Moments with light

Once upon a time in the bustling city of Stratonia, there lived a young and ambitious individual named Alex Turner. Alex had always been fascinated by the world of business and entrepreneurship. From a young age, Alex exhibited a keen sense of innovation and a natural ability to identify opportunities. One day, as Alex was walking through the vibrant streets of Stratonia, an idea struck like lightning. It was an opportunity that seemed too good to pass up – a chance to start a small business that could make a big impact. Excitement bubbled within Alex as the vision of entrepreneurship took shape. Eager to set a solid foundation for the business, Alex began drafting a mission statement. This document outlined the purpose of the venture, emphasizing the values and goals that would guide every decision. In the spirit of business ethics, Alex was committed to conducting operations in a morally sound manner, considering the impact on employees, customers, and the community. With the mission statement in hand, Alex set out to turn the entrepreneurial dream into reality. A code of ethics was established, reflecting a commitment to honesty, integrity, and fairness. This code served as a compass, ensuring that the business upheld the highest moral standards in every interaction. As the small business started gaining traction, innovation became a cornerstone of its success. Alex encouraged a culture of creativity, where employees were empowered to think outside the box and contribute fresh ideas. This commitment to innovation not only kept the business ahead of the competition but also fostered an environment where everyone felt valued and engaged. However, as the business expanded, challenges arose. Alex faced decisions that tested the principles outlined in the code of ethics. It was during these moments that the true character of the entrepreneur shone through. Alex remained steadfast in upholding the values that had been set from the beginning, even when faced with tempting shortcuts that could compromise integrity. The journey of entrepreneurship in Stratonia proved to be a rollercoaster of highs and lows. Yet, through unwavering commitment to the mission statement, a dedication to business ethics, and a passion for innovation, Alex Turner built a small business into an enduring success. The story of Alex and their venture became a beacon for aspiring entrepreneurs, a testament to the transformative power of ethical entrepreneurship and the pursuit of opportunities, no matter how small.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

The Pedestrian (adapted) by Ray Bradbury Mr. Leonard Mead loved to walk outside at night. The city was quiet at eight o’clock on a misty November evening. He liked to put his hands in his pockets and stroll along the cracked sidewalks, stepping over grass that grew between the concrete. He would stop at the corners, look down the empty streets, and choose which way to go. It didn’t really matter which way he picked, because he was always alone in the year 2053. Sometimes, Mr. Mead would walk for hours and miles, coming home only at midnight. As he walked, he saw houses with their windows dark, like he was walking through a graveyard. Sometimes, he saw tiny flashes of light from behind curtains or heard soft voices from open windows. Mr. Mead wore sneakers so his footsteps wouldn’t make noise. If he wore shoes with hard heels, the dogs would bark and people might look out their windows. He liked being quiet and unnoticed as he walked in the cool November air. On this night, Mr. Mead walked west, toward the sea. The air was cold and frosty, making his nose sting and his lungs feel fresh. He listened to the sound of his shoes in the fallen leaves and sometimes picked up a leaf to look at it under the streetlights. As he walked, he whispered to the houses, “Hello in there. What’s on TV tonight? Where are the cowboys? Is the cavalry coming?” But the street was silent and empty, with only his shadow moving. He checked his watch. “Eight-thirty. Is it time for a quiz show? Or a funny show?” He thought he heard laughter from a house, but nothing else happened. He kept walking, sometimes stumbling over the broken sidewalk. In all his years of walking, he had never seen another person out at night. He reached a big intersection where two highways crossed. During the day, it was full of cars, but now it was empty and quiet, like a dry riverbed. Mr. Mead turned onto a side street, heading home. Suddenly, a police car turned the corner and shined a bright light on him. He stood still, surprised by the light. A metallic voice from the car said, “Stand still. Don’t move! Put up your hands!” Mr. Mead obeyed. The police car asked, “What’s your name?” “Leonard Mead,” he answered. “What’s your job?” “I guess I’m a writer,” Mr. Mead said. The police car replied, “No profession.” Mr. Mead hadn’t written anything in years, since people didn’t buy books or magazines anymore. People just stayed inside their houses, watching TV. The car asked, “What are you doing out?” “I’m walking,” Mr. Mead said. “Walking? Just walking?” the car repeated. “Yes,” he said. “Where are you walking? Why?” “For air. To see things,” Mr. Mead answered. “Your address?” “Eleven South Saint James Street.” “Do you have air in your house? An air conditioner?” “Yes.” “Do you have a TV?” “No.” “No?” The car was quiet for a moment. “Are you married?” “No,” Mr. Mead said. “Not married,” the car said. The night was cold and quiet. “Just walking, Mr. Mead?” “Yes.” “But why?” “I told you. For air, to see, and just to walk.” “Do you do this often?” “Every night for years.” The police car was silent for a moment. Then it said, “Get in.” The back door opened. “Wait, I haven’t done anything!” Mr. Mead protested. “Get in,” the car repeated. Mr. Mead looked into the car. There was no one inside, just an empty front seat. The back seat was like a small jail cell, cold and hard. “Where are you taking me?” he asked. The car answered, “To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.” Mr. Mead got in. The door closed, and the car drove away through the empty streets. As they passed his house, he saw that all the lights were on. “That’s my house,” he said, but no one answered. The car drove off into the night, leaving the streets empty and silent for the rest of the cold November night.

