Every time I step into her apartment, I remind myself of the rules. The rules that keep me from getting trapped in this affair. I’ve learned to be meticulous, almost paranoid, about my exit strategy. It’s a dance of caution and desire, a balance I’ve perfected over time.

I keep my car keys, shoes, and clothes strategically placed between the bed and the bedroom door. They’re within arm’s reach, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. I never bring more than the bare minimum into the room — no personal items, no traces of my presence. It’s a calculated move, ensuring that nothing is left behind, nothing that could tie me to this place after I’m done.

Each time we meet, I’m acutely aware of the ticking clock. I savour the moments, but I never let myself get too comfortable. I know that when the time comes to leave, it has to be swift and decisive. There’s no room for hesitation, no second-guessing. When I choose to end this affair, it’ll happen quickly. There will be no debates, and there’ll be no looking back.

I’ve rehearsed the exit in my mind countless times. I can see it clearly as the sky is blue: the swift gathering of my things, the quiet slip out the door, the drive away without a backward glance. It’s a plan that gives me a sense of control, a way to protect myself from the emotional entanglement that affairs inevitably bring.

But for now, I’m still here, caught in the allure of forbidden moments. I know it’s a dangerous game, but the thrill is intoxicating. I tell myself I’m prepared and can walk away whenever I choose. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep me from falling too deep.

As I lie next to her, I can feel the weight of my decisions. The exit strategy is my safety net, my way of maintaining a semblance of control in a situation that’s anything but. It’s a delicate balance, one that I navigate with care, always ready to make my escape.

-Mitchell

Mitchell Felding is a character in SEETHINGS. He’s entered a relationship with Nina under extreme caution, prepared to leave her the second things turn sour. To him, their arrangement is temporary. He knows Nina from another life. They dated decades ago and were set to marry when she abruptly ended it, leaving him disappointed and brokenhearted. They parted and lived different lives for nearly two decades.

Nina’s marriage to Lindesay didn’t last. She caught him with the babysitter, and that sealed their fate. The custody battle that followed was awful. She was bitter and angry over it, but at the end of that war, she was left alone. Mitchell called her out of the blue and he sounded like a breath of fresh air. Happy memories came flooding back. Their former teenage romance was rekindled once again.

Mitchell remembers the breakup as though it happened yesterday. The tragic ending took him by surprise. He predicts this new relationship will end for the same reasons. While their lovemaking is well-matched and brings them sexual fulfilment, he knows it does not lead to a happy-ever-after story. Their relationship is time-limited; therefore, if it’s to end, it will end on his terms… this time.

Internalized mind play between two former lovers during the throes of passion is just one part of SEETHINGS. How these two second-life lovers come to make contact again matters more. How it ends makes up another significant section.

You want to know how it ends, right?

But they needed somewhere to call their own, a symbol, and they felt a right to visit that symbolic place anytime they liked, even if it meant fighting for it.

And they did, many times over, no matter who or what stood in their way.

Did someone say that sounds like The Crusades?

Yes, it does.

A string of Church-sanctioned wars spanning centuries were waged to reclaim (or claim) Jerusalem on behalf of the Christian citizens. Armies went to Jerusalem for religious reasons but returned with riches instead.

Let’s not list all of what and who was plundered and abused: gold, silver, gems, art, women, children. Instead, let’s mention the desire to go back and do it over again. Christians successfully reached their objective several times, only to lose it several times, too. Oh yes, the Crusades won their goals, but they also lost them.

Lost on purpose?

Is that possible?

Sure. Why not? Going back to Jerusalem in the name of Christ allows more plundering to occur. Jerusalem was superfluous. It was about the war, not the town. The Church became extremely wealthy from the Crusade’s journeys to this so-called Holy Land. When those wars were over, Vatican City State became a sovereign nation. Let me say that again. A church bought its right to be an independent country within another country, using the wealth it stole from others.

Why a sovereign nation?

To protect its ill-gotten wealth with rules and laws of its own. The layers of security that guard it are many and complex. You and I will never know the depth of the secrets hidden behind those walls.

What inspired this latest post was listening to Chris DeBurgh’s fabulous song ‘Jerusalem Is Lost‘ and hearing history repeating itself in every lyric.

Mankind loves a war. We do war well. Peace unsettles powerful people enough to create a destabilizing war. It’s not just about retribution, fury, liberty, justice or righteousness. It’s also an opportunity to take what’s not theirs to own. They use war to acquire foreign riches, lands, and people. There is much to gain in winning a good war.

-Mitchell

He had a lovely wife, two well-behaved children, a golden retriever, and a job as an accountant who kept the bills paid and the weekends free. Neighbours often waved at him as he mowed his lawn, his smile warm and genuine, the kind that made you feel safe.

But hidden beneath this mask of normalcy was a darkness so cold it left no trace. Daniel was a predator, one who thrived on the art of blending in. He was meticulous, methodical, and, most importantly, invisible. He didn’t fit the typical profile of a monster. There were no sudden outbursts of violence, no red flags to suggest something sinister lay beneath his polished exterior. In fact, Daniel made it a point to be helpful to his community. He volunteered, attended PTA meetings, and hosted barbecues that everyone raved about.

