartbeat quickened. Tick tock I heard a clock. —Get me out of here!— Tick tock. —Get me out— Tick tock. —Get me— Abruptly, everything went dark. Silence. I wasn't dead, I couldn't be. —Patient 16– then everything was bright again. —You blacked out— said the man in a white coat. Then everything went back to normal, if normal is the word to define this whole situation. The past days, the doctor said I've made improvement both physically and mentally. I don't know how I made progress if I never felt off. However, I do experience nightmares, and I don't like the looks I am getting from the people in white coats. They seem as if they are hiding something. The doctor said fresh air would be good for me and that I needed to go for a walk. I don't like going for walks, it scares me. The voices in the halls scare me; nevertheless, I'll go later. I don't know where I could end up. I evaded the halls; I couldn't help myself. They're too scary, so I made my way through the garden. I ended up in a forest with yellowish-leaves. I lost track of time. There were stones on the ground with names of people, also there was a big hole that looked as if it was going to be filled up soon. I panicked; I don't like to panic because of the voices, the voices that come from nowhere. They talked about death. I refuse to think I'm going insane because if there is one thing I am is sane. Rain poured down, it felt like acid. As the rain showered on my shoulders, I ran. ——— My phone rang; I picked it up wondering what could've happened so late at night. —Dr. Collins here— I answered. —Yeah Collins, I've got a patient here; he's outside. He's at the yard, you know, the yard— he emphasized, it was obvious he was at the graveyard, but why? —Also this patient doesn't match any of the files I have here, Is he a…— —Patient of mine?— I interrupted, anyone could be hearing. —Yes, yes he is. I'm on my way— then I hung up. Before I left I checked on our latest operating procedures on our “volunteers”; most of them were still in progress. I went quickly to the main lobby. Once the door opened, the cold wind of late autumn night flew through my coat, down the hall Dr. Bailey spotted me. —Collins!— she called my attention. —Bailey— I responded. —Our procedure with 66 was a succes, yet there is a patient outside, patient 16– she stated. It couldn't be 16 he was… —I'll hurry, thank you— I interrupted my thoughts and arrived at the CCTV room. —Stephan?— —Hello sir, you see the patient, he's been staring at that stone for at least ten minutes— I then saw him turn around. When he saw the camera, he ran into the woods. I had to go. —Sir, there's a gate, after our last escape we reinforced it— I left without answering. ——— I felt scared, the eye on the wall, it looked at me. I ran into the woods. The voices kept screaming, sounds of pain. Someone screamed. I felt whimpering, the voices were no longer there, no more screams. There was a thunderstorm. A shower of lighting hit the ground. As the last strike hit, so did my body, and everything went cold.

Everybody is different. Some of us hear more than the others. This world is an awfully noisy place. Even the silence is deafening. As if such a thing existed for Ella. But if it did, she knows it would be striking. The world is large, but the people in it will find a way to make it smaller if you don't fit in. If you don't find a box to go in, they will find one for you. They will stuff you inside and chain it shut. Ella's world has gotten a lot smaller than it once was, but that hasn't stopped the din. It has only made it worse. These cold, desolate halls echo with screams and the locked doors bounce all of it back at her in waves. They can't escape, so they take up residency inside her mind. Scraping away her sanity. Is it possible that a place meant to house mental illness is actually producing it? She fears in her case, it is. She is not crazy, not the way they say she is. But every day she spends in this place, the more danger there is of losing herself. The constant screaming, the lunatic laughter, and the whispers.... They are driving her mad. Like a dripping tap you can't shut off, no matter how much you try. No matter how tightly she presses her hands against her ears, she hears them. If only the screams would block them out. The hissing chants come through her vents unobstructed. She has to put her desk chair on the bed and stop writing immediately. If she does not stop it right now, the nurse comes around for room checks, and she ends up with an extra dose of whatever poison they are forcing down her throat to keep her docile. Or the nurse takes down to the doctor's office where Ella would spend an hour being told that she has a condition that causes paracusia, and if she continues to act like this, she would die soon. A lecture is better than death. Yes a set of lies is still better than death. The doctor knows she is perfectly sane. He knows there is nothing wrong with her. She just can't handle a lot of noise. Her hearing is better than most people's, a lot better. It means she hears what others can't. But the good doctor won't admit that, just the way he won't admit she is not crazy. She has not even had a hearing test. That would be indulging her fantasies, and it doesn't fit into any of his notions. If she is a normal person with exceptional hearing that suffers from misophonia, it might destroy his perfectly divided and fabricated world. The door swings open quickly. It's the nurse who was expecting to find Ella up on the chair. The latter can see the disappointment in the former's eyes. That one lives for drama, whether it's gossip among the staff or in the lives of her patients. She loves it all. It makes her ten-hour shift nearly bearable and gives her something to whisper about at the nurses corner. “Journaling?” The nurse asks in a fake voice. As if anyone would believe she was that sugary sweet. “The doctor will be glad.” Ella smiles at her like a zombified dope and nod in agreement. If they only knew. If they could only read her words. Her thoughts were so powerful and strong, enough to shatter all the silence around. They would know she was onto them and their vicious plans. Onto their fake medicine and their lies. Onto the evil that happens in the dark. The stuff they don't want anyone to know. But she knows. She hears everything.

