by Chris Hlad

If you could do it all over again, would you choose the one you've got or the one you want?

D I S C U S S I O N  F O R U M  |  R E T U R N  T O  S T  O N L I N E



"Thanks for coming in. I'll get right to the point," Reverend Hasley said. He was the reverend of a special sect of religion called Toloniscegy (pronounced 'tow-lon-is-kegie'), and as such was not dressed in the typical priest's garb, but a sharp business suit. Judging from it and the rings adorning his hands, his Church was doing just fine for a non-profit entity.

Reverend Hasley was fifty-seven, but you couldn't tell that from the extensive work he'd had done on his face. He looked to be in his mid forties, with only his graying hair being any indication of his true age. "I, we, our Church take marriage very, very seriously. I've known the two of you for over a year now, and I have no doubt that you both deeply love each other."

Francis and Michelle were holding each other's hand and facing him from across the abyss that was his oak desk.

Francis was thirty-two, and his fiancée was 30. They were an attractive couple, and Michelle was in love with Francis.

And he loved her too—he really did—but there was something missing. Something he chose not to think about, especially at moments like this. Looking in her deep green eyes, he could see nothing but love and adoration. She was so in love with him that it bordered on worship.

Michelle was 5'4", in excellent shape, and had long dark hair that complemented her olive skin. Whenever he looked into her eyes, he knew he couldn't leave her; he knew he had to give her exactly what she wanted.

And what Michelle wanted more than anything else was to be married; she'd made that clear from their very first date. That sounded warning bells in Francis's head, but there was something so sad in her eyes, something that said that without a doubt if she was dropped once more, she'd shatter into a million irreparable pieces, and he didn't want to be held responsible for that.

So now here they were, a year after their first date, with the Reverend discussing marriage.

"I don't have to tell you that the divorce rate is incredibly high. Your marriage has a better chance of not making it than making it."

"Don't remind me," Francis said.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."

"He's got a point," Michelle said.

"The Church wants to make sure that you two are meant to be together. You can understand that, I'm sure. So we—we being the heads of the Church—have devised a little test to make sure you two are indeed the two that are right for each other. Now, understand this will be the first time we've done this type of marriage before, so nothing's guaranteed and surely there will be some bugs to work out, but we have to start somewhere."

"So our wedding will be an experiment?"

"Exactly," Reverend Hasley said. He saw no point in not getting right to it. He wasn't the type to mince words.

Michelle looked at Francis and said, "I'm not sure if I want our wedding to be an experiment."

Francis didn't know what to say. He hadn't been sure about the whole marriage thing from the beginning as it was.

"But," the Reverend continued, "in an effort to show our gratitude for your cooperation, we're willing to pick up the tab. The reception, the honeymoon, everything."

Francis quickly became a lot more interested. Both of Michelle's parents were deceased, and he was the one footing the bill for the whole thing. "Well, that doesn't sound too bad now, does it Michelle?"

"No." Her voice quivered a bit. Something about the whole 'experiment' scenario wasn't resonating with her.

But it didn't sound bad to Francis. It sounded kind of interesting. Especially the part about not having to pay for a thing…

* * *

The Church sent out invitations the first business day after Francis and Michelle signed their names on the dotted line.

The invitations themselves had complete instructions of what was to be done, where to go, and what to expect when they got there. It was the oddest invitation each of the nine guests had ever received: no name of the couple being married, no information. Just instructions.

Five men, five women, one of whom was the bride to be, and the groom. An RSVP was required, and not one of the nine declined.

Undoubtedly, the $20,000 dollar check cashable by RSVPing in the affirmative had something to do with it.

* * *

One Month Later

Michelle woke up nervous like most brides on their wedding day. Like the guests that the Church of Toloniscegy invited, she was given instructions after she and Francis had signed the papers.

At first hearing what the Church wanted to do, both she and Francis started laughing. It had to be a joke. Reverend Hasley made it crystal clear that it wasn't, and that they'd already signed the contract.

She could see by Francis's face that he was sold on the idea the minute the Reverend had mentioned picking up the tab. He'd expressed concern about their financial situation before, so he was obviously relieved.

Michelle loved him so much that she was willing to do whatever it took to have them as a real, legal, married couple. Added to which, all that she was really giving up was a 'normal' wedding ceremony. The deal was the Church was in charge of all aspects of that and she had free reign over the reception.