7.018 Safe Injection Practices (Refer to 7.07 Safe Injection Policy) Environment of Care: Active participation with all identified projects to assess compliance with infection control standards. . Surveillance, Control, and Reporting includes: Baseline information about the frequency and type of nosocomial infections. Identification of patients and/or staff with communicable or potentially communicable infections. Patients identified with a communicable disease will be isolated from other patients in the facility or, if this is not possible, they will be transferred to a local hospital for care or rescheduled. Identification of clusters of microorganisms or significant deviations from endemic level. Reporting to committees and outside agencies, when required. Investigation of infections as needed. Immediate implementation of corrective and preventive measures that result in improvements. The Infection Control nurse or designated staff member will perform facility audits and report results to the QI committee and Board of Managers. EVALUATION Evaluation and improvement of the infection prevention and control activities are important steps in the Center’s efforts to control and prevent infection. Infection prevention and control practices should become a routine part of the care, treatment, or services the center provides to patients. Patients expect and deserve hygienic and safe care even if their contact with the Center does not extend beyond a single visit. Continuous review of the goals, activities, and outcomes of the Center’s initiative are therefore followed by improvement activities that are realistic in expectation and, above all, effective. Evaluation of the plan shall include but not be limited to: Evaluation of the infection prevention and control activities annually and whenever risks significantly change. The evaluation includes a review of the following: The infection prevention and control prioritized risks The infection prevention and control goals. Implementation of infection prevention and control Outcomes of infection prevention and control activities. Findings from the evaluation are communicated at least annually to the Quality Management Committee References: http://oneandonlycampaign.org/content/what-are-they-why-follow-them. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). (2004). Guidance for the Selection and Use of Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) in Healthcare Settings. Retrieved January 29, 2015 from www.cdc.gov/niosh/topics/bbp/sharps.html. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). (2003). Guidelines for Environmental Infection Control in Health-Care Facilities 52(RR10);1-42. Retrieved January 29, 2015 from http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/rr5210a1.htm. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). (2002). Guideline for Hand Hygiene in Health-Care Settings: Recommendations of the Healthcare Infection Control Practices Advisory Committee and the HICPAC/SHEA/APIC/IDSA Hand Hygiene Task Force. MMWR. 51(RR-16). Retrieved January 29, 2015 from http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/rr5116a1.htm. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). (2008). Sharps Safety Workbook. Retrieved April 24 2014 from http://www.cdc.gov/sharpssafety/pdf/workbookcomplete.pdf. Guideline for Infection Control in Healthcare Personnnel available at: Guideline for Infection Control in Healthcare Personnel available at: http://www.cdc.gov/hicpac/pdf/InfectControl98.pdf Immunization of HealthCare Personnel, guidance available at: http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/spec-grps/hcw.htm Occupational Safety & Health Administration (OSHA) Bloodborne Pathogens and Needlestick Prevention Standards available at: http://www.osha.gov/SLTC/bloodbornepathogens/index.html Sax H, et al. (2007). My five moments for hand hygiene: A user-centered design approach to understand, train, monitor and report hand hygiene. For the World Health Organization. J Hosp Infect 67(1):9–21. World Health Organization (WHO). (2005). World Alliance for Patient Safety. WHO Guidelines on Hand Hygiene in Health Care. Retrieved January 29 , 2015 from http://www.who.int/patientsafety/events/05/HH_en.pdf.

