* Authors : Marisca Pichette, Dafydd McKimm and Devin Miller * Narrators : Scott Campbell, Matt Dovey and Kelly Robson * Host : Matt Dovey * Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh * Discuss on Forums “Water We Made to Breathe” and “A Partial Record of Enchanted Cheeses I’ve Fed My Wife” are PodCastle originals “Secret Keepers” was previously published by Flash Fiction Online Content Warnings in “A Partial Record of Enchanted Cheeses I’ve Fed My Wife” for terminal illness. “Water We Made to Breathe” Rated PG-13 “Secret Keepers” Rated PG “A Partial Record of Enchanted Cheeses I’ve Fed My Wife” Rated PG Water We Made to Breathe By Marisca Pichette When we were fourteen we went looking for the ocean at the heart of the woods. I remember the smell: earth and algae and damp, air thick as water. Our sweat mixing with the summer sun, our clothes in a pile on the shore. Max jumped in, his shoulders swallowed by green waves. I could never tell Max’s parents why I came back alone. Eight years later I find myself in the woods again. Mosquitoes circle my face and sweat runs down my back. I haven’t stopped sweating since we found the pond, since Max jumped in and didn’t climb back out. I sweat, I drool, I cry. Water pours from me in every way it can. Sometimes I think I’m melting. Turning into my own pond: an ocean in the middle of the street, seeping into the polyester carpet in my apartment, running between the driver’s seat and console in my car. I wonder what will happen then, if I’ll evaporate or freeze or fill with algae and water-striders. I tried to forget our ocean. I went to therapy, sought the driest places and watched them dampen with my presence. I sweat in winter and drool in the desert, cry in my sleep. Water, water, everywhere. And every drop reminds me of Max. I let the air guide me through the woods, following the mosquitoes into deeper and deeper humidity. Water drips from my fingertips and chin. My clothes are soaked. I stop under a willow and take them off like we did that day, dropping them in a puddle of fabric. I carried Max’s clothes back with me after. Did I think he would come back? If he had, he would’ve had to walk naked through the trees. I searched the woods for days. The ocean was gone. Max was gone. Mosquitoes thicken around me. Their buzz fills my head and I realize that they haven’t bitten me once. Is it sweat or memory that keeps them away? Down between reeds, my feet sink into mud. The mosquitoes abruptly disperse, leaving me naked and dripping, staring at the place I’m unable to forget. In my memory, the pond was small, a little puddle in the middle of the trees. We called it the ocean as a joke. But now I look out across an expanse of still green water. There should be trees on the other side — I know there are; the woods go on for miles. Searching for their shapes, all I see is water. Endless water. “Max?” The part of me that combed the woods and found nothing, not even a puddle, knows it’s ridiculous to think he’s still here — still alive,