So all she was missing were the actual pictures of the ceremony itself and, of course, guests in the congregation. But they'd all be at the reception anyways, and she and Francis had decided to tell their friends and family that they were eloping and only wanted a reception.

But still, something felt off.

At one thirty in the afternoon, two limos arrived at Francis's house, one for Michelle and one for him. They were driven not to the Church, but to a hotel. It was there that they were supposed to get ready.

Their limos pulled up to the front of the hotel, and the chauffeurs let out their respective clients.

Francis looked at Michelle and forced a smile. "So, are you ready for our big day, darling?"

She didn't quite smile back. She tried, but was just too damn nervous. "I know I am. The question is, are you?"

He couldn't answer with a completely one hundred percent yes or no either way, and right now, he felt it impossible to lie to her, to give her any sense of false hope. He thought it would all go smoothly, but he just wasn't sure. So, instead of saying anything, he walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and said, "I love you, darling."

"I love you too."

Francis had been with her intensely over the past month, watching, learning, memorizing. Doing his best to catch every little detail of her movements. The way she carried her arms at her side when she was walking. The subtle sway of her hips as he walked behind her. Her frontal motion as she walked towards him. The way she held her hands with her fingers slightly curled.

How hard can it be to pick my future wife out of a whopping five women, regardless of the disguise? He knew her. He didn't know whether or not he would know who the other women were. He expected that would be revealed at the reception.

But for now, walking to the elevator hand in hand, he felt like he was cramming for a final. Memorize, memorize, memorize!

As per the Church's instructions, they already had their room keys. She was in a room on the twelfth floor, and he as in a room on the fourteenth floor. That's where she'd be dressed into her wedding costume and he into his tux.

The elevator door opened on the twelfth floor. She turned wordlessly towards him and kissed him on the lips. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting him to see that her eyes were watering. Then, she left abruptly and didn't look back.


The elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor. He had an hour and a half to kill, and his instructions had specifically stated that he wait in his room until a representative from the Church came to get him. If he broke this or any of the other rules, he had to not only pay for the reception, but reimburse the 180,000 dollars it had put up to ensure the proper attendees were at the 'wedding'. According to the lawyer that was there when they signed the papers, the contract was legally binding. So, Francis didn't even think about leaving.

The way Reverend Hasley had put it, all he had to do was pick his wife out of the five women there. So long as he knew his 'wife' well enough, it would be a piece of cake, even with the costumes on.

He didn't go into detail about the costumes with Francis, but he did with Michelle in a separate room. He remembered how fragile she'd looked when she came out of that meeting.

He stood up as the Reverend and Michelle walked back into the office. "You still all right with this?"

She nodded.

The Reverend went on to explain to Francis his set of rules, which consisted of sitting in a hotel for an hour and a half and never, ever discussing the actual 'wedding' with Michelle. He said if they did, in any capacity, the deal would be considered null and void. He also made it clear that the Church would 'know'. Neither asked how—they just believed him. They were two members of a very elite 'religion', and they knew their place was not to question.

His tux was laid out on the bed, and there was fruit and a glass of champagne by the table next to the window that overlooked the pool. Not a whole bottle, but just one glass. The last thing he wanted to do before the 'wedding' was add to it the distraction of booze, if even only one glass. After all, the Reverend had said, "Be ready, Francis. Study your fiancée in the month before the wedding. Learn, memorize every move, every little gesture."

He'd taken Reverend Hasley's advice. He nibbled on the fruit but didn't touch the champagne.

Francis had been told that all of the Brides would be wearing the same thing. Reverend Hasley had said the whole point was to make sure that Francis really knew who his beloved, his future wife was. In theory, it made sense. He'd been with Michelle long enough to know her subtle movements and gestures, and knew he could pick her out of a crowd of 100, much less five, even with a costume on.

The contract also specifically stated that while the costumes would clearly hide identity, no secret hand gestures or any other physical signs were allowed.

He wanted desperately to know what would happen if he chose the wrong woman. The contract stated simply that the Church would "take action it deemed acceptable", all of which had been approved by her and Francis's signatures. He said he'd explain all of that prior to the wedding, but in his hotel suite. Only Francis would be privy to this information. It was all in the contract, of which neither Francis nor Michelle had taken the time to read the fine print.