Daniella was a serial killer and was standing right in front of Angie, a seventy-three-year- old woman. In the darkness of her mind, Daniella had a conflict on her shoulders. Why should I kill this poor old lady, after all? Do I want to kill her for protection or food?Or do I lack empathy? Maybe my emotions have gone cold and dark. Is this a true depiction of a human being within me? Daniella was having difficulty with keeping what she was feeling in her mind. She could not contain the agitating insanity of her brian. She was having a hard time keeping images of insanity out of her thoughts as she stared at Angie, tied uncomfortably in her bed. “If you are just one, then why are there TWO shadows reflected on the wall directly in front of me?” Angie asked, trembling in fear. “The one closest to you is probably the instigator, I guess. It's responding to the pain I'm going through because I don't really want to kill you.” “And...the other one?” “It's probably the shadow of reason,” Daniella clarified with a frown. Both shadows were unique and served a purpose. Daniella wanted to murder very quickly, but she didn't. The shadows were battling to gain predominance. Each shadow had a distinctive response to Daniella's serial killer actions. They were causing needless mayhem. Daniella had put the murder on pause. “If both shadows are coming from you then why is one shadow darker than the other?” Angie's lips quivered and her legs fidgetted. The pattern of darkness made both shadows different even though they came from the same person. Each shadow had a different personality and emotion. Angie tried to scream. Daniella stood there quietly, unflinched, listening and watching Angie squirm. Angie wasn't even attempting to free herself. Daniella had a sharp, serrated knife, angled in such a way as if ready to stab Angie. Suddenly Daniella started to scurry towards Angie as the darker shadow started shouting profanities which only Daniella could hear. The lighter shadow tried to block the commotion. Angie stopped moving and fidgeting as she witnessed the difficulty Daniella was experiencing. “What is stopping me? Why do I feel so odd inflicting the killer blow?” Daniella muttered. Daniella was listening to the shadows, but still watching Angie, with the knife set for destruction. The serrated knife was ready to rip apart the flesh in Angie's body. Daniella was exercising herculean patience. The darker shadow looked more determined, with the intent to kill. It grew larger and darker than before and covered the entire room—the whole perimeter engulfing the lighter shadow. The shades of darkness kept propping in and out. Daniella started to visualize an arching fountain of blood beginning to fill the room. The lighter shadow seemed to have given a glimmer of hope, before disappearing into the darkness of insanity that was the killer's mind. The lighter shadow was carrying a little light of the killer's consciousness. Though infinitely small and fragile in comparison with the powers of darkness, it is still a light, killer's only light. But eventually got completely discharged, and rendered useless. _________________________________________________________ Author's note: This story is my interpretation from my inner belief of India's three terms describing sainthood: Sat, Chit, Ananda. Sat is the existential stuff of life(mostly the left side of the balance); Chit is the ideal capacity(mostly the right side of balance); Ananda is the bliss, joy, ecstasy of enlightenment—the fulcrum of the seesaw.

