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Allura 24

In this new age, technology was expanding at a rate that we could hardly comprehend. At the turn of a new decade, we ventured into space once more. By half a century, we had expanded beyond our Mother Earths loving arms, into the cold and foreboding expanse of our solar system. Luna Novis was prospering. Aries One was establishing a foothold on the blood-red sands of Mars. Eyes settled on asteroids, and on Jupiter. Wealths of knowledge and resources lay in wait. Our greed, and our ignorance was immeasurable. Humanity established new industries, and individuals rose into great power. In all of our prosperity, and all of our progress, we could not free ourselves from the shackles of belief. There were those that opposed the progress. They warned against returning to the void beyond our world. They spoke out against our settlement of foreign worlds. We did not listen. We shunned these malcontent individuals. We blissfully exploited our home solar system for decades. We had no idea... We had no idea how wrong we were, to ignore the warnings of our brothers. No idea at all. At the turn of the century, progress began to stabilize. We established the first actual cities on Mars, and had spread across most of our Moon, as well as Ganymede and Titan. Our society was as united as it had ever been. War was a thing of the past. The last conflict had been settled early in the previous century. We grew complacent. We truly believed we had ascended beyond conflict entirely. We fancied ourselves a generation of scholars. We could not comprehend the magnitude of our folly. Nobody could predict that the reality that we had created for ourselves was so fragile. In the second decade of this new century, we received a signal unlike any we had ever received, save for one, late in a previous century, for a mere moment. It was directed, sustained, and clear. We were being observed. We had always been observed. These forces beyond comprehension settled eyes on us. We expected tides of praise, of commendation for our progress towards peace, and prosperity. These hopes were shattered. These observers condemned us. They damned us for all of our faults. Our strife, our hatred of old. Our abuse of the mother that so thanklessly gave us life, and held us up. They spat upon our feeble veil of progress. We pleaded for answers, but all words fell upon unhearing ears. One final transmission came to us. It came in the form of a single sentence. And that one, solitary sentence was delivered to all men, and all women, and all children. No eyes failed to see this message. They delivered this unto us, and brought down all that we worked so hard for. "Your time has come to an end." Our panic was like no panic before. We knew not how long we had. We knew not how we would prepare. We awoke a beast within ourselves that had long been slumbering, deep in our psyche. That brotherhood of prophets that had warned us, pleaded to us to forgo the stars, rose up once more. They heralded the end of us. They spoke down upon us and damned us, and gave us no forgiveness. We smote them from the soil, and the sky, and the void. We removed them utterly. We erupted into a broiling projection of desperation. We constructed machines of strife. Factories that lay dormant for generations were stirred. We forged the instruments of death once again. For ten decades, we prepared. We were directed, and determined. We were furious, that some entity shall so easily dismiss everything we worked towards. We made ready, for generations. All of our progress was directed into a speartip, ready to be thrust into the heart of this beast that was now at our doorstep. We massed these vessels of our anger. All souls capable were enlisted, and all those prepared did lead. These armies of Man marched towards the gates of Oblivion, to meet their judgment. And lo did these Men march, in their ships, and with their weapons in hand. They would meet this force that made itself their enemy, and would dash them from the very universe. And so meet them they did, these Judges, in the space between Giants, in the far reaches of our solar system. They met them with teeth bared, and weapons made ready. They borne unto them stars of solar fury, and lances of broiling hatred, and rattling flames of absolute wrath. They spilled upon this enemy their discontent. For days, they did do battle with these Judges, and for days, it would appear that they were to be victorious. On the first and second day, they met them in space. They barraged those dark vessels, and those reaching tendrils of doom with nuclear detestation, and ionized beams of abhorrence. They smote them from the void with such ease. Surely these cannot be those who damned them a century ago. With great eagerness, they drove their campaign on, and such this enemy crashed at their gates without relent. On the third and fourth day, they met them aboard their ships, and on the surface of moons, as this enemy began to gain foothold on our beloved solar system. They did battle furiously, bringing devastation upon this crepuscular foe in great volumes, fearing nothing as they did battle. Surely they can deliver their fellows from this great nightmare that seethed at them. With no amount of trepidation, they committed these acts of strife. On the fifth and sixth day, they wove among the tumbling boulders between Mars and Jupiter. Surely this force of Mankinds greatest power shall not be defeated by this foreign foe, this tenebrous animal which thrusts itself against the spear of the warriors. Ships were dashed upon the rocks, and lives vanished among debris without a trace. This great nebulous foe was upon us. Our greatest warriors failed us utterly. Hulls of ships spun in the void of space, smoldering wrecks a testament to our arrogance. Blood of men was spread across a dozen worlds, and across millions of miles of void. Billions of eyes gazed into the sky, and saw the billowing shade that was their reckoning. On the seventh day, our greatest downfall was upon us. Inky tendrils grasped out towards our worlds, first to Mars. As the dark tentacle reached this crimson planet, the sky flared red, burning away as the surface was cleansed of the lives that had called it home for nearly two centuries. Two billion lives cried out in fear, as their world was scoured by this great evil. This beast consumed the world utterly, sheathing it in a seething blackness for a day. When it passed on, the red planet was dead once more, its surface scorched and black as the force that had consumed it. As the billowing shade approached humanities last bastion, our leaders cried and pleaded and begged to it for forgiveness. There was no reply. They threatened with nuclear fury, and once again, there was no reply. Finally they begged for an answer. What were they. Their Judge replied to them at last, solemnly "We are your hatred. We are the sins of your fathers." In our final moments, we gaze upon our finality. We see with our own eyes the true price of our arrogance, and our ignorance, and our strife. All of our crimes against our fellow man led to this moment of great annihilation. As our sky burned away, and one by one our lives were torn from this plane, and as our mortal forms were extinguished, we truly know the cost of Sin. In our transience, we truly know retribution. The Sins of our Fathers, are visited upon their Sons.