* * *

Entering the hotel room, the first thing Michelle noticed was a garment bag on the bed next to a white box with a red ribbon tied around it. Underneath the ribbon was a cream colored envelope with her name on it. She took it out from underneath the ribbon and sat on the edge of the bed. Oddly enough, her first thought was, 'Whose saliva sealed this envelope?' Michelle opened it and read,

"Dearest Michelle,

Congratulations on what should be the happiest day of your life thus far, and may you have many more to come!

In the box is a mask. It is identical to the masks the other nine women and men will be wearing. It is made out of a special foam that will mold to your face. You will be able to breathe in it just fine, and although it may feel like it's permanently attached to you, I assure you it is very easy to remove. It feels a bit strange at first, so I suggest putting it on and taking it off to reassure yourself that you are indeed able to do so. The special foam allows you to move your face muscles as you normally would, but its density makes it so that others cannot see your facial expression(s). The foam will also conform to your lips, but there is a screen over the mouth. Again, you'll be able to breathe normally, but the screen prohibits communications with others. Should you speak, only static will come out of your mouth, much as if you're tuned into a station frequency with no signal. The dress you and the other women are wearing will be identical and for all intents and purposes, you won't be able to tell each other apart. The same goes for the groomsmen and their outfits. We have taken the utmost care to assure that recognition through body type will be impossible, from the shoes you are going to be wearing that will make you all the same height to the dresses and tuxedos that ensure you all appear to have one body type. Don't worry, Michelle, Francis loves you and he should be able to find you. Again, on behalf of the Church, I thank you for taking part in this process. You are truly making history.

Reverend Hasley.


Michelle didn't want to make history; she just wanted to be married.

She unwrapped the red bow from the box, opened it, and took out the mask.

It was pretty much what she had expected. It looked like a mannequin sans the hair and the weird contraption that went over the mouth hole. That looked like the front of a speaker cover on her (soon to be 'their') home stereo system.

In lieu of eyes were dark shades. The whole get up reminded her of a cross between a mannequin and a fly.

Michelle decided to take Reverend Hasley's advice and try it on. The first thing she felt was it sucking to her face like a mold. She held her breath as the mask grew firmer around her face and head, although it wasn't until about twenty seconds later that she realized she was doing so.

She exhaled deeply through her mouth and the nose holes. Just as the letter had said, she could breathe fine. Michelle also noticed that while she could hear the air coming out of her nose, she didn't hear a sound coming out of her mouth. "Hello," she said, and heard only static. "Hello," she said louder. Again, static but the volume hadn't changed. And, although her shades on the mask were dark, she could see as if there was no hindrance. It was all so creepy.

Taking Reverend Hasley's advice once again, she took the mask off just to assure herself that she could. It came off as easily as if she had pulled off one of her socks.

She put it on again, once more feeling the strange suction as the mask conformed to her face.

This time, she walked over to the bathroom to take a look at herself in the mirror. It was eerie, to say the least.

All I wanted to do was get married.

She wondered if the other guests had tried on their masks yet and what their reactions were. Furthermore, Michelle wondered who the actual guests attending the wedding even were. Were they the people she and Francis had invited to the reception, or were they just random people the Church had picked? What, if any, was the Church's reasoning?

Michelle put the mask back on the bed for the time being, right next to the box. Looking at the clock, she saw that she had 45 minutes until a representative of the Church arrived to pick her up. Might as well get ready.

The Church had put her up in a swanky suite, complete with surround sound. She walked over and turned the radio station to an easy listening channel to calm her nerves. Something by Sade was playing. That was just fine with Michelle. She'd always enjoyed her music.

She went back to the bed and took the garment bag, hanging it on the inside hook of the bathroom door. She opened it and was stunned. It was one of the most beautiful dresses she'd ever seen. If the Church hadn't picked out this particular dress, she very well might have. Did the Church know her that well? Did they know what her tastes were?

As with the mask, there were instructions, this time a sheet of fine peach paper tucked neatly into the collar of the dress. These instructions were relatively short.