Me than in others , a sense which I once possessed in the greatest perfection ..." Even in his darkest moments , however , Beethoven never abandoned hope . Despite his hearing loss , he was determined to find a way to continue living a life full of music . He used a variety of hearing aids to try to increase the amount of sound he could take in . When composing music at the piano , he would put one end of a pencil in his mouth and place the other end against the instrument so that he could feel the notes . Although Beethoven was able to continue composing music , it became increasingly difficult for him to perform in public . When Beethoven presented Symphony No .9 in Vienna in 1824, it was his first time on stage in over ten years . Since that day , Beethoven ' s Symphony No .9 has become one of the most famous and treasured pieces in the history of classical music . The first movement starts quietly , but all of a sudden the whole orchestra breaks into an energetic theme . You can soon feel the determination - a quality Beethoven understood well because of his hearing difficulties - coursing through the music . The next two movements are full of desperate lows and uplifting highs which perhaps reflect both his suffering and his strong will to fight it . The music moves through technically difficult sections with ease , showing his genius as a composer . Finally , in the fourth movement , he connects all of the different variations into a joyful chorus . As Beethoven ' s last great work , his Symphony No .9 was also a grand finale to his life - he died less than three years after the concert in Vienna , aged 56. For his amazing achievements and for his determination even in his darkest days , Beethoven is regarded as one of the most remarkable musicians who ever lived .