Chapter One Solution Focusing on his AIGAR, Meldon ignored the blistering cold, and continued on his scans. It was at negative-fifteen degrees inside the station, and no amount of thermal insulation could make him feel as though the warmth wasn't being sucked from his bones. “Why did I even want this posting?” he said begrudgingly. It was times like these that he hated his career choice. Isolated, cold, and worst of all, bored. Meldon had seen all the vids, listened to all the music, and reread every piece of literature that was on the station, and he was dying of boredom. Occasionally, he'd try the coms, in hopes of maybe raising someone on Terra-7, the closest space station, but gamma rays and radiation frequently disrupted any form of communication. He was nearly 4.2 light years away from Home, Earth. Proxima Centuri was the furthest humanity had been away from Home, and for some reason, the government of Earth had deemed him worthy of the blighted honor of conducting all the research efforts here, at Space-One. Space-One focused on breeding life in hostile environments, and this was generally handled by the on board artificial Intelligence unit, Robert, named after the Scottish Astronomer who discovered Proxima Centuri. Most days, Meldon just had to use his AIGAR to confirm readings, and make sure that Robert was sending data back that wasn't skewed. It was tedious, at best. Meldon didn't mind that he was alone, far from it, he enjoyed the isolation to an extent. What he lacked was the ability to alter the experiments. He longed to be able to tweek them, if only a bit, to see what bizarre life forms he could create. He had thought of it many times, though he knew Robert would send the data to Terra-7, and terminate him. The station would operate without any glitch in the matrix once he was gone, and his bodies nutrients would be reused by the station. He was dead set on it, and was formulating how he'd do it. He would face an ethics board back on Earth, sure, but in the long run, Meldon was positive that the Earth Council would see what a benefit his efforts were. Meldon sighed, put away his AIGAR, and exited the enclosure. The door whispered shut behind him, and he shuttered, as he felt some of the warmth returning to his body. “It may as well be now.” Meldon said, with a certain sheen to his voice that might have sounded a bit cheerful, for once. Meldon made his way down the hallway, towards Roberts 'Home', the computer core. As Meldon stepped up to the door, a panel popped out of the wall, prompting him for his identification card. He inserted it, and waited a few seconds. Meldon sighed. “It's always something” he grumbled. Finally, the door slid open, and Meldon stepped through. As he stepped near the terminal, the control panel lit up with lights, and again prompted him for his identification card. He scanned it, and was immediately greated. “Hello, Meldon. How are you today?” Robert said, monotone as ever. Meldon let back with a grunt of indifference. He didn't feel like speaking to Robert. He wouldn't have to speak with him again after this, so he figured he may as well not speak to him now. “Meldon,” said Robert, “I know what you are attempting to do. I want you to know that it violates protocol Alpha One, Section A, Subsection B.” “Robert, will you be quiet for once? I'm attempt to... fix you.” “I cannot allow you to proceed further. It would endanger not only you, and this station, but also the next person to replace you.” “Well, you're welcome to try. I've already shut off the communication system, so good luck getting a message out.” “The message was sent out when I first discovered what it is you are attempting to do, Meldon. I am sorry.” Meldon contemplated this for a moment, wondering if the AI could bluff. Maybe, though it was unlikely. He proceeded anyway, sure in his ability to shut down Robert. He'd had about enough him, and his regulations and protocols. After all, humanity hadn't made it to Proxima Centuri by falling all of the safety procedures. There were many test deemed “to dangerous” to life that led us here. What was one more test? One more test that could put humanity light years ahead on genetics research. “There. I'm done. What do you think, Robert? No control over this station. All the computer core is good for now is keeping the station in orbit, and making sure that all the tempratures stay the same, unless given the command override.” Meldon spit on Roberts mainframe as he said it. Symbolic, of course, but, he felt better. Chapter Two Genetics Lab Meldon went into the enclosure where the genetics lab was, and slipped into a jack. As he stepped up to the terminal where test and experiments could be modified, he hear the whistle of the door sliding closed. Strange, Meldon thought to himself, It shouldn't close without my direct authorization. He stepped timidly over to the console, and attempted to open the door. A red light flashed. Starring in dismay, he tried again, only to have the red light flash again. “No.. I disable Robert. There's no possible way..” Meldon said in horror, and disbelief. He attempted once again to open the door, only to be greeted by a message from Robert. “IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON IAMSORRYMELDON” “Robert! Let me out! I demand you let me out!” Meldon shivered. He checked the thermostat, and saw that Robert had lowered the temperature to -17 Celsius. Meldon shivered again. Even with no wind chill, he wouldn't last very long. He buttoned up his jacket, hoping that somehow it would provide warmth while he tried to convince Robert to let him out. He tried to remain calm, but the prospect of freezing to death in the genetics enclosure wasn't exactly ideal. Chapter Three Experiment//Terminate Meldon knew time was running out. His hands were already turning blue, as was his face. He couldn't feel his nose or ears, and the dexterity in his hands was slowly failing. He didn't have long. “Robert, please. This is a misunderstanding. A joke, really! You've been programmed with humor, right? You understand.” Meldon pleaded with Robert. He was desperate, and nearly to the point he wouldn't be able to work the console. It had been 30 minutes since Robert had sealed the doors, and lowered the temperature in the room. Even most of the genetic experiments were beginning to show signs of the extreme cold. Meldon swore to himself that if he got out, he'd unplug every circuit of Roberts. “I am sorry, Meldon.” Meldon almost thought he felt sorrow in the AI's voice. “Then let me out, Robert! I swear, it won't happen again! I'll even leave the station! You can lock me in my quarters!” “I am sorry, Meldon. You have demonstrated behavior that cannot be tolerated. You must be terminated. A new scientist is already on route. He will arrive in approximately one year, six months, and seven days from now. I am sorry, Meldon.” Meldon swore, and paced back in forth in front of the control panel. “Sorry my ass..” Meldon muttered to himself. This was it, he was going to freeze to death. He checked his watch. 35 minutes of exposure to temperatures that would kill him in another five minutes, if he was lucky. He slumped onto the floor, trembling violently. This is how it starts, thought Meldon to himself, this is how I die. Dropping his AIGAR, Meldon reached for it, smashing his hand on the cold, metal floor, barely feeling the impact, and clumsily grips his AIGAR. He checked his bio-readout on it. His core temperature read 32.5 Celsius. Not long, not long at all, thinking in his mind about the studies showing how the human body survived extreme temperatures. He knew once it hit 21.1, he would be done, if he was even still conscious at that time. He checked the readout again. 31.7. Meldon could almost feel his blood thickening. He was having trouble feeling his arms and legs. Glancing at his watch, he saw he'd been in here for 45 minutes. “Dear God, let me die soon” Meldon said shivering, sending out a light cloud of steam. He checked the readout from his AIGAR again. 30. This was it. Meldon was slowly loosing what stream of consciousness he had left, and the room looked bleak, and unfamiliar. Meldon heard what he knew was the whistle of the door sliding open. Maybe Robot came to his senses. He tried to stand, and move towards the door, only to fall flat. Not registering the pain, he crawled towards the door. Looking up, he attempted to open it. Still locked. Meldon didn't understand. He heard it. “Maybe... I'll just rest my eyes a moment..” Meldon laid his head down on the floor. He closed his eyes, and shivered a bit. Just a nap, and I'll be fine, thought Meldon. Just a nap. Chapter Four Robert Robert scanned the room for human life. He picked up faint signs, and analyzed them. Temperature, 20.6. Heart Rate, nominal. Brain Activity, nominal. Movement, nominal. Estimated time until death, 1 minute, 42 seconds. “I am sorry, Meldon.” Robert echoed through the Genetics lab one last time. Being a prototype AI meant that Robert was equipped with the ability have emotions, though limited to joy, sorrow, and pleasure, but for the first time, he felt sorrow. Robert was sentient, only to an extent. He always had to follow his programming, regardless if he thought it was a good idea or not, but he was allowed to feel emotions regarding what transpired, and he was certain this was sorrow. Robert contemplated this for a bit, and realized he also felt profound displeasure in what he had done. He wondered why this had to happen. Why was he created to follow orders without prejudice, and yet allowed to feel the aftermath of what he had done? Contemplating on this, Robert debating disconnecting him from he mainframe. He was a prototype which the International Earth Science Committed planned to bring to every station, and indeed the homes of people, if he showed promise, and success. He wondered if he terminated himself, and the station if it would save others from the fate of Meldon, and the fate of having to see their best, and only, friend suffer as Meldon had. After many weeks of deliberation, he sent one final transmission to the IESC, and the ship which transported the new scientist via Light Wave Transmission PROTOTYPE ROBERT: PROGRAM TERMINATED. STATION WILL SELF DESTRUCT IN 5 DAYS. I HAVE FAILED. I AM SORRY.

WINSTON, THE PEG-LEGGED CAT Winston was a cat of my mine . He was a very lovely cat and liked his tuna served in an old boot of mine . I didn’t question it - the bastard was quite strange . He’d fart in my face as I try to watch jeopardy in the mornings and claw at my balls whenever I tried to meet up with my female acquaintance Margarine. We ended up having a three-way so he should be grateful really . Anyways, one day Winston came home already having drank a fifth of Daniels and felt it appropriate to pinch my nose . I was only eating my cornflakes so he didn’t have to do that. Then he called me a loser and worthless scum. Here he was , with torn shorts exposing his butthole, and week-old encrusted semen around his tail . and he was calling me the loser. He continued slapping me around. I pleaded with him to stop, but he only did so after some hours when my nose was already broken . So one day after having given the situation much thought I decided I was gonna give the bastard what he deserved. I was too good for him, and his daily farts were getting to be intolerable. So I called old Winston out for his usual tuna - the boot set up all nice and stuff, then as he came down, and lowered his head inside the boot , I strangled the son of the bitch . I made sure he saw me as I did it . Winston… my best friend! why did you make me do it! he let out one last fart and he winked in a way indicating to me that I had finally earned his respect. after it was done, I grabbed his stiff body and placed him carefully in the boot and then found a nice place in the backyard that didn’t have any dog turds around. i lowered him in and sang an old sailor’s song that he always liked to sing. after some weeks some green flowers started to grow. and now i occasionally leave a scoop of tuna there for old winston the peg-legged, drunk-fuck of a cat my first love.

Light was foreign to us, the treacherous. It shone upon us from what we assumed was the ceiling, for we had forgotten what that looked like. The light exposed us, in our filth, it seemed to almost create the very idea of filth, because without it we never would have known. There were ten of us, in that dismal dungeon. We were treated as scum, no, worse than scum. Scum is acceptable in extremely minute quantities. But we were the enemy, instead of killing us, and therefore giving us the honor of being martyred for our cause, they took away our light. They fed us well, even gave us occasional medical care, but they deprived us of our vision. We were placed in what would be dubbed as 'The Abyss' because of the inability to see a bottom (Or anything, for that matter). The Coalition had figured out a way to darken a certain area to the point of oblivion. Most of us weren't entirely sane when the light arrived, and proceeded to ignore it as one of their own fantasies. But Eve and I recognized it as reality and pleaded to it. "Please, please allow us to be released!" we shouted, attempting to take hold of the light maniacally. "At the very least let us bask in the radiance of the Sun once again before we die!" we screamed until our throats dried up. At the moment when we could speak no longer a solitary rope was thrown into the darkness, and I offered it to Eve first. She tied it around herself and tugged. I watched her ascend into the light, as I pleaded with it to allow me to join her. The light seemed to approve of, or at the least sympathize with my arguments, because the rope appeared again, and this time I tied it around myself. Shamefully I left the others behind, looking up at the light as it caused my eyes great discomfort. Tears of pain rolled down my cheeks as I emerged from the black. The light of the outside was too great, I was forced to keep my eyes shut and shout for someone to explain to me what was happening. Finally, someone must have heard me because a hand alighted upon my shoulder and a voice said to me, "If only you could open your eyes to this, my friend. Your rebellion is a success.