I hope you like the dress. It's difficult keeping something fashionable while at the same time making it a 'disguise'. Simply put it on as you would any other dress, and then the mask, tucking your hair first inside the collar. Make sure that the neck of the mask is tucked inside the dress so that your hair is not showing. Included with your dress are white stockings and shoes. The shoes have been adjusted accordingly to the five women so that you'll all be of equal height. Lastly, put on the white gloves, and place your right hand over your heart. This will trigger a slight airflow into you dress, inflating it to a degree so that all of the women will have the same figures. (Don't worry, Michelle, we're not going to turn you into a blimp on your wedding day!) The men are going through the exact same procedures, albeit with the tuxes. The clear exception to this is Francis, who will be completely undisguised.

Again, all of my best,
The Reverend

She took the dress off of the hanger, running her free hand over the fabric.

Silk. Definitely silk.

Michelle slid into the dress, impressed by the feel of the fabric on her body. Whatever the airflow source, it definitely was in between the fabric of the gown, as she felt nothing but silk against her skin. It was actually the most comfortable piece of clothing she'd ever worn.

Michelle followed the instructions to the letter, not wanting to jeopardize, well, anything.

After the mask was on and her hair was tucked into the collar, she placed her white-gloved hand over her heart. Immediately, she felt air inflating into the dress. The feeling reminded her of inflating the flotation device she used when scuba diving.

Michelle watched her transformation in the mirror. The rush of air was anything but overwhelming, and the changes were very subtle.

Nothing happened to her arms or legs, which were completely hidden by the silk, but her chest, hips and ass expanded. The Reverend was right. They didn't turn her into a blimp. It was more like a slightly, what, expanded version of herself? She was staring at the mirror, amused, when she heard a rapping at the front door.

Walking to it she prayed to God it wasn't the maid or room service. She wasn't sure if there was a way to explain her appearance. Then she remembered that she couldn't explain her appearance even if she wanted to: if she talked, all that would come out was static.

She stood at the door, hesitating, until she heard a familiar voice. "Michelle, it's me, Reverend Hasley."

She immediately opened the door.

The Reverend smiled. "You look perfect. Turn around for me."

She did.

"Absolutely perfect! Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said. Static was all that came out. This non-talking business was going to take some getting used to. Thankfully, it wouldn't be for to long. Michelle nodded.

"Excellent," Reverend Hasley said. "Come with me."

She hesitated just long enough to let the Reverend know that something was wrong.

He knew what it was. "Don't worry, Michelle, nobody is going to see you. That's all been arranged. We're going to go down a hallway with nobody in it, straight to a limo with tinted windows, and from there directly to the Church."

She nodded as he opened and held the door for her, and together they walked down the hall to a staircase Michelle hadn't noticed before.

"Is the dress comfortable enough?" the Reverend asked, looking at her through the dark lenses.

He was making direct eye contact despite the lenses. He was certainly familiar with the 'costume'. She nodded.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped in front of her and held the door open. In front of her was a stretch limo and a chauffeur standing beside the open door.

She got in and saw the four other women dressed identically to her. Surreal, so surreal.

The Church was only about five minutes from the hotel, and when they arrived, Michelle saw that there were already two limos there. Francis was outside the one farthest away. She knew him well enough to know clearly what she saw on his face: fear.

Something had happened in the time between being dropped off at the hotel and now. She had only seen Francis really scared once before, and now he had that same look on his face. She wanted to tell herself that it was natural; that he was having pre-marital anxiety, but she couldn't. She also couldn't run up and ask him what was wrong or try to comfort him, and that disturbed her most.

Movement from the other limo took her eyes away from Francis. The chauffeur for that car was getting out.

At the same moment, she heard the driver's door of her limo opening.

The chauffeur opened the door, and one by one the women exited. Michelle was the first out, and she saw a man get out of the limo next to her. Everything was so perfectly choreographed. Despite the silk gown, she still felt her flesh crawl.

Just as the instructions had said, the men were all wearing the same white mannequin masks, with the black fly eyes and the speaker-looking thing over the mouth.

Reverend Hasley came between the two pairs of limos and immediately started pairing couples up.

"Okay," the Reverend said, "now I need you good people to go over to the Church and wait in the back. When the all too familiar Bridal March starts, you'll be assisted as to when to walk down the aisle. Francis will be on the side, watching, figuring out who his wife is. Just nod if you understand."

Without hesitation they all nodded. Michelle was starting to feel claustrophobic in her outfit and imagined that the others must be feeling the same way.