Understanding Quantum Theory of Electrons in Atoms The goal of this section is to understand the electron orbitals (location of electrons in atoms), their different energies, and other properties. The use of quantum theory provides the best understanding to these topics. This knowledge is a precursor to chemical bonding. As was described previously, electrons in atoms can exist only on discrete energy levels but not between them. It is said that the energy of an electron in an atom is quantized, that is, it can be equal only to certain specific values and can jump from one energy level to another but not transition smoothly or stay between these levels. The energy levels are labeled with an n value, where n = 1, 2, 3, …. Generally speaking, the energy of an electron in an atom is greater for greater values of n. This number, n, is referred to as the principal quantum number. The principal quantum number defines the location of the energy level. It is essentially the same concept as the n in the Bohr atom description. Another name for the principal quantum number is the shell number. The shells of an atom can be thought of concentric circles radiating out from the nucleus. The electrons that belong to a specific shell are most likely to be found within the corresponding circular area. The further we proceed from the nucleus, the higher the shell number, and so the higher the energy level (Figure 9.4.1). The positively charged protons in the nucleus stabilize the electronic orbitals by electrostatic attraction between the positive charges of the protons and the negative charges of the electrons. So the further away the electron is from the nucleus, the greater the energy it has. This quantum mechanical model for where electrons reside in an atom can be used to look at electronic transitions, the events when an electron moves from one energy level to another. If the transition is to a higher energy level, energy is absorbed, and the energy change has a positive value. To obtain the amount of energy necessary for the transition to a higher energy level, a photon is absorbed by the atom. A transition to a lower energy level involves a release of energy, and the energy change is negative. This process is accompanied by emission of a photon by the atom. The following equation summarizes these relationships and is based on the hydrogen atom: The values nf and ni are the final and initial energy states of the electron. The principal quantum number is one of three quantum numbers used to characterize an orbital. An atomic orbital, which is distinct from an orbit, is a general region in an atom within which an electron is most probable to reside. The quantum mechanical model specifies the probability of finding an electron in the three-dimensional space around the nucleus and is based on solutions of the Schrödinger equation. In addition, the principal quantum number defines the energy of an electron in a hydrogen or hydrogen-like atom or an ion (an atom or an ion with only one electron) and the general region in which discrete energy levels of electrons in a multi-electron atoms and ions are located. Another quantum number is l, the angular momentum quantum number. It is an integer that defines the shape of the orbital, and takes on the values, l = 0, 1, 2, …, n – 1. This means that an orbital with n = 1 can have only one value of l, l = 0, whereas n = 2 permits l = 0 and l = 1, and so on. The principal quantum number defines the general size and energy of the orbital. The l value specifies the shape of the orbital. Orbitals with the same value of l form a subshell. In addition, the greater the angular momentum quantum number, the greater is the angular momentum of an electron at this orbital. Orbitals with l = 0 are called s orbitals (or the s subshells). The value l = 1 corresponds to the p orbitals. For a given n, p orbitals constitute a p subshell (e.g., 3p if n = 3). The orbitals with l = 2 are called the d orbitals, followed by the f-, g-, and h-orbitals for l = 3, 4, 5, and there are higher values we will not consider. There are certain distances from the nucleus at which the probability density of finding an electron located at a particular orbital is zero. In other words, the value of the wavefunction ψ is zero at this distance for this orbital. Such a value of radius r is called a radial node. The number of radial nodes in an orbital is n – l – 1. Consider the examples in Figure 9.4.2. The orbitals depicted are of the s type, thus l = 0 for all of them. It can be seen from the graphs of the probability densities that there are 1 – 0 – 1 = 0 places where the density is zero (nodes) for 1s (n = 1), 2 – 0 – 1 = 1 node for 2s, and 3 – 0 – 1 = 2 nodes for the 3s orbitals. The s subshell electron density distribution is spherical and the p subshell has a dumbbell shape. The d and f orbitals are more complex. These shapes represent the three-dimensional regions within which the electron is likely to be found. Principal quantum number (n) & Orbital angular momentum (l): The Orbital Subshell: https://youtu.be/ms7WR149fAY If an electron has an angular momentum (l ≠ 0), then this vector can point in different directions. In addition, the z component of the angular momentum can have more than one value. This means that if a magnetic field is applied in the z direction, orbitals with different values of the z component of the angular momentum will have different energies resulting from interacting with the field. The magnetic quantum number, called ml, specifies the z component of the angular momentum for a particular orbital. For example, for an s orbital, l = 0, and the only value of ml is zero. For p orbitals, l = 1, and ml can be equal to –1, 0, or +1. Generally speaking, ml can be equal to –l, –(l – 1), …, –1, 0, +1, …, (l – 1), l. The total number of possible orbitals with the same value of l (a subshell) is 2l + 1. Thus, there is one s-orbital for ml = 0, there are three p-orbitals for ml = 1, five d-orbitals for ml = 2, seven f-orbitals for ml = 3, and so forth. The principal quantum number defines the general value of the electronic energy. The angular momentum quantum number determines the shape of the orbital. And the magnetic quantum number specifies orientation of the orbital in space, as can be seen in Figure 9.4.3. Figure 9.4.4 illustrates the energy levels for various orbitals. The number before the orbital name (such as 2s, 3p, and so forth) stands for the principal quantum number, n. The letter in the orbital name defines the subshell with a specific angular momentum quantum number l = 0 for s orbitals, 1 for p orbitals, 2 for d orbitals. Finally, there are more than one possible orbitals for l ≥ 1, each corresponding to a specific value of ml. In the case of a hydrogen atom or a one-electron ion (such as He+, Li2+, and so on), energies of all the orbitals with the same n are the same. This is called a degeneracy, and the energy levels for the same principal quantum number, n, are called degenerate energy levels. However, in atoms with more than one electron, this degeneracy is eliminated by the electron–electron interactions, and orbitals that belong to different subshells have different energies. Orbitals within the same subshell (for example ns, np, nd, nf, such as 2p, 3s) are still degenerate and have the same energy. While the three quantum numbers discussed in the previous paragraphs work well for describing electron orbitals, some experiments showed that they were not sufficient to explain all observed results. It was demonstrated in the 1920s that when hydrogen-line spectra are examined at extremely high resolution, some lines are actually not single peaks but, rather, pairs of closely spaced lines. This is the so-called fine structure of the spectrum, and it implies that there are additional small differences in energies of electrons even when they are located in the same orbital. These observations led Samuel Goudsmit and George Uhlenbeck to propose that electrons have a fourth quantum number. They called this the spin quantum number, or ms. The other three quantum numbers, n, l, and ml, are properties of specific atomic orbitals that also define in what part of the space an electron is most likely to be located. Orbitals are a result of solving the Schrödinger equation for electrons in atoms. The electron spin is a different kind of property. It is a completely quantum phenomenon with no analogues in the classical realm. In addition, it cannot be derived from solving the Schrödinger equation and is not related to the normal spatial coordinates (such as the Cartesian x, y, and z). Electron spin describes an intrinsic electron “rotation” or “spinning.” Each electron acts as a tiny magnet or a tiny rotating object with an angular momentum, even though this rotation cannot be observed in terms of the spatial coordinates. The magnitude of the overall electron spin can only have one value, and an electron can only “spin” in one of two quantized states. One is termed the α state, with the z component of the spin being in the positive direction of the z axis. This corresponds to the spin quantum number ms=12. The other is called the β state, with the z component of the spin being negative and ms=−12. Any electron, regardless of the atomic orbital it is located in, can only have one of those two values of the spin quantum number. The energies of electrons having ms=−12 and ms=12 are different if an external magnetic field is applied. Figure 9.4.5 illustrates this phenomenon. An electron acts like a tiny magnet. Its moment is directed up (in the positive direction of the z axis) for the 12 spin quantum number and down (in the negative z direction) for the spin quantum number of −12. A magnet has a lower energy if its magnetic moment is aligned with the external magnetic field (the left electron) and a higher energy for the magnetic moment being opposite to the applied field. This is why an electron with ms=12 has a slightly lower energy in an external field in the positive z direction, and an electron with ms=−12 has a slightly higher energy in the same field. This is true even for an electron occupying the same orbital in an atom. A spectral line corresponding to a transition for electrons from the same orbital but with different spin quantum numbers has two possible values of energy; thus, the line in the spectrum will show a fine structure splitting. The Pauli Exclusion Principle An electron in an atom is completely described by four quantum numbers: n, l, ml, and ms. The first three quantum numbers define the orbital and the fourth quantum number describes the intrinsic electron property called spin. An Austrian physicist Wolfgang Pauli formulated a general principle that gives the last piece of information that we need to understand the general behavior of electrons in atoms. The Pauli exclusion principle can be formulated as follows: No two electrons in the same atom can have exactly the same set of all the four quantum numbers. What this means is that electrons can share the same orbital (the same set of the quantum numbers n, l, and ml), but only if their spin quantum numbers ms have different values. Since the spin quantum number can only have two values (±12), no more than two electrons can occupy the same orbital (and if two electrons are located in the same orbital, they must have opposite spins). Therefore, any atomic orbital can be populated by only zero, one, or two electrons. The properties and meaning of the quantum numbers of electrons in atoms are briefly