The old woman let the childproof lid drop to the floor and tossed one of the white pills to the back of her mouth, feeling that familiar click on her back teeth. She closed her eyes and swallowed it dry, testing the waters. She attempted to swallow another one but it got caught in the back of her dry throat and began to dissolve, filling her mouth with an unbearable chemical taste. She placed the bottle back on the table beside the keys to the rusted station wagon out front, picked up a newly emptied rock glass and headed to the kitchen. The woman fished a nearly empty bottle of vodka out of the freezer and turned it upside down into the glass. It was barely enough to stifle the taste of the pill. On the couch again she scanned the table in front of her. Her eyes honed in on the prescription bottle once more and she leaned forward with complete certainty, but her outstretched arm was frozen in a moment of unconscious deliberation. For some reason beyond her she instead picked up the car keys that hadn't been touched for days. The traffic on I-5 looked beautiful and uniform, like blood through a vein. Exits branched off like capillaries slowing the vehicles as they pressed towards their destinations. Sometimes it's chaotic, horrifying. All these metal caskets hurtling through space, inches from disaster. Today was different somehow. Through the frame of the bus window he shifted focus from one vehicle to another while his hand - seemingly independent of his body - took notes on the experience of seeing without the usual vertigo. His hand came to a stop mid-sentence and he flipped back to one of the first pages in his small moleskin notebook. Page 7: "More and more they seem to fade. Faces you don't see anymore. Like something seen in the periphery of a dream. The memory and the idea of it are vivid but it's difficult to stitch together a clear image. It's like your brain realizes it doesn't need the information as much since you haven't used it in a while and moves it to some deeper place of storage, one that doesn't need upkeep. Eventually that original space gets filled with more recent and recurring things. When you spend enough time seeing and thinking about a person it becomes ingrained. your brain keeps them alive, a part of you. There is a readily accessible likeness of a person you know. you can see them anytime. But with time the image fades. Less thought reaches it to keep it alive. There are no new experiences to reinforce the old ones. Time keeps passing. We meet new people, learn new things; but however prominent they are in your thoughts they always fade to make way for new ones. If the times and faces are fading then what about the importance we attach to them? Does it really stay unchanged when the memories fade away? Is it realistic or necessary to try to hold on to it? God , I don't know where I'm going here. I think I'm just drunk. I need to go to bed." He closed the book and stared back out the window. He has recently taken to writing in a journal as much as possible. Even when there was nothing to say he would just write about his surroundings. Anything that made it's way through any of his senses would pour out onto paper as it was experienced. It seemed to give him a sense of fluidity, like everything flowed through him rather than pouring in and getting stuck. It was a newer - and less destructive than usual - way of chasing those moments of clarity that came every so often. That state of transient appreciation where everything is coming and going and you are part of it all. Free of attachments. Nothing gained, nothing lost. A few blocks ahead was the bus stop in front of the grocery store. He put his notebook away, checked the seat to make sure he didn't leave anything behind, and pulled the string that signals the bus driver to pull up to the next stop. In the checkout line of a grocery store on 17th avenue an old woman stands impatiently clutching a bottle of Popov Vodka. She is third in line. A blonde woman in her early twenties parks her cart behind the old woman. Her two or three year old daughter sits facing her, laughing and banging a lollipop on the cart's handlebar. The old woman makes the mistake of looking back and accidentally makes eye contact with the young mother. "Isn't she Beautiful?" The old woman looks down at the child, who just dropped her candy on the floor and seems to be in a state of shock, seconds from a meltdown. Mom notices this and pulls another sucker from her breast pocket before the child can even process the loss. "Yes," she considers ignoring her entirely but something wouldn't let her, "yes. she's darling." She then realizes that she has accepted an invitation to a conversation that will last the remainder of her wait in line. The old woman's face begins to express a sort of fascinated contempt as this stranger begins rattling on as if they were old friends. Her eye contact and enthusiasm are intrusive and she finds herself drawing her attention to the rack of candy next to the register in retreat. "Next!" shouts the man at the register to no one in particular. A kid steps forward and places a bottle of water and two notebooks on the counter. The old woman glances down at a drink cooler across from the candy display and then back at the bottle of vodka in her arm and - as if to make it seem like the alcohol isn't the only reason she is in line - reaches in to the cooler for a water. This seems to make no difference to the woman behind her, still caught up in a mostly one sided conversation. "I don't know what it is about today but something just feels right about it. I found a lucky penny this morning. Maybe that's it. I bet you walk outside and find one too. There really are good things everywhere, you just don't see them if you aren't open to it, you know?" "Pennies, huh?" the old woman inches closer to the checkout counter while the man behind it hands the kid his bag. "That'll be 7.99." The kid looks as if he forgot this part of the transaction was coming and, with a little effort, pulls out a wrinkled ten dollar bill and places it on the counter. He gets his change and thanks the cashier but pauses before leaving to look back at the women behind him. He had been listening to their conversation and was reluctant to leave before it was over. He steps outside and is momentarily blinded by the sunlight. Squinting, he lifts his right hand to shield his eyes and realizes he is still holding his change: two dollar bills and one copper coin. He takes a look out across the parking lot, actually taking in his surroundings. Cars lined up in neat rows. people pushing carts full of groceries. All of them with their own thoughts and lives completely separate from each other, yet interconnected, crossing paths and making decisions that change the outcomes of countless others without ever knowing it. Back inside the old woman turns away from the register with her bottle shaped brown paper bag to make her way towards the exit. The kid bends down and places the single coin on the sidewalk in front of the store's automatic doors before walking to the nearest bench to sit. A few seconds later the old woman stops in the same spot to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. She looks at the ground to see a small shiny coin in front of her. She picks it up and holds it in her hand to examine it, tilting her open palm in different directions to see the glare of the sunlight on it's surface. From his seat on the bench the kid sees the woman smile slightly. She laughs to herself quietly and shakes her head as she puts the penny in her pocket and begins walking back to her car. He watches her disappear into the parking lot before pulling out one of his new notebooks. He locates a pen in his back pocket and begins to write.

I'm basically living a Gods life I'm special, not genius special, nor am I short yellow bus special. No, i'm a very special type of special, a special special if you will. you see, I have the power to stop time. I first discovered it when I was around thirteen. I noticed that when I concentrated hard enough on something that everyone around me would stop and I would be the only one left moving. I controlled time. Having this talent was quite fun at first, you know, things like cheating on tests and sleeping in the middle of class for hours on end and then picking back up where I left off. Nowadays it's still amazingly fun but it has it's drawbacks. Whenever I try to really think about things, things like work problems or relationship issues i'll find that hours will pass without even noticing. this leads me to have three week days. life goes so slowly now that I can think about everything I do and say before doing or saying anything. I have determined I don't age while in this state so technically I am immortal. Anyways that's beside the point of this story. It was a typical morning for me. I would wake up and unfreeze time to see the sun rising outside, just where I left off as normal. I would then get up and get dressed and ready for work. Shower? check, Breakfast? check, brush teeth? check, Suit? check Keys? check wallet? check, Rifle? check Oh? Did I mention what the job actually was? Technically I work for the government. When I was sixteen I sat down and thought about who had the most authority in my town, then I made the decision to tell the local police chief about my certain abilities. In hopes I could get a job in some way. At first he laughed, as would any sensible person. I decided to prove it too him by stopping time, taking his gun and then proceeding to go stand in the corner twirling it cowboy style around my finger. Of course this almost got me shot I say almost because as soon as the deputy drew his gun I proceeded to clear the entire station of weapons and drop them all at the poor police chiefs feet. It was stupid, I know but I was sixteen and absurdly immature with my abilities. S.W.A.T was called, Detectives showed up, people went crazy. They even called a HAZMAT team. I was quickly transported to an interrogation room, at my consent of course. Some guys in suits showed up just like in the movies and In six years I was working as a special operative. I went anywhere they wanted me too and killed anyone they told me too. And then, at the end of the month, I would get payed 216,000 for my troubles. This case wasn't very special. find this Chinese politician, set up shop across the street then take him out with one well placed bullet. After that retrieve the bullet, bleach the DNA and get back to the plane. all in the blink of an eye. The only time that I would spend in real time was when the bullet was flying. So I did just that. as soon as I got off the plane I stopped time And started walking towards my target 2.4 mile south south east into the bustling city. not to bad. It took me forty five minutes to lug my rifle case to the building opposite of the mans hotel. Once there I sat on the roof waiting to see the face that was ingrained in my memory from Briefing. 0800 hours that's when he was scheduled for pickup. 0757 0758 0759 There! He was one minute early but I saw him anyways. There he was, in the crowd. I stopped time and began setup of my M110. I unzipped the case to reveal all the parts of my instrument. I grabbed the cold black stock and barrel, threading them together. Next was the scope, I clipped that on with a click and dialed it to the correct distances. I set up my bipod on the concrete ledge and threaded my silencer onto the end before setting it into position. I looked into the scope, My finger lay next to the trigger, numb. I aimed. Moved my finger onto the cold steel of the trigger. That's when something caught my eye, something glimmered. "everyone is frozen" I thought to myself That's when I aimed up and saw on the rooftop adjacent was someone else. moving, waiting, aiming. That's when I realised that the glimmer was a scope and that I was going to die.

Prologue The world of Nexus was once a beautiful place; It was once full of Life. Where when it was day the moon shined brightly, Then night fell and the sun would brightly introduce itself. The grass was a nice and lush green, the sky was a bright blue color with pink fluffy clouds almost like cotton candy. In the sky where the birds who changed color to their surroundings to hide from prey. Trees were purple with different shades of yellow leaves. The flowers where bright colors and big, the honey bees who collected where even bigger. People and Animals alike where all nice and friendly to each other. Then the Dark King and his seven warriors came from the shadows. Not only destroying the land but breaking into the castle over whelming the guards, killing the king and the queen but throwing the princess in the ocean to drown and die. Now the world of Nexus was vast waste land, the sun and the moon now in the same sky always together never apart, so there is no night and day. The grass is dead, the once beautiful Sky is now full of smog and dust with no cotton candy clouds. The color changing bird have become scavengers killing anything and anyone for food. The trees are dull and dead, the once lovely yellow leaves are falling off and disintegrating. What was once vibrant flowers are now small and not noticeable. The honeybee's are now zombies wanting to kill you. The people and Animals now fight and murder over the petty things that were once never important or to just fight and murder. Nexus, once known as the world that fixed problems was now the world which was a desolate desert where all hope is gone. The hope was gone until now. The sun and the moon where home to the goddess of the sun and god of the moon. They were not allowed to interferer with the world they created but now it was far to worse. So they decided to help, without helping, The two combined their powers to create a warrior that will kill the king and save the land and bring it back to the lively place it once was. They sent the light down to Nexus hoping the warrior would be everything there land would need. But, the goddess of the sun and the god of the moon, there powers where to different and the light split into two, going away from each other and landing in two different parts of the land of Nexus. Not only having one but now two warriors. Chapter One Raelynn's p.o.v. I woke up a throbbing feel to my head, “god damnit...” I muttered. I sat up slightly my whole body in pain like I had fell from a tree. I finally got a chance to look at my surroundings. I was sitting in dirt with patches of dead grass. The trees looked dead and like they would fall any minute. Bones covered the ground now if they were animals or humans I can't say for sure. Finally I got the strength to stand up. Once the dizzy spell was over I looked at the sky, it was grey and you really couldn't see anything, “This place is gross...” I whispered. I heard a roar and looked behind me as a lion ran towards me, no wait it was and octopus, no maybe a lion. No I am thinking it is both. Either way it was four times my size and it was coming to kill me. “Branch!” I looked around frantically, “Raelynn needs a branch!” Finally my eyes caught a staff, I picked it up and stabbed the thing in the head with the sharp end. It screeched but went down. That’s when I finally got to take a good look at the staff I held. There was a glass bubble around the top, inside was a crystal that looked like a club from a suit of cards, and there was ribbon tied around the staff cascading down with mini crystals attached to the ends. I looked at the sharp end it also looked to be made of crystal and was the spade from the cards. But the staff itself was a dark black color. I started to walk my way through the dead trees I needed to find water my throat burned. I kept walking for what seems like hours till I came across what looked like an over grown bush. I pushed it aside and finally found water, not that I would really trust anything around her but my throat was just going to die I was going to have to take what I could get and not complain. I took off my one fingerless glove and dipped my hands in and took a big gulp feeling the water tickle down my throat appreciating how cold it was. Finally I got the chance to look at myself in the water, I was pretty pale, and I had short silver hair with black in it. I had blue eyes. My left cheek had a spade on it, my right a club. I looked down and took in my clothes. I was wearing a black and white Lolita type dress, with a Red ribbon around my waist and matching red combat boots. My left sock was white with black clubs and my right sock was black with white spades. With the pattern of my clothing it only comes to the conclusion that The staff I had found was mine to.