Apparently, the gentlemen had been instructed to hook their right arm around that of their partner. Michelle's partner 'escorted' her towards the Church.

It was a place that Michelle and Francis had been to many times before. It was a plain, white box-looking building, with absolutely nothing to make it stand out. To get there, you had to drive up a windy path. Michelle imagined that the view would have been spectacular had the Church not decided to surround the building and the parking lot with a virtual forest of trees.

The front doors of the church were already open, and the group was met by a woman Michelle had seen at Church before but whose name she didn't know.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to a very special day. I'm the one the Reverend told you about, the one who is going to assist you on your entrance to the Church. I need you to all pair up one behind the other."

Michelle and her escort were the first through the doors, so they were also the first in line. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the rest of the wedding party was moving into place as well. Almost immediately, the organist began playing the song.

"Okay, walk slowly, and keep your arms linked while walking to the altar. When you get there, you may split. There are five chairs on the left, and five chairs on the right. Gentlemen go to the left, and ladies go to the right. Stand in front of your chair until you're instructed to do otherwise. Nod if you understand."

Michelle nodded and her escort nodded. Then the lady said, "Good." She could only assume that everyone else had nodded, too.

She motioned the first couple forward without wasting any time.

Slowly, they began walking down the aisle, and it wasn't until then that Michelle got her first real glimpse of the interior of the building. It was the first time she'd seen it 'done up', so to speak.

The main aisle she was walking down was littered with white rose petals, and there were bows all along the pews from the entrance of the Church all the way to the altar.

And then there was Francis.

She saw him standing on the far right, all the way across the other side of the pews. If he'd looked scared before, he now looked downright terrified.

He'd turned a whiter shade than he'd been outside, and he was visibly trembling. Had it not been for the sweat on his brow, she would have thought him possibly cold.

Michelle wanted to rush over to him, put her arms around him, and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But it clearly wasn't, was it?

His eyes were focused so intensely on her, clearly trying to discern if this was indeed his bride to be.

As they walked down the aisle, Francis followed them from across the Church until they were about halfway to the altar. Then, he walked back towards the front of the Church, where by now the second couple had begun their walk.

Reverend Hasley was already at the front of the altar, and as Michelle and her escort approached, he said, "Please, go to the farthest chair, but please don't sit until instructed to."

They did as they were told.

She stopped in front of the farthest chair, which looked more like a throne than any chair she'd ever seen.

Michelle watched as the rest of the procession came in. Francis was following his pattern, meeting each couple at the front of the Church, walking mid-way down the aisle with them and then returning to the front. The anxious look on his face only grew more intense as each couple walked in.

He followed the fifth and final couple all the way down to the altar, where he cut in front of the pew and approached Reverend Hasley.

"Francis," Reverend Hasley said, and then turned to the wedding party. "You may be seated."

Michelle was watching Francis the whole time through the bug-eyed lenses. She swore he'd flinched when the Reverend told them to take a seat.

"Now that you're seated, please put your arms comfortably on the armrests."

Each chair, each throne, had square, wooden armrests. Michelle didn't know why she was being told to put her arms there, but she did as told.

When each of the ten had their arms on the rests, Michelle heard a quick buzz sound, and then felt pressure on her wrists.

She looked down and saw that her wrists were bound now, covered by semi-circles of metal. They were secure enough to allow her only the slightest movement of her wrists.

Michelle looked around at the others, who were shackled too, and heard static coming from all directions.

Apparently, this had taken everybody by surprise with the exception of Reverend Hasley and Francis. At least this explained the fear in his face: he must have been told ahead of time, and it was only logical that he knew what was to come.

His countenance hadn't changed. Still, dread.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we are here to witness an event nothing short of Sacred."

He wasn't the same man Michelle had known. This wasn't Reverend Hasley. This was District Attorney Hasley.

"Today, I promise, will be a remarkable day for all of you. And after today's wedding, there will be a feast to end all feasts. But, as you know, like the Good Book says, you must be prepared. So I hope you all have enough oil lest you be left outside to wail and gnash your teeth."

She knew the passage well. So did Francis. But he knew that wailing and gnashing of the teeth wasn't exactly what the Reverend had in mind.

And Francis knew exactly who his fiancée was.