It was a usual rainy day. I was heading towards home after a long exhausting day. The roads were wet and vacant. It was slowly turning dark the signal turned red and I stopped my car, played my favorite song, closed my eyes and leaned with the seat to just let all the worries evaporate. Suddenly, my solitude was disturbed by the knock on window mirror. I lift my head up and pulled the mirror down. In front of me was a small lad. He was drenched in rain from head to toe. In his hand were few bouquet of flowers. I caressed his chubby cheeks and asked what he want he passed me a smile and show me his vibrant flowers .I reached for my wallet and gave him few bucks. He gave me the flowers that had almost lost their fragrance and freshness. I said him, ‘It was a gift from my side to you'. He stared at me for a while and replied, “Ummm! Sorry but I can't accept it without selling flowers ! I peered at him, gave him a big smile and demanded to hand over flowers . He asked me back, “which one will you like?” I replied, “ I would buy any that you will endow”. He explored his small basket and took out the roses and said, “ this is the most beautiful of all have this!” I offered him a ride to his home that he accepted happily and sat next to me. On the way ,we both had a little conversation He told me that his name is Hussain and he lives in a nearby slum and is the only breadwinner of his family; an enfeebled and widow mother and 2 younger siblings. He sells the flowers made by his family without using any kind of machine or tools. I appreciated his hard work and dedication towards family. I stopped the car by a local restaurant and ordered burger and fries and gave one to the little boy he devoured the food and finished within few seconds. And it was then I realized that he was hungry; he was starving. I gave him more food so that he can feed his family with this. As I drive through the link road towards his area he showed me where his house was. It was almost near to collapse. I asked, “Hussain don't you feel bad about yourself. You don't have a good house to live, sufficient food to eat, you have to work while children of your age are going to school” He smiled and replied with words that still echoed in my head, “If you had seen that smile on my family face when I return home, the spark in my sibling eyes that lightens up by me, you would have left your job and start doing what I do” His words left me speechless my jaws dropped open. He grinned, jumped out of car and thanked me for the favor. I just stayed there for while to make sure he had reached home safely and what I saw was astounding. As Hussain walked past the narrow rough path, he opened his food parcel, took out a piece of bread and fed the stray dog. It sent a shiver down my spine and I bursted into tears. On that day, I learnt that life is not about living for yourself, grabbing all for you but life is living for others , to put others first and then yourself. I found out the reason behind the distress in my life, the cause of my loneliness, the reason for lacking happiness despite having all facilities ;it was all because I wanted everything first for me and then for other folks. Obliged by the lesson young boy taught me, I went to a property dealer the other day and asked for a little furnished house that he showed me .few weeks after, I shifted Hussain's family to their new house, admitted him and his cute naughty siblings to nearby school .Every month I pay for their rent, food, fee and bills. Nothing much is left behind for me but I've found the happiness that I always longed for.

The following clue was given to me in a yellow envelope with the help of a plump grey-haired woman averaging about 80 years of age. The envelope simply said “Piper Malone, C1 from Beatrice Brown” Here is how it happened. While AC went to find some cute lifeguard to engage with and ventured over to the nearby historical society with Tom's key in hand. Not really quite sure why I had to bring the key, just that I needed it for if nothing else luck. I certainly had no idea was I was going to do when I got to the historical society, but it seemed like a grand place to start.
When I first met the mentioned grey-haired lady she was outside sitting in a rocking chair looking half asleep. She nodded her head to me as I went in. A few moments later she came in and when I saw her sit behind the main desk, I figured I should ask her. So I went up and asked if she had any information about Dr. and Mr. Timothy (that is Tom's real name. His middle name is Owen and his last of course is Morris. That is how he got the nickname TOM.) Morris. Before I could even bat an eyelash she put her fingers to her lips to “shush” me, while at the same time looked around to make sure no one heard me. There was no one else in the whole building that I could see. Besides I was asking about long time dead people, not drugs. Though from the way she acted you would have thought they were just as bad. Never saying a word she got up and motioned for me to follow. We walked in silence through the “Staff Only” door, down a narrow musty hall dimly lit, and filled floor to ceiling with boxes that showed more age than my guide. Finely after a few twist and turns, along with some near misses with boxes that had moved on to the makeshift path. We came to a room with a door numbered 2100 just like on Tom's key. “I assume you have the key”, she said more to the door then to me. I pulled it out of my knapsack and started to hand it to her, but she backed away as if it had suddenly turned into a snake. “You open it”, she said coldly. “I want no more to do with this”. With her last word she turned and walked away. “Part of what” I wondered as I turned the key and unlocked the door, which opened into a tiny poorly painted white closet with bare shelves. Well almost bare, sitting propped up by the back of the wall was a very yellow and very very musty smelling envelope. The must smell was so strong I could not stop sneezing. I had to hold it at arm's length while opening it with shaking hands. I was so terrified that it would just fall apart at any moment. Inside was a not so yellow, but still quite musty piece of paper. Like the one from Tom's lawyer, this paper was also torn. This time however the letter was from Laurie's niece. Here is what she wrote. “All think my aunt was buried at sea, but a different truth I shall tell to thee. In a world they think not to go, we have hidden her from friend and foe. A place her eyes never did see, except in dreams of thee. “ “Great!” I thought.“Just what we need another poet who gives weird clues”. I turned the note over and found a travellers check for 1000.00 simply made out to “Cash”. Hum, I wonder if they still even cash these things” I said to my self as I examined the letter again. That is when I found in a very tiny script the words. “Head to Miami”
“Miami!!” Laurie is in Miami” AC nearly screamed those words after she read the note. Suddenly she pulled out her phone and started searching the internet for directions to Miami. While she was looking I noticed another key. This one was so very small that if I had not felt the weight of its brass making, I would have missed it altogether. I quickly took a picture of it that I sent to the MyBook group Memories. Almost immediately one of their antique experts said that it was a skeleton key for a type urn called a “Coffin Box” “They were very popular in the 1940s” he also added in his IM. “How appropriate” I could not help think as I wrote him a quick thank you IM. I then began another search this time using PicKode. I was searching for pictures of coffin boxes and boy did I find them. I felt an icy chill pass over me when I saw one that had been painted black with a red medical cross on the lid. My mind immediately flashed back over 60 years to when I had seen that exact same box in real life. The night I found Tom filling it with sand. “But he had glued the lid shut. Why would he need a key?” Where just a few of the questions fighting for space in my head at that moment. It seemed as if the longer I was in Florida the more mysterious this whole thing became.