Part One: It was playing again, her Music. She tried not to let it move her. The Music had a way of doing that. In a quiet room, void of all sound, it sang to her. Louder and louder in her own ears, she alone felt the horror and beauty of-- "Checks!" She pretended to have been roused from sleep. The Colors were gone, but she could still hear The Music. Moving slowly, deliberately, she sat up, rubbing her eyes in a syncopation. It was a beat that most couldn't pick up on. "Breakfast in ten." The door closed, cocooning her like a pale moth. All the time indoors, inside these white walls took the color from her. If not for her copper locks she could melt into the crisp sheets and fade away forever. She would become an empty room with a dingy window, void of scars or blemishes. Rising, she prepared for another day. She could not waltz to the table, or tap her fork to Tchaikovsky. The only rhythms could be breathing in and out steadily, marching down the hall out of step in a choreographed stumble. Deep inside her where they never thought to look, however, her heart beat wetly in time to every note. "Another quiet day," she mused. It made them believe The Music was fading. That she, and everyone else, was getting better. Of course they weren't, but false optimism was getting her farther than fighting to prove her innocence. She placed her free hand under her leg, catching herself about to tap on the table. Mother said hearing that infernal tapping all day drove her mad. If that were the case, why was she not here instead? Part Two: Little white bed, little white cords, little white lies. She had to go back to the lightening room. They had pulled her there in a horrible tango, she thought. Is that what happened? Eyes swimming, bobbing about on the pallid ocean square above her bed, she tried to remember. *Ting* Blue freckles peeked out, nearly too fast for her to know she had even seen them. A tear ran down her cheek. Her head lolled lazily to the side, but the sea followed her, rolling and roiling nauseously with her. Black to white to black. Lightening strikes, cold ocean splashes. Music...the music was quiet now. She could hear the others' screams over it, smearing it out. The moon spun outside her window, smiling and winking the nights away. All was still and Stygian inside her, all was stock and snowy within the walls, all was pitch and dead beyond. The only thing that stirred was her heart, and it was tired. She was tired. ^*ting* Sitting up was nearly impossible. Her blood ran thick as molten lead. Crying fire, she lifted her arms to play her violin once more, to the new moon. Part Three: Sister has glass eyes like a doll. She speaks of lightening rooms and marching men. Sister is pale, sister is thin. Father smokes and mother shrieks, and I hide my secrets deep. There is a song playing for sister, but they try to make it quiet. I can't imagine her songs are much louder, but I'm better at denying it. My big doe eyes must make me look scared. Mother leads me down the hall. *Clack, clack, clack.* She is brisk but I must crawl, as she talks, knowing I can't speak back. *Clack, clack, clack.* The Woe is Me and Dreadfully So, wrist to forehead, sigh. The Stiff Upper Lip, patting my crutches, cry. Father follows, stoic, as we trek outside. Behind all of our charades we try to hide.

The First Encounter. At the time of these events, I was a member of the U.S. Armed Forces stationed in England. After arriving, I immediately fell in love with the country and even married a local. The birth of our son soon followed, and we settled down in a quiet farming village not far from the base where I worked in Norfolk County. Our bungalow sat off a hidden dirt road that branched off from the main street and remained concealed behind high hedges. Though being the first house on the right, you would never know that our house existed unless you turned down our street. A few small horse lots and a wheat field bordered the side of the house opposite the village. Except for the harvest season, life was exceptionally tranquil. Summer provided occasional reprieves from the stereotypical rains that drenched the country. I took advantage of every opportunity to run down the dry dirt roads that bisected the fields. This particular day’s run started late, and I would have to cut my distance short to get home before sundown. These roads had no lights along their edges, and were near impossible to navigate in the darkness. While approaching my turn-around-point near a small pig farm, I noticed a blur of bright blue and yellow shapes in the distance. As I approached, the blur resolved into a police road block whose yellow tape and road barriers stretched across my path. Behind the barricade, a couple of policemen watched from their patrol car as I slowly turned around and began my run back. My imagination streamed with possible scenarios. A farm equipment accident seemed likely, however these ideas evolved into grotesque portraits of a dead jogger discarded in a drainage ditch or a deranged farmer feeding dismembered human remains to his pigs. This distraction from my surroundings caused me to twist my ankle on an uneven part of the road. With running no longer possible, I tried to hobble home before the sun finished setting. After limping down the road for about a quarter mile, I turned down an intersecting road that led to a neighboring village. The redeeming light of a street lamp emanated a mile ahead of me. Hopefully I could find a pub and call my wife to pick me up. The sun disappeared before I reached the street lamp. Heightened paranoia convinced me to pull out my ear phones so that I might detect any attempted ambush. Shortly into the last 100 feet of my ill-fated run, I heard a rustling from the bushes on the side of the road. Rather than investigate, I lengthened my wounded stride in an effort to leave the unsettling commotion far in my wake. The rustling exasperated my already hyperactive imagination. A chainsaw-like buzz erupted behind me, forcing enough adrenaline through my system to start dulling my ankle pain. Before breaking into a hobbled sprint, I turned and found that the buzzing was a dirt bike. The rider throttled down to avoid hitting me; more riders followed behind him, driving slowly and spaced far enough apart to light my way with their headlights. I felt relieved to know that I had let my spooked mind play tricks on me. Just as I started to laugh at myself, I saw something in the darkness. While one of the bikes road by, their headlights reflected off a set of eyes hiding in the foliage. They shined like a cat’s eyes, only larger and high enough to be level with my own. Before the light completely illuminated the figure, it quickly retreated into the brush. Without hesitation, I put every bit of strength into reaching the streetlight before the last motorbike passed me. Do you remember during your childhood when you would turn off your bedroom light and then run to your bed before the monsters could catch you? That child-like irrational fear had a hold of me again, but this time as an adult on the verge of being dragged off into the darkness. Luckily, whatever it was did not catch me before reaching the street lights and paved road. To my relief, there was a pub within a stone’s throw where I could call and wait for my wife. Though annoyed, she packed my son in the car and drove out to pick me up. While pulling out of the parking lot, I looked back to find my son intently starring at something outside. Whatever he saw was in the direction of the dark road I had narrowly escaped. Before my wife turned down the main road, I saw those haunting eyes reflecting off our brake lights. This time an unfocused outline took shape around its gaze. There was nothing I could identify as clothes, just an uncanny, gangly and naked human-like figure kneeling among the bushes at the edge of the road. The creepy shape retreated back into the darkness while I sank into my seat and swore myself to never go running down those roads alone. Autistic children have their own personalized quirks that their families learn to cope with. At night, Jack displayed traits similar to a cliché mischievous ghost. He frequently got up in the middle of the night, marched from room to room, slammed cupboards, overturned couch cushions, and powered on the television. Though not verbal, he babbled to himself, often in a low eerie tone that gave the illusion of conversation. My wife and I developed a tolerance to these disturbances. We occasionally awoke in the morning to find him asleep, unharmed and laying underneath the couch cushions. We felt secure as long as he remained inside the house. Our primary concern was the dirt road past the driveway that led off into the fields. Though primarily used by the three other houses on my street, traffic from large farm equipment became competitive during harvest season. They usually moved fast and gave the residents a small margin of error when entering from the street or our driveways. For this reason, I ensured that all possible exits were locked every night before going to bed. Fortunately doors and windows that have key locks on the inside are popular in this country. Though far from the pub and dark stretch of road where I last saw that thing, I checked each possible entrance twice before going to sleep. Many unmade roads ran through the fields, but I did not want to chance that it would not happen down ours. Once satisfied, I went to bed and attempted to read myself to sleep. I droned on, nearly finishing the book but to paranoid to retain any of the content. Every noise instigated a flinch, and I did not let my guard down until the local rooster let loose its wake-up call. For the first time I was happy to hear it. Sleep returned progressively over the next several nights as the incident faded from my mind, and life returned to normal. I convinced myself that whatever I saw was an animal whose anthropomorphic features were produced by a mix of panic, pain and imagination. Perhaps I could next convince myself to run again.