But he also knew the movements of another 'bride'. A woman that he had loved like no other. A woman that had changed his life as he'd known it.

Francis knew the day she left that for the rest of his life he would be settling. They had shared something so special together, so real. Was it possible that he could ever be without her and still be the same man?


Absolutely not.

When she left, the part of him he'd shared with her disappeared, and he knew it wasn't something he'd ever, ever find again, unless with her.

Francis didn't know it, but she felt the same way. He'd always hoped she'd felt the same but could never know for sure. The only way either of them could 'move on' was to not see or speak to or see each other. It had been three years since their last communication. He knew, deep in his heart, he hadn't moved on, really, unless you considered settling for someone else and living with the ghosts of your past every day 'moving on'. Every morning she was on his mind, and every night, thoughts of her were what tucked him into bed.

Was her husband here too? That, Francis didn't know. He only knew he recognized the two women. Instantly. His fiancée was the first in, and she was the third.

The only other thing Francis knew for sure was he would never see any of the people he didn't pick ever again.

Neither would anyone else.

This was the beginning and the end; the Reverend had assured him of that in his hotel room before the wedding.

The Reverend, Francis, and one woman would walk out of there. The lady who assisted with the entrance was already gone. If Francis didn't pick somebody, the ten people would be tortured until they died slowly, and he'd have to watch.

If he did pick, the pain they suffered would be much, much less.

The Church would see to it that all the legalities would be taken care of, with all of the bodies being disposed of properly with no trace back to the Church or Francis. The Church, apparently, had friends in all the right places.

"And hey, Francis, everybody in the Church has been cheating, so don't feel so bad."

"Not Michelle," Francis said.

"No, you're right, not Michelle. But she pressured you, and if you were to cheat, it would be her fault. And what if you had kids, Francis? How many lives would that be destroying? The choice is yours, Francis. But if you ever, ever cheat, we will know, and let's just say that your past will come back to haunt you in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

The Reverend walked across Francis's suite and put his hand on his shoulder. "Don't carry too heavy of a cross, Francis. Everyone in this room has cheated one way or another, and Michelle is far from the sacrificial, innocent lamb. Without our intervention, yours is a lost cause. We're just doing our part to keep the divorce rate down, Francis. Nothing more, and nothing less."

Of course, he had tried the 'just take me' approach, all to no avail. Likewise, reasoning was an impossibility. Francis had even gone so far as to say he'd leave right now and go to the authorities.

"Go ahead. You'll end up with a needle in your arm after being repeatedly sodomized. You're too pretty for prison, Francis. Besides," he had that warm smile again, the one Francis had come to know and even love so well, "if you do that, well, that makes a total of eleven dead, yourself included, of course. Do the right thing; you'll be saving lives, Francis."

"Do the right thing. I'll strangle you right here, right now. And let the others go."

He was bigger than the Reverend and could have him down in seconds. Even as he said it, though, he realized his threat was empty. Anyone with an IQ over four would have been prepared for that remark. The gun that Reverend Hasley pulled out only reinforced the point.

So here he was, facing the altar, with only one person's fate in his hands. The others were already as dead and lifeless as the faces of the masks. With tears streaming down his face, he pointed.

"Very well."

The Reverend looked Francis in the eye and said, "Do nothing. It's too late now. It's been activated and can't stop."

He watched, shocked, as the masks subtly changed. On all of the masks with the exception of the woman he'd pointed to, the nostrils were closing. Francis heard the static increase through their voice boxes. Then, black covers came down over where the voice speakers had been, completely cutting off the air supply.

It was the longest, most agonizing moment of his life, watching the panicked people dying of suffocation. Fortunately, the final pair of legs stopped twitching after about three minutes.

The shackles came off of the one he had chosen, and she immediate took her mask off.

"Needless to say, there's no reception," the Reverend said. "However, we are sending you two on a honeymoon. We let her choose the location, Francis. After all, you two have so much in common." He chuckled. "You may kiss the bride."




Copyright © 2008 Chris Hlad

A B O U T   T H E   A U T H O R:

Chris Hlad lives and works in the great city of Los Angeles. When he's not pretending to be working at his full time job, he's finding inspiration and writing it down. If he's not in front of a monitor, odds are you'll find him floating around somewhere in the Pacific on a giant red surfboard.

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