Between sixty aftershocks that are shaking the ground after two strong earthquakes hit Zagreb on a Sunday morning and the threat of a deadly virus, my heart is filled with gratitude and excitement as I reveal the cover and the blurb for January River, my first novel in English. I've been working and waiting over a year for this moment to arrive, so I hope it finds its way to the hearts of many readers and fans. Domi at Inspired Cover Designs did a stunning cover for my eBook and paperback editions, so if you ever need a skilled cover designer, give her a chance! Indie authors, Jonathan Hill and Michael Evans, have big credits for the final look of my blurb, so please show them some love by reading and reviewing their books. January River Blurb Five friends. One dog. One river carrying a secret. When one of their friends goes missing, everything comes crashing down for the small group of childhood friends in the small town of Greenfield. Ethan takes it hard. Then he loses his dog, his only consolation. Hoping to start anew, Ethan leaves Greenfield and moves to New York City. Far from the ghosts of his childhood and the river that gives and takes life. There he finds his one true love and builds a career as a bestselling author. But how long will Ethan's happiness last as doubts creep back into him and shatter his reality? And will his reconciliation with the past come at too great a price? All rivers carry their secrets, but not every river keeps its secret forever. In this heartwarming coming-of-age literary fiction with episodes of mystery and romance cross-genre story, Bernard Jan, the author of Look for Me Under the Rainbow and A World Without Color, speaks of true friendship, first darlings, and real loves. With gentle words he describes our connection with nature and love for our four-legged friends who quickly become honorable members of our families, but also tells about the dark secrets we carry in our hearts. Thank you all who brought me here. January River will be available for purchase on Amazon in April. BJ Source: https://www.bernardjan.com/post/january-river-cover-and-blurb-reveal

I opened the car and sat down without knowing what to do; I just laid my forehead over my arms on the steering wheel. What would I do now? I decided to leave the parking lot and take off somewhere. I stopped in front of the police station. I took a few deep breaths and left the car. I climbed up the stairs to the right of the reception office. The police on duty kept staring at me until he kindly asked me what happened or if there was a problem since I looked bad. I swallowed and began to stutter. "Miss...Were you a victim of a sexual act performed against your will?”... “Yes” “You're lyin' madame, because we know that dude for whom you're getting a case filed against. He is a part of our police team and had a camera on his shirt that we can see from our computer and ½ of what you said was true like the sexual acts allegations and we're sorry about that, so, we'll cut your jail time in half. The result is just half aN year in jail.”

How Would You Feel if: When you opened your eyes, the sunlight was beaming through the window. You suppose it is an early afternoon since the sun was pounding down. You took a glance at the ceiling; it was a cream color and there was a lamp shaped like a teardrop; the walls were an apricot color with some rural pictures hanging. Your look was fixed on them for a brief while, then, you simply opened your eyes completely; a lock of hair was in your eye; You gently scraped it out of the way with your finger. You felt something moist when you touched your face. When you glanced at your hand, it was drenched with blood. You sat up in bed, surprised, and you saw him alongside you— a young man with short hair, dull skin, eyes shut, his face and chest secured with blood. He had a stream of blood hanging out of his mouth, however, it was solid-dry by then. You didn't comprehend what was going on- thoughts and questions had started to fill your head- Why is there a wounded guy next to me and where has he come from. You nudged him with your finger to wake him up— he was cold. His skin was bone-tweaking cold. This is what happened to Camryn, though. To find out, Read part 1B.