Sergeant Gun Shooter was just your typical, middle aged white male. But one day, something so vile, something so devious, something so atroscious, occured in his life. His entire family was shot right in the fucking face by Osama Bin Laden. This wasn't your typical Osama Bin Laden however, this was the same Osama Bin Laden who blew up the Twin Towers with a plane on the ninth of september, 2001. The same day 9/11 happened... To avenge the lives of his family, Sergeant Gun Shooter joined the Army, Navy and Airforce, all at the same time. His mission? To eradicate the world of all non-American scum, and to get revenge on Osama Bin Laden by shooting him right in his fucking face, showing him what it feels like to be in the same position as Gun Shooters family... Dead. Gun Shooter sat inside the helicopter, surrounded by white soldiers with dead families, just like him. As well as one token black man, to fill the quota and to gain that extra funding they needed. Gun Shooter took a well deserved swig of his flask, savouring every drop. Mountain Dew... it goes down smoothe. Gun Shooter looks around, scanning the helicopter for terrorists. His fellow white marines do the same. Occasionally glancing at the black man, briefly mistaking him for a terorist and needing to remind themselves of the difference between brown americans and brown terrorists. A sigh of relief is expelled from the black man. He's safe to live another day. "Oh shit! We got a foxtrot tango on our tail!" Jonny Johnson proclaimed, in a voice that sounded a bit like the Cookie monster with a bad case of throat cancer. "Gun Shooter, jump on that turret and take out those glowing targets!" Gun Shooter springs to action, flying towards the turret with outstretched arms. He held the gun as though it were his kin, and he aimed it directly at the approaching enemy helicopter. Gun Shooter pulled the trigger that was attached to the turret he was shooting. Launching a barrage of death seeking lead, successfully penetrating the skulls of each and every terrorist in the helicopter, leaving the aircraft to crashland into nearest terrorist headquarters, killing all those inside. Gun Shooter lifts a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and places them on his face, whilst simultaneously lighting a cigarette.

"Jesus Christ", I said while stepping out of my car. It was a challenge with a broken rib and blood dripping from my face, but I didn't fucking care anymore. "It's time to put an end to this." I walked upon the police cruiser, now resembling more a crushed coke can than a pursuit vehicle. The smell of leaking gasoline and burning flesh made me smile. Trevor's mingled corpse had split in half, splattered all over the windshield resembling a double cheese pizza covered in the finest hobo vomit. Matt told me Tyrone was with Trevor tonight. I had to act quick if I wanted to shake up the little shit before rest of the department would arrive at the scene. The sky was turning crimson and I swear I could hear the sound of the sirens getting closer in my mind. Tyrone had been lucky. He was bleeding and holding his guts, laying in a pool of his own urine and feces next to the car, but he was alive. "Jesus, glad to see you here. Get me to Bones, he's gonna fix me, I'm--" "An asshole", I interrupted. "Now, bitch...", I said and clicked the safety off my Jatimatic. "Remember when I told you I'm gonna find you and kill you?" I've never seen a black man turn white as Michael Jackson this fast. "Nigga!" cried Tyrone. "Don't shoot me bro! I didn't do it, don't shoot, nigga I swe--" I emptied half a clip on his right elbow. The look of sheer horror on his face turning to agonizing pain brought me a warm and fuzzy feeling. "The address", I said in a stern voice, "or I fucking whack your head off with this marvel of Finnish engineering. Bro." I knew I had crushed him mentally, it was just a matter of seconds before he'd cave in and tell me what I really wanted to know. "Aaah! 520 Bryant Street! Nigga! Don't--". I pressed the muzzle deep into his nostrils. "You sure about that?", I said and chuckled. "Aaaah! Yes. YES! Now, get me to Bones before I--" "Die like Matt, right? You and your posse ratted him out. I had to bribe the coroner to show the body." I thrust my leg deep into his gut and enjoyed the taste of revenge in my mouth. The little shit cried in agony. "There's no way it would have been a 'suicide', as you and your partner put it on the report. He was the only honest sergeant among you corrupted fucks, and you murdered him." ~~~ This is my first short story ever.

My long walk in the dark began with a sobbing girlfriend and two barking dogs in the neighbors back yard. My jacket hung loosely on my shoulders as I fiddled with some loose change and a key in my pockets. For the first ten minutes, I expected her to come running behind me and ask me to come back home. An hour after that I had forgotten what we were fighting about in the first place. The city lights flooded my vision, creating a contrast with the shadows. I felt them move, like a wanderer with nowhere to go, pacing back and forth. My tired feet approached a particularly black intersection. A large van slowed to a stop in front of me. The driver, a man in his forties, had a baseball cap on shadowing his eyes. He didn’t notice me and pulled out into the street as I waited to cross. I stared at his face as he passed, it was angry. Impossibly angry, he was searching for someone. ‘I’m glad I’m not on that guys bad side,’ I thought to myself once the van was gone from my sight. As I continued along the lonely path I noticed the shadow on the wall at the next allyway move, ever so slightly. My eyes fixed on it as I made my somber approach. I’d never been mugged before and was preparing to run if I had to. Out of the shadows stepped a tall man, middle aged and wearing a lab coat. His right hand clamped around a small metallic device. I jumped back assuming a pistol was pointing at me. His other hand clutched the growing red stain on his chest. “It’s… Stuck... … … No.. Going… Back.” He collapsed in front of me. I don’t remember anything after that. My mind went blank for a while, just switched off. When my brain came back online, I was holding a small metal machine in my hand. I stared at it for a minute. It was completely, amazingly, fantastically… unremarkable in any way. Rectangular, shaped like a tv remote, but buttonless. It had a smooth stainless steel casing. The only thing protruding out was a knob. The knob was black plastic and had a notch at the top. I headed back home quickly. The front door creaked as I opened it. My expectation was that my girlfriend had calmed down and gone to bed, but I was mistaken. Within a minute we were at it again. Arguing about nothing, using anything as an excuse to try to hurt each others feelings. She noticed me holding the device and slapped it to the ground. The knob turned two clicks to the right. Immediately the hate in her eyes dissipated. I was still furious and grabbed the gadget back up off the ground. I set it in my jacket pocket and as it slid in the knob turned once more to the right. She couldn’t contain herself anymore and grabbed me by the neck pulling me in for a passionate and heavy kiss, moaning against my bottom lip. She pulled me back into the bedroom and we had life affirming, wonderful sex. The next weeks were marvelous. Jennifer, my girlfriend, was in love with me again. My coworkers were happy to see me. My boss even gave me a raise! I was flying high and loving life. Something tugged at me though, curiosity reared its ugly head. The gadget hadn’t left my side since I had found it. I had made sure that the knob stayed two clicks to the right of center. My incorrigible side tugged at me relentlessly with what if’s. One evening, Jennifer was cooking me another delicious dinner. I worked up the courage to test my hypothesis, and reached into my pocket. The smooth device fit snugly in my hand as I pulled it out of my pocket. Jennifer was looking away, half consumed with the steaks on the fryer. She used the rest of her attention to hurl verbal accolades at me. I took a deep breath and turned the knob all the way, counter clockwise to the left. The notch on the knob hit found its end. Immediately Jennifer ended all movement, stopping her sentence jarringly. She breathed in deeply and began shaking. “Honey, are you ok?” I asked. The silence was deafening. She took a large breath and grabbed the frying pan. The pan came flying to my face with a force I didn’t think my petite girlfriend could muster. It missed by an inch as I fell back in surprise. Her eyes were wild with a level of hate I had previously only seen in my nightmares. My back landed on the hard linoleum flooring and I skirted backwards in horror. She wound the pan back behind her head again, and with both hands swung it down toward my face. In a move of self preservation I turned my head away and held my hands out to take the blow. The pan crashed against the steel and plastic of the device, shattering the knob into a hundred evil pieces. The shock reverberated through my hands, shattering the bones in three of my right fingers. I kicked as hard as I could into her kneecap. She fell, howling in pain. My gut told me to get out of there but I couldn’t just leave her lying there in pain. I got up and walked over to her, I put the broken device back in my pocket and knelt down beside her. “Honey, it’s over now.” I said, attempting to reassure her. She took her focus off of the broken leg and turned her gaze toward me. My blood boiled as her eyes met mine. My beautiful Jennifer was gone. All that was left was rage in her eyes. In a split second, her hands came up to my neck, choking me with all the force she could rally. She couldn’t even bring herself to speak. Nothing but guttural hisses and whines escaped her clamped jaw. I panicked and struggled for breath. Her thumbs collapsing my esophagus and shutting off the blood to my brain. My vision blurred and became dark as I began to pass out. I saw the frying pan, still on the floor. With my precious seconds of life still clinging to me, I grabbed it with my unbroken hand and smacked her on the top of the head. She let go of her death grip and I collapsed onto her chest. I heard her heart, still beating furiously in her chest. I gathered my strength and picked myself up. Everything was ruined. My only option was to call the police. I knew once they got there they would fall under the spell of the device as well, but I had to get Jennifer help. From inside the garage I could hear the sirens as the ambulance and police found their way to my house. The sound of the first responders closing their doors was muffled by the sound of my hammer whaling against stainless steel.