The genius of Daniel’s killings lay not in the acts themselves but in how he chose his victims—people on the fringes, those whose absence would stir curiosity but never real concern. He moved quietly, like a shadow slipping through cracks in the night. Each murder was planned with surgical precision, a hobby he indulged in like a puzzle only he could solve. And once the deed was done, he buried the evidence so deep no one ever knew to look.

The police had no reason to suspect him. Why would they? Daniel Monroe was the perfect neighbour, the kind of man who baked cookies for the local shelter and coached Little League. He was ordinary dependable—a true pillar of the community.

But monsters don’t always hide in the dark.

They live next door. They smile at you in the grocery store. And maybe, just maybe, they’re the one writing this story.

-M.

It was the time of guitar bands, deep shag pile carpets and sweeping archways. You know what I’m talking about if you’re smiling at those keywords. You were once knee-deep in the 70’s revolution, enjoying life as it was meant.

What a groovy time in history! What a decade!

That’s how it felt for me this week when I found myself in a suburb that seemed to be frozen in the seventies era. I couldn’t believe it. How could an entire neighbourhood trap itself in a decade? I get it when one or two homes hang onto an old theme, but a whole cluster? Someone loved their 70’s experiences.

What about those brick archways that slap a big fat date on a home? And there’s even more brick around them, brown carpet and brown stained glass. Timber, brick and mission brown fences became a canvas for everything — light brown leather lounge suites and dark brown lazy boys. Stereo systems came in rich mahogany or walnut. It’s hard to imagine such dark tones in today’s modern homes!

Remember the Flake-lady? Y’know, she was the TV chick blowing a chocolate bar, so consumers bought more of their product? Every girl wanted to go down on that chocolate bar, and every guy wanted to be a chocolate bar. (What’s wrong with a cocaine-fuelled, hedonistic decade driving unadulterated sexuality?)

That brings us to Farrah Fawcett’s shoulder! That dead sexy 70’s icon hooked me — and that’s when I discovered that backlighting was marvellous. Everyone should have a backlight kit to look that good. Ill-fitting clothes go a long way to produce that barely dressed look (or, I’m in the middle of getting undressed look).

Remember key parties? Pop a pill, swap a wife, and everyone goes home happy. The only risk was waking up beside your own, not the Farrah lookalike with the sexy shoulder and two hungry eyes across the room. (That’s not supposed to happen!).

History probably didn’t go that way for everyone, but that’s what this writer imagined might’ve happened inside a neighbourhood frozen in the time of discos and corduroys.

-M

If this topic caught your interest, you’d know how special a handwritten love note is — to give and to receive.

It’s been a long time since I last experienced that nervous anticipation of swapping love notes but I still like the tradition of them. It makes me feel warm inside.

It took time to create a message and just as much time to get a response. We didn’t know the outcome of our message until we received a reply. During that time, fluttering hearts made the journey to discovery deliciously wonderful.

A close friend might’ve been invited into the loop to assist us in deciphering love notes received or helping to construct new ones to send. Every heartfelt angle had to be mapped out in the right words to make sure enough of the right things were said the right way — but not too much to sound weird or desperate!

Some high school note swaps weren’t between students. On rare occasions, the exchange occurred between a pupil and a member of staff. This kind of note wouldn’t be one the faculty or the community would approve of. A teacher could be reprimanded or fired over the contents of such a love letter.

While you and I did good, studious things behind our high school desks, some students were in contact with their teachers covertly. A discreet note was placed in a homework book or an assignment paper, and the exchange happened on the teacher’s desk, right in front of every other student at the beginning of the day.

Nobody else knew about these kinds of notes, not even close friends.

I can’t say how often this happened, but I know one that occurred when I was a teen. It was a time when phone messaging wasn’t available. Handwritten notes were standard. There was no choice but to use paper and a pen for everything.

When it came to swapping notes, the teacher collected our books at the beginning of class, marked them during the lesson and then handed the homework books back to us at the end of class. One young lass always had a special message concealed inside her homework book. It was obvious. I saw her pay unusual attention to that book the second we left the classroom.

Anna couldn’t help herself. She frantically flicked through its pages and snatched at something between the book’s leaves. Whatever it was went straight into her pocket — a dead giveaway.

And then there were those gooey eyes she wore during each lesson. When Mr Yublinski was there, Anna’s widened pools drowned him in them. Nothing else in the room existed.

There was a brief moment when I considered speaking to her about her lack of subtlety but decided against it. About a week later, rumours developed among the student body about their secret affair. A month after that, there was an investigation. As there was no proof of one existing, life went on like nothing happened. The couple cooled off, and Anna did her best to play down looks across the classroom. The school year ended, and the senior class graduated. Three months later, Anna announced her engagement to — you guessed it — Mr Yublinski.

Oh yes, they were adamant that it didn’t start until after the school year ended. No one bought it, but the school was satisfied.

The couple got married and had a daughter. She must be about thirty now. As far as I know, they are still together, living life and loving each other today.

I care about love letters, first loves and first kisses.

But I am in two minds about teachers and students sharing love letters and starting their affairs during school hours.

–Michael