Make a vocabulary quiz with the words immigrated, moment, inspected, arrived

Spectacular - Spektakulär Unexpected - Oväntad A moment of truce - Ett vapenstillestånd Push the limits - Tänja på gränserna Free climber - Fria klättrare Descriptions - Beskrivningar Get a rush from - Få en kick från End up face to face with sharks - Sluta ansikte mot ansikte med hajar Crawling - Krypande Chalk powder - Kritpulver Pouch around your waist - Påse runt din midja On purpose - Med avsikt Seek thrills - Söka spänningar Accomplish my dreams - Uppnå mina drömmar Comes at a cost - Kommer med ett pris Permission - Tillstånd Achievements - Framgångar Fallen from heights - Fallit från höjder Fallen into a coma - Hamnat i koma Stiches - Stygn Target - Mål Reaching his goal - Nå sitt mål Retell - Berätta om Ordinary people - Vanliga människor Uncommon - Ovanlig On American soil - På amerikansk mark Hijacked - Kapat The outcome - Resultatet The public - Allmänheten Structural engineer - Byggnadsingenjör Port - Hamn Witnessing - Vittna Make it down the stairwell - Ta sig ner för trapphuset A roaring sound - Ett brölande ljud Take cover - Söka skydd Crouched down - Hopkrupen The walls cracked open - Väggarna sprack upp Underneath - Under Fall unconscious - Förlora medvetandet In the rubble - I rasmassorna Unaware of - Omedveten om Devastating moment in history - Förödande ögonblick i historien The mobile network is down - Mobilnätverket ligger nere Commit crimes - Begå brott Throughout history - Genom historien Path - Väg Whiny voice - Gnällig röst Wearing him down - Slita ner honom Long for - Längta efter Thumping - Dunkande Spiked with a deadly dose of poison - Spetsad med en dödlig dos gift Gone through with it - Genomfört det Constant nagging - Ständigt gnäll Infidelity - Otrohet Carved - Skuren Perform on the big stages - Uppträda på de stora scenerna Unrealistic demands - Orealistiska krav Something fishy is going on - Något skumt pågår Offered a reward - Erbjöd en belöning Downfall - Fall Accomplice - Medbrottsling Undoubtedly - Utan tvekan Board a ship - Stiga ombord på ett skepp Suspense - Spänning Trip on a wire - Snubbla på en tråd Invention - Uppfinning Customs officer - Tulltjänsteman Extraordinary - Extraordinär Nearly - Nästan The entire population - Hela befolkningen Cease to exist - Upphöra att existera Great courage - Stort mod Goodwill - God vilja A little bit of humanity - Lite mänsklighet In the midst - Mitt ibland Lose faith in - Förlora tro på Snowflakes - Snöflingor Turn the doorknob - Vrida dörrknoppen Shelter - Skydd Gesture towards the cabin - Gesta mot stugan Pale - Blek Commotion - Uppståndelse Medic - Sjukvårdare Ease up the tension - Minska spänningen Extend his hand - Sträcka ut sin hand Painkillers - Smärtstillande Supper - Kvällsmat Foolish - Dum Establish - Etablera Drop a nuclear bomb - Släppa en kärnvapenbomb The Great Plague - Den stora pesten Civil rights - Medborgerliga rättigheter Underline - Understryka Keen on - Angelägen om

Related quizzes

Related quizzes