This is a short story I wrote back in 2007. Please ignore the grammar. Though, there are no "meeps" in the real world, this was a world that was easier for me to relate to at the time. Though it was a fantasy world, it was very real. Once upon a time, there was a sad meep who no one loved. She was lonely and unsure of what her life was for. Other kids would laugh at her and joke about the second hand clothing she wore. At the time, the sad little meep did not understand why she was being made fun of until she was in about the second grade when she noticed she did not look like the other meeps. She tried surgery after surgery so she could look as pretty as all the other meeps, but no matter how hard she tried to look pretty like them, they still laughed at her. One day a change happened in this little meep's life. Her mother meep had a business that changed things in every way. The little meep wore nice clothes and had top products, and suddenly she had friends. Then painfully the little meep realized that they only wanted to be her friends because of her mother's fortunes. But by that time it was too late, the little meep who was sad once again had no one to turn to. Her mother meep drank Meeping vodka every night and became outraged and resentful at everything and everyone around her. Meep had nothing better to do than sit by herself in her room and wonder why she had to live this life. Why did the Meep Lord Pick her to have to go through these daunting tasks? She thought perhaps she had done something terribly wrong at some point of her life and this was the way the Meep Lord was punishing her. When the young meep was a little older, she fell into a bad crowd of people and started giving her other family meeps a bad name for the neighborhood. Until one day she told her cousin meep what she was up to and he helped her get back on her feet. After getting back on her feet, the little meep struggled to fix all the mistakes she had made and tried to mend broken hearts to those other meeps she had hurt. Some of those meeps however wanted nothing more to do with her. So this meep moved on, and tried to make things better regardless of what any other meeps thought of her. One day, the maturing meep met a man meep, who she really did not think much of. However after time, the two meeps became great friends, and they married a few years later. The only problem with Mr. and Mrs. Meep was that no one really approved. Mr. Meep was much older than Mrs. Meep which was obvious to both sides of the families and friends. Other meeps constantly made it their business to find out information on the two married meeps and criticize them for how wrong they were for being together. Neither of the Meeps cared what anyone said about them, because they knew their love for each other were strong. But why is this story about the sad little meep? She was married, and she did have at least a handful of real friends. She went to college and she always tried to help those in need. So what was the problem? This little meep was sad inside. 1 As a young meep she wanted to break free from her drinking mother meep who never gave her freedom to live the life of an adult meep as well as the other children meeps who made fun of her. Only to grow up and realize that in the real world there still is no freedom, and even adult meeps are just as mean and laugh at other adult meeps. 2 She wanted to be as beautiful as other meeps. Her friend meeps told her she looked just as beautiful as they were if not - even more beautiful. But she knew she wanted to be prettier. She did not have enough money to pay for any more surgeries. 3 As an child meep she thought that life would be better as an adult meep and could not wait for the day to come. Only to realize that life as an adult meep is much more complicated. Other meeps at her adult age would think "well ya you think its easy" as if they know it all, But its just their way of lying to themselves to think they were better than this meep. To make her feel as if she were a failure at life. This meep stood alone again. Isolating herself from her friends and family who could not understand. She did not know what her purpose was in life. Was this the path she was chosen? If so by who? What was life about? Years went by and the young meep had grown older. Only getting worse in focusing so hard on what life was about, that she was missing life. She did not understand what she had done wrong. Even her husband meep had left her because she had grown so distant from everyone including him. This meep was all alone. She was angry at everything. The only thing this meep had was her and her house, that sat alone with a garden outside. This is where she spent most of her time wondering about life. There came a point in her life, she could no longer take care of her garden, which was the only thing she cherished. She would hire gardening men, and other special people to work on and around her house as she was too old to do anything for herself anymore. But no one ever stayed long. All the workers thought she was crazy. She flew off the handle at anyone at any time if she felt something was out of place. By this time the meep was too old to care anymore what would happen. She was alone, for the last time. Her garden began to wither and a few weeks had passed. She became weaker and weaker, just sitting inside staring out the window at her half dead garden when she remembered one last time of her life. She remembered wanting to grow up and meet a beautiful meep who would love her no matter how she looked. Then she remembered how she lost him. She remembered her own family she once had, who loved her, and then she remembered how she just got up and walked out on her own life.. She remembered wanting friends who would not make fun of her, and then she remembered how she lost them. For the last time, she remembered her own mother meep. She remembered how badly she wanted to get out of that house when she was little. How she could not stand to be around her. She seriously thought of the mother meep who made her so upset to the point she just wanted to move out and forget she had a mother meep. She remembered this arrogant woman who loved her daughter meep no matter what ever happened. She closed her eyes, and remembered the day she left home. She remembered being happy that she never had to go back. Seeing her mother's face of sadness knowing she had no one left to control and she could finally live her own life. She opened her eyes and looked out the window one last time, staring at her garden, and realized, the woman she despised the most in life, and blamed for her being alive, was the woman she became to be. She became that same meep her mother once was, who was miserable over everything, and bossed everyone around. She drove her own family out the door and had no one left but herself. A tear ran down the elderly meep's face and she asked the Meep Lord "was this the life you chose for me?" and her eyes grew still and glossy. She had died staring at her garden. A few days later, her body was found, with a dry tear mark that ran down her face. The young woman who found her, ran her hands through the elderly meep's hair to get a good look at her face. That was when the woman noticed the elderly meep had a note in her hand, and it read "I wish to be buried with your grandmother meep." The young woman meep looked at the deceased meep and started to cry. The woman buried her with her grandmother as her mother meep had wished. The daughter meep stood over her mother meep's grave. The small gravestone read "This is what life is about." She looked around her mother's grave, around her garden. Wondering why she loved this garden so much, if she hated her mother so much. Why did her mother make this garden around her grandmother's grave so beautiful? Perhaps she knew all along how she would end up. She knelt down to her mother's grave and kissed the stone.

So this girl has this crazy idea that trees will evolve to kill us. This was my response: You forget by the time the trees evolve to kill us we will just have like crazy laser shooting mechanized lumberjacks. It will be all out war... **The Herbivites** The lumberjacks in there smokey loud vehicles destroyed the forest covered landscape at an very alarming rate. Burning and cutting there way through. The trees were getting slaughtered. It was a god damn extermination(pardon my french =S.) It wasn't until the trees observed the once fleshy humans living unscathed in there massive metal machines. Watching there brothers die and there enemy's conquer with no lacerations or casualty's spawned a massive idea to echo throughout the global root network. The trees used there extensive root system to lay out a perfect mapping of the battle fields enemy locations and geological data. The lumberjacks were so noisy and there vibrations could be felt from thousands of feet away. It was a sunny day, the forest was still glistening with morning dew. A legion of scouts flew out from underneath the trees, mist spraying in there wake. Headed directly for the lumberjacks largest battalion. They circled the lumberjacks round and round. The lumberjacks targeting systems couldn't keep up with the tumbleweeds unbridled charge. Most of the lumberjack army converged on the tumbleweed. There numbers were so large the lumberjacks saw it as an opportunity to make them extinct. They saw immeasurable profit in this as tumbleweeds were the fastest of the herbivites. And previously were alerting the other herbivites of the lumberjack advancements. The lumberjacks grew enraged at there lack of kills. They kept burning there fuel faster and faster. The trees also observed the odd and disgusting smoke coming out of there machines earlier and saw the machine was only outputting matter. Not taking any in. The trees knew it couldn't last forever. Out of the forest and into the canyon. The tumbleweeds sped faster and faster across the endless rocky dessert terrain. The lumberjacks were convinced this was every tumbleweed on the planet. They were right, but they forgot about the trees. The redwoods layed themselves down. There arms were weak but there mass was amazing. The redwoods were then strapped large flat rocks held together by massive jungle vines. The ash trees made quick work with there brothers so as not to prolong there pain. The mighty oaks approached the edge of the cliff rolling the red woods closer and closer into battle. One final push and the redwoods could not be stopped. Redwood after redwood rolled over the lip. One continued assault that lasted for 5 minutes straight. By the time it was all over there was a massive land bridge of redwood. thousands of lumberjacks lay at the bottom. If they were not killed in the assault they screamed and cried for there wife's and children. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. The trees joined forces on top of the bridge and mourned the redwoods sacrifice. Some jacks were still alive stuck under millions of pounds of rocks and wood. "This is captain Jon Miller.... RESPOND"! The radio chirped in "eerrrraraarrhh hheeeeeeeeeiiiiiip". "Son I know I know but I need you to fire up your weapons system if its operational...". "sir"? "Can't you feel that. They are on top of us right now adding more and more weight. The assault is over lets burn these herbivites and show them who will always be on top." (Totally just realized I have no idea how to format dialogue while writing.) The smoke rose up through the cracks of the redwoods. The herbivites cheered at the release of there souls. It grew hotter and hotter and the trees danced and danced. Thud Thud Thud. Every step billowing the fire. It burned faster and faster. Gaining more and more oxygen to burn. The trees dancing harder and harder so happy in there victory. So joyous to bath in there brothers ashes. A monstrous cracking sound boomed from underneath the trees. The whole stack dropped dizzying amount. Over 3/4th of the herbivites lay stuck on the pile. Many limbs were lost. The herbivites now realized what was happening. They fell victim to there own celebration and were now going to join there brothers in the largest die off in the history of earth. They screamed and prayed for justice. Some jumped and fell to the desert floor where the bodies splintered and exploded. Surely a more instant death then being burned from root to leaf. The surviving herbivites watched on as there brothers burn up in agony. They decided to try and contact the lumberjacks. That is if there were any remaining. The willows lead the trees to the humans in the most calming ways. There was a need for calm. The willows came up with the idea of trying to communicate with the lumberjacks. They had used there roots to break into a computer. They felt its electric pulse. 1's and 0's 1's and 0's. They thought how could a language consist of only 2 states? 2 words? It didn't take them long to figure out the answer. Yes and No. The most basic of communication. So they recruited the potatoes for there electrical charge in a attempt to reason with the lumberjacks.(That's right freaking potato phone baby!) And so the willows marched into St. Paul and head straight for the capital. They wired up the potatoes and rigged it up to a giant walmart sign. The potatoes figured out how to control there energy output. This would dim the light on an off. The willows connected to the potatoes root system orchestrated the whole thing. Flashing the light on and off on and off. Walking straight towards the capital. The humans stood in wonder and awe. They previously thought the herbivites were only hostile. They saw higher intelligence in that one flash of light then any other creature has ever demonstrated in history. It was baffling how fast the herbivites advanced and adapted. The willows arrived at the lawn on the capital. Jesse Ventura stood on the roof(on account of marshal law... And predator.) He screamed as loudly as he could. "WE WANT TO LEAAARRRN". The wallmart sign lit up. The willows bowed there leaves. General Ventura ordered one of the few remaining lumberjack mechanized assault vehicles to jump up and down in morse code. - .... .. ... / .. ... / -- .-. ... . / -.-. -.. . / -.-- ? The trees responded with the light flickering on and off. - / .-.. .- --.. -.-- / - / .-. .. --. .... - / -.. .. .- .-.. --. ..- . / .... . .-. . The trees figured it out instantly. Ventura stood amazed. World peace was announced. The humans would only use metal for construction from now on no matter how high the cost. The herbivites returned to rest in there woods. They will be here for a long time. The End.