Mystery in the hills It was a bright and beautiful Sunday morning on the hilly plains of the cool suburban town of Mampong. I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and crickets creaking from the bushes surrounding my two-storey bungalow. As I opened my eyes and managed to crawl out of bed, I had only one agenda on my mind: to make it to church that morning. It neither mattered that my musculoskeletal system was in defiance to this religious routine of mine; nor that each movement was a reminder of the fatigue and soreness of my muscles and joints. I quickly took a glance at the samsung phone lying on my bedside table. Thankfully I had not been called to attend to any sick child or adult during the night. That was a first! Then why was I so tired this morning? I bent down to pick up my stethoscope from the floor and toppled over three feeding bottles, the last of them, half empty. The sound startled the 18 month old chocolate-skinned boy still sleeping in my bed. I quietly dragged myself to the bathroom. Washing down took longer than usual. My mind seemed to join my body in the protest. “Just stay home and rest!” it seemed to yell at me. Having been trained to always lay myself aside to care for my patients' needs first, my body was used to constantly being ignored. Today was clearly not going to be an exception. “Going to church?” My husband asked as I walked out of the bathroom. He had just returned from morning rounds on the hospital ward, a walking distance from our bungalow. “Yeah” I replied. “Coming along?” I asked. “No” he replied. “I am tired.” The drive to the capital city was 35 minutes. Getting dressed became an ordeal. I could not seem to settle on any particular attire. The one I finally chose ended up being burnt under the pressing iron. It was time to leave. I stooped into the still new black ASX SUV, a gift from my parents for graduating medical school in a foreign land, to ensure the Baby was strapped down. Strapping down, I said a miniature prayer. We took off. The first sight to greet us was the coffin craftsman with his various coffins on display infront of his grass thatched, bamboo- pillared shop, situated just opposite to the hospital entrance. Next we bypassed houses of different structure, shapes and sizes: some made with concrete mortar, others with clay. There were various goods for sale on display in front of many households; most of them farm produce. The most unusual thoughts run through my mind as I was driving on those smooth asphalt roads. The first was more of a suggestion as we bypassed one of the many churches in Mampong: “Why don't you stop here, and attend one of these churches in spite of driving all the way to Accra?” I found this thought odd. Why would I ever want to do that? To begin with, I hardly knew these people. Secondly, I was an ‘Actionite', meaning I was a member of Action Chapel International, a rather prestigious, charismatic church based in Ghana. Furthermore, I rarely got the opportunity to attend Sunday services these days. I put on the radio to bring my mind back from ‘overdrive'. There was some cool, soothing music that just did the trick. Shortly after that came the voice of Bishop T.D. Jakes blasting through the air waves. We bypassed a pack of children walking on the roadside, being directed by two or more adults. Beyond this point, we were almost in Accra. An erratically moving taxi cab upstream from us caught my eye. It charged straight into a four by four land cruiser about 900 feet from us, missing it by inches as both drivers swerved to avoid collision. The land cruiser sped off. Upon the sheer blink of my eye, I heard a very loud resounding CRASH, within inches of my very face, and felt a great, quick rotating force that turned me through an angle of 90 degrees in the horizontal plane. Then another ‘crash', equally forceful,behind me. Then I heard the most sinister cry of laughter ever! A second voice screamed: “I told you not to go! It is not time! There are many more things to be done, books to be written, stories to be told, many more things to be accomplished!” I blinked a few more times before I came to. Our SUV had been knocked off the road into a nearby ditch, next to a cemetery by that uncontrollably spinning taxi cab! I got down immediately at the thought of the baby. The windscreen of the taxi cab had been shattered into a million pieces, but surprisingly, frozen in place! I rushed to the other back side door realizing that the door behind me had was disfigured.I slipped on broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor and fell to the ground, my hands trembling as the gravity of the situation dawned on me. But we were safe, including the heavily intoxicated taxi driver! A few pieces of glass from the taxi's shattered windscreen being embedded in our chest and neck or the sheer force from the abrupt rotation of the vehicle ripping our aorta is all it would have taken to make this story end differently. Yet we were spared!

"It's a bird!" "It's a plane!" "No it's...a star?" A fallen star, shining a bright white is descending in the air towards the New York City ground where everyone can see. It gets closer towards the ground within every passing second, and terrified screams echo in the busy streets from the by passers all watching in shock, curiosity, and fear of what this star could mean. Cars and individuals hurry to run away from under the star so they wouldn't get trapped underneath it when it finally hits the surface. Boom! An explosion erupts from a freshly formed crater, silencing all screams and sending every observers' ears ringing as they cover their faces to avoid debris and dust coming from the ground. Officers blow away the smoke and lean over the edge of the crater to see what sort of object has disrupted their town. But laying helplessly was no object, no star, no bird. Instead, it was a child, with weird markings on it's skin, indicating that they were definitely from another world.