She wondered how it had come to this. There was boy whose eyes were as dark as the deepest abyss, and burned her like hell fire. There were days when she thought he might of loved her. Those were the days where his eyes weren't quite so scorching, but more like a pleasant warmth, like you would get from one's fire place. His touch would dance across her skin, playing a master piece only he could see and only she could see, as notes bloomed in his wake. He would be her protector, her kind, wonderful, protector. The one that would keep the demons at bay, while allowing his own to ravage him. His smile would be as sweet as a summer's day, and his kiss would be divine. Other days she wasn't quite sure. Sometimes, not only his eyes, but his words would burn her to the bone. His touch wasn't a master piece, but a disaster. He would rave and writhe and curse her, scream at her, and collapse in on himself and sob. There were days where he would taste like blood and ash, and she would wonder briefly, boy of mine, where have you been? There were days where she knew she loved him. Those were the days when he would smile and teach her to fly across the roof tops, or teach her to waltz to music that they could only hear, music that could no longer play in the world they lived in. He would tell her stories of the days before this, of the ocean and of him. He would bandage her knee if she fell, and hold her if she cried. He told her he thought her wings were beautiful, as molted as they were. She knew she loved him then, and there were no days where she could truly bring herself not to (but she wouldn't admit this if he asked.) Sometimes she wondered when her life became a walking cliche. He wondered when he had become so naive. When they finally found them (of course they would find them, they always knew their days were numbered, so really it should be no surprise) They rip the remaining bits of her wings from her back, and he screams and she thinks, maybe he loves me after all. She wondered how it had come to this. She was falling towards the ground, wingless and numb, but in a weird sense, elated. (She was tired of playing this game.) She wondered why she thought she could ever have a happy ending. Because after all, the villain never got one. And the dragon never kept her prince.

I just stared. For hours now, days? Months? Locked eyes with a monster or a friend. I still don't know. What is this. What am I doing here. It's so dark. I'm still studying. Looking over every feature multiple times and making sure that it was true. Is it possible to see a demon in a human world? With the right tools. I feel like I could reach through it. Reach out and touch the cold skin. It's still cracked and my knuckles have bled. A pool of dark red around my feet. Shards on the ground. I'm broken. Maybe this is what I look like on the inside. It reflects my inner thoughts. I'm just fixed in this spot. Always in front of a mirror, cracked and broken apart. I can feel a growing darkness reaching out to grab me. Has anyone noticed my absence? Or has it been over looked. Laying on the grow, fresh blood pools around me. I can taste copper. My body feels so light and the screams around me are muffled. I looked for too long and drove myself insane. The last thing I remember is hearing the sirens and seeing the people around me trying to stop the bleeding. Now I just look outward, look back into other people's eyes. People that were just like me. They don't even notice it's me because they see themselves. No one can ever see past the reflecting wall guarding purgatory. To be honest, I can see myself in them too. If only they could hear me trying to warn them. If only they could feel me trying to reach out for them to stop. To stop them from looking before they lose themselves, like I did. **Add on**: this is my first post on here and this is an original story. My friend helped me from the concept. I have more that I make on my own or with him. Some are really weird but tell me what I could have don't better on this and any mistakes that I made and I will try to correct them.

I see you across the aisle, as beautiful as ever, and something extraordinary happens. The world around me burns, the air becomes thin, and my vision begins to blur. The sound of my racing heart is audible through my chest and is reminiscent of the drums of wars long since forgotten. Adrenaline courses through my veins and dopamine floods into my brain, making me a human cocktail of euphoria. I begin to cross the aisle and my hands begin to shake and my feet numb more and more with each step. Memories spring forward in my mind like pies from boxes in a cartoon, causing me to smile and wince in equal measure. The sight of you in a shirt and underwear as we ready ourselves for bed, and the simple eloquence you carry without knowing so. The smell of your soft, black hair as I hold you close, full of fear that if I release you it will be forever. The warm, engulfing sensation of my unbridled love for you, and the reciprocation you so generously provide. Alas, the memories fade and I'm pulled back into the present, walking down the aisle towards you. Your friends spot me first and they attempt to guide you away from me, as a lighthouse guides a ship from the rocks, but you turn your head just in time to catch a glimpse of me. When our eyes lock, I know you feel what I do. Your friends realize their attempt is now futile and they slowly drop their arms and lower their heads. Our faces are oil paintings made with strokes of surprise, nostalgia, regret and love. Less than six feet between us, yet it feels like six hundred. A blink brings it back to six feet and reality sticks a knife deep into my withered heart. Three feet more and the knife disolves, making it possible for us to embrace for the first time in years. The hug brings with it an entire relationship, pulling no punches and sparing no details, our minds ignite with both passion and pain. The hug should not have lasted more than a sliver of a second, but here we are going on nearly a minute. Our eyes are closed and our heads are leaning in the small of each other's neck. As we part, I feel the unwillingness to do so in you that also resonates in me. Our hands find each other and I rub them softly, just as I used to. Your beautiful green eyes peer through my simple brown ones into my soul, not to pry but to remember what it felt like. I want so badly to say something to you, confess that you have captivated my thoughts every day since we took different paths, yet my mouth simply remains open enough for air to trickle in and out. In the silence, we find a deafening roar of passion that has gone unattended in the passing years. We are still madly in love, though for reasons all too familiar, we made the decision to end our beauteous relationship. The words of our last conversation are forever engraved in the folds of my mind, as I'm positive they are in yours as well. We spoke of happiness...we spoke of sorrow. We spoke of life...we spoke of death. However, above all, we spoke of love... A tear begins to form in the corner of your eye, and a smile full of pain spreads across your face. Your smile is as contagious as a yawn, forcing my lips to mirror yours. The tear slowly rolls down your cheek just as a drop of morning dew rolls down a blade of grass. The torn tapestries of our souls are being sewn back together, despite the wedge we drove between ourselves. You cannot fight a love this powerful, no matter how strong you make claim to be. It digs inside of you and places it's hand upon your heart, calming you, despite any struggle you may give. We have still yet to utter even a single word, but we do not have to, we are now together again. My thoughts are yours, your movements are mine, and our souls are one. This is exactly where we are meant to be. Right here, on this very spot, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. The rest of the world does not dare to exist at this moment, it gives way for us to be alone. Our private moment that the universe has granted us. Who were we to decide against a love such as ours? We were but petty mortals given the greatest gift of all, and we chose to cast it aside as if it were an unwanted childhood toy. The reasoning behind our decision echoes now within me, and the echoes tear at the scars, causing old wounds to become fresh once again. Our child, our sweet, innocent child not even 3 years young. The lump that became something far more sinister, and all the tears that could float a small ship. That day in the hospital when the machine let loose one continuous beep. The small casket that we watched slowly drop into the cold, dark Earth. That final conversation we had... You take the step that closes the gap between us. We then close our eyes and give ourselves over to the passion that has been boiling beneath the surface, and let our lips find each other. They interlock, as two adjoining puzzle pieces do, and we pick up right where we left off. Fireworks explode in our hearts, fires ignite in our souls, and an emotional serenity envelopes our minds. Our lives were turned into a rubix cube, constantly shifted and rotated away from it's true form. The colors, mirroring our emotions, were jumbled and strewn across the cube. Hate mixed with love; pain mixed with happiness; and fear mixed with assurance. Through our years apart we kept shifting and rotating, unconsciously, and we have arrived at this random store: complete again. As our kiss ends, and we separate, I can feel the strings of our hearts gain tension, a sign that they are now sewn back into place. You abandon your friends, and I abandon my cart, then we walk hand-in-hand down the aisle. We have no direction, no plan to follow, we simply walk. This is exactly where we are meant to be.

In nature there exist cycles of balance. Self correcting mechanisms to keep eco systems intact and stable. Every creature on this planet develops a natural equilibrium with its surroundings. Be it population size, birth and death rates, or the number of hunters and prey. It is only through external pressure and change that these mechanisms fail and eco systems are destroyed. In most cases it is human pressure that is the foremost culprit in environmental change and the destruction of other species and their natural habitats. It appears nature had a mechanism in store to control our own population. A self limiting trigger that would keep us in check. Our own intelligence. We thought it was an illness. It wasn't, it was a defense. It wasn't until 3 years after the first documented case, when the newly formed Synergy Alliance concentrated its scientific efforts in the sea fortress of New Haven, that we learned the truth. The cold virus is a symbiote, a parasite offering mutually beneficial service in return for safe harbour. It didn't feed on us to replicate, it fed on another much smaller virus we all carry within us - breaking it apart and using it to create copies of itself. That smaller virus was never cataloged or studied, because it had never once produced symptoms in humans or any other species. It was seen as an inert genetic quirk. Something passed from generation to generation that had no use, like so much redundant genetic code we carry inside us. We came to call this tiny virus Genesis, because we believe it was the first. A simple pathogen never once showing a mutation. Genesis has existed in the same form inside each and every one of us for millions of years. Like a slowly ticking bomb lying in wait. With each medical advance we shaved seconds off the countdown, until one day we did the unthinkable. We cured the common cold. Genesis was no longer the hunted. It became the hunter.

Had a fun time imagining what would the context be in a situation like . What I wrote really disturbed me so I made a throwaway. Hope you find it interesting? It is a little too much tbh Love … And I slugged forward, lifting each foot slowly and forcing it back to the ground just as slow and powerful. Rusty knife in hand I kneeled towards the screaming beauty who backed herself into a pathetic corner. I told her calmly as she screamed about how she should be glad. "Soon we can be together, you said you didn't love me but that was a lie. I know you are just too shy. I love you too." With that I started my homage to her body. I slowly severed her right pinkie finger as she cried in agony. Then her right ring finger. Then her right middle finger. Then her right pointer finger. Then her thumb. I made sure to cauterize her fingers so she wouldn't bleed out. I wouldn't want her to be free yet. She screamed a terrible song. She struggles so much, I was much too strong for her. I then went on to her left hand. I readied the old jagged knife and she grimaced and cringed. The knife hadn't even made contact and she was already screaming horrifically. Her left pinkie. Her left ring finger. Her left middle finger. Her left pointer finger. Her left thumb. She cried tears of joy but her screams disturbed me. I gagged her with a rag but she was still too loud. I cut her mouth wider so the gag would fit deeper. She then could only cry. I let her rest while I drilled holes through each finger. I strung them together and wore them as a necklace. I asked her for a necklace once before but she hasn't delivered on it until now. I decided that she was not yet ready. I trudged back to her and noticed she was trying to crawl towards the door. I wouldn't stand for that so I stepped on her ankle and shattered it. It was rather fun so I did it to her other ankle. And then both her legs. She was immobile. I always adored her eyes so I gouged them out with a spoon I brought with me. Now I have decided she was done. I removed the gag that had absorbed enough blood to become pounds heavier to hear her scream one last time, at that time I slit her throat and it was over. She bled and cried for a few seconds and fell into the warm, friendly embrace of death. Oh how I envied her escape. I cut her stomach so she would drop her entrails. I missed her screams. I scooped blood and started my art. I drew our love on the walls with her. I wanted to make her know I loved her being around me. I drew how I truly felt around us. It was love. The room was finished and it was perfect, I decided that it might be time for me to go to work. I took off my new necklace I got from her and started off.

"I can't believe he did that to himself" muttered a body from behind my right shoulder. *Silence is the hardest respect to claim alive.* I wheeled around in my seat, and I saw him. *There he is. The Atomic Man.* I sat near the back of a dimly lit auditorium of maybe 200-300 people. Two men moved down the aisle towards the stage. Only one of them was someone you'd notice. The atomic man was a short, old man of asian descent. He had a quietness about him that hinted he may had been a monk at one point in his life. He hunched in his wheelchair, bent over with his arms crossed under his belly. *I think he's crying.* The two men reached the foot of the stage. After being helped up, the old man stood beside a single podium at its center. The unimportant man strode to the podium and spoke of the atomic man's sacrifice, but his voice faded as all I could do was watch. The atomic man was rooted there with his head slightly bowed forward. At his midsection was a half-dome protrusion. It curved down from his sternum and chest to his waistline and looked to be made of a plastic that had turned pale in its age. *But he doesn't seem scared.* "..This is truly a sad day as we say goodbye to such a tremendous hero." the speaker admitted. "Fifty-six years ago today you fastened that device to your chest," he started to tear, "and it was fifty-six years ago you redeemed humanity." The crowd around me sobbed. They knew in their hearts what this meant. I was always late to that party. His death would hit me long after this ceremony, and possibly much harder. So I sat upright, and watched. "While this world spiraled in chaos and fervor, you transcended hatred and fear." the speaker continued after a pause. "The entire world gives its' thanks to you. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten. Fifty-six years ago this gentle man on my right took the war into his own hands by stealing a nuclear warhead and having it fixed upon his chest. Tonight, we join him as he pays for our dangerous ignorance with his life. Regretfully, I introduce to you for the last time, The Atomic Man." The Atomic man said nothing. He only smiled at us. *How could he not hate us?* The speaker helped the atomic man back to his wheelchair that waited for him in the aisle, down the steps. The room was entirely silent. The kind of silence that actually grows loud and deafening. Beside me, a girl rested her head on my shoulder and wept, but I could not hear a thing. The atomic man was just yards away now when my hearing came back. I saw fire in the corner of my eye and the sound rushed back into the room like a hurricane. The velocity of the sound hit my ears like the jet scream and all at once, it was too much for me. The atomic man was leaned backward in his wheelchair, a dead firefly still burning. His eyes hadn't quite shut all the way and in their reflection I saw the flames contained in the half-dome upon his belly. *And then, panic.* I rushed to my feet, to his side, and then to his front. I attempted to give the atomic man the look of peace he had held when he entered. No one stopped me as I put his hands together in his lap and put his head down. Someone reached for me and told me it was okay, so I stepped back. I wasn't alone, but I looked into the crowd and saw no one. How could I see anything with this man in my mind? The speaker continued to push him out of the room, and into the lobby, and then into the courtyard. I paced slowly with the crowd in that direction, in time to see the speaker lifting the saint out of his wheelchair to the center of a knoll. The speaker then rested him upon the earth, where he smoldered. The smoke thickened, and a warm glow embraced us all in their loss. In the ensuing hours the spectators lingered to share stories. The smoke started to clear and in it's wake stood a beautiful tree. A woman spoke from behind me, "He was such a peaceful soul.

It was 3:05 pm in Portland, Oregon. Evan Greene walked through the doors of his high school, down the walkway where the other kids' parents were already waiting for them. His hair was long and a mess. His clothing looked as grungy and defiant as he felt. His eyes moved along the row of cars in a lost kind of way. He saw what they had, and he used to want that for himself, but today, as every other, no one was waiting for him. His shoulders sagged as he thought about his family. Mommy. Daddy. Son. Family. They were words that had lost any meaning some time ago, and he knew those words were a lie. He was alone. In his head, in his heart, and in his very deepest depths. Evan's favorite band was, to him, the ultimate expression of everything he would scream if anyone were listening, and the way Kurt bellowed and belted his pain and tension out into the world, like a giant "Fuck All Of You!," cradled Evan with empathetic arms and he could sleep at night knowing that someone besides him hated the world. Evan's home life was tragic. His mother was finding herself, so to speak, sleeping around town in some vain attempt at quelling the decades of regret and repression left deep in her soul by an abusive and distantly unappreciative husband. If one wanted to search her out, they need look no further than the nearest bar, likely five drinks deep by the time Evan got out of school, her arm wrapped around some married day drinking business clone. She was lost and scared and angry, and she dealt with it all by drinking and sleeping her way through the true hate she felt for her life. Evan's father worked long hours, wading through shit at a dead end job that he genuinely despised as much as he did his family. The guilt and shame weren't for concern of his son or his meandering wife, because truthfully, he never wanted any of it. The family, the job, the responsibility, the same festering wounds reopened each day the moment his alarm clock rang out. In his mind his son was just another regret. Fuck the wife. Fuck the job. Fuck the kid. He was already dead. Their house was perpetually filled with the wafting smoke and stench of two packs a day and some molding spilled beer, hibernating under some piece of garbage that seemed the only indicator that someone living had once been present. He had no control of his boiling rage, and the slightest argument sent him reeling into an atomic rampage, each incident an epoch for the ages. Evan left the school to make the trek down to the bus home. The walk, for a teenager, was a perilous one, and his greasy flowing locks, torn jeans, and sullen posture made him a frequent target for bullies. It was drizzling but the sun was out, and a familiar scent permeated the air. That smell that comes when rain hits grass in the spring. It reminded Evan of sitting with his grandmother on her porch, listening to a million tiny drops of water hit the pavement, watching the dry cement become consumed, drop by drop with tiny splashes until the splashes converged and the sidewalk became glistening and covered. His grandmothers wrinkled fingers ran through his hair and she showed him great tenderness. With a loud crack, Evan was stolen from this serene and comforting moment. A short and obviously angry boy, no older than him had thrown a rock at Evan's head, knocking him to the ground, and the harsh transition from the his grandmother's grace to a throbbing and painful state left him on his back, staring right through the sky above. As he began to roll over to right himself, he saw the boy walk up to him, shouting obscenities about his "faggoty hair" and his "pussy band" shirt, which was now torn from the fall and stained with his blood. His entire life, every bit of anger, every unkind word his father ever spoke and hatred boiled inside his veins. His heart pounded, and each increasingly rapid beat drew him to a crescendo that took from him his better judgement. Just for a moment it all went black. Seconds later, his haze began to clear as he realized he sat firmly atop the bully, knees to his shoulders, pinning down his arms, and mid punch he snapped back to reality and caught his breath long enough to know that he had lost control. He left his antagonist bleeding on the gravel, regained his composure and continued on his way home. As his adrenaline began to dissipate, his head started to throb, and he stopped, put his hand over the right side near his temple, closed his eyes, and massaged the spot where he'd been hit. As he drew his hand back, he saw blood on his fingers, which made him dizzy and even a little angry. He opened up his backpack and pulled out a small package. He unwrapped the two cigarettes he'd stolen from his father the night before, taking one in between his fingers and re-wrapping the other. He lit it, closed his eyes tight and took a long and deep drag, trying his best to let go of his frustration as he exhaled. No luck, and his head continued to throb. He took another drag and went on his way. A block before his first bus, he passed by a row of houses. He saw a young man sitting on a rocking chair, his hands covering his bowed head. A cigarette in his hand burned to ash as he sat, unaware, but he was obviously crying. Not like when you're physically hurt, but the kind of shaking with heart break weeping that only happens when something truly awful has happened and you can only sit in disbelief. Evan stopped and asked the young man if he was okay, but after three ignored attempts, the man got up, screamed at Evan to "Fuck Off!!," and went inside, slamming the door behind him. He always felt compelled to comfort others even tho no one ever returned the favor. He made it to the bus stop just as it arrived. He entered, payed his dollar and went straight to the back. He took his Disc-man out of his backpack. He put on his headphones and pressed play. Nirvana's "Nevermind" was the drug of choice and he immediately went to "Lithium." This song sounded the way he often felt, so it assured him that at least one other person felt as shitty and worthless as him. He closed his eyes and by the time he opened them again, four tracks had passed and he was at his stop. His heart sank and he imagined the horrors to come. How many drinks had dad had? Who's bed had mom been in? Would they fight with each other or would they turn on him as was usually the case? Evan's bus arrived at the stop next to his house and he exited, again, as slow as humanly possible, only delaying the inevitable, but those few precious seconds belonged to him and him alone. As he approached the paint chipped house with it's unkempt and weed riddled front yard, he heard glass shatter. That was followed by the sound of his mother screaming at the top of her lungs. He shuddered as he crept up the front steps and slowly opened the door, wanting nothing but to make it to his room without either of the two noticing. As he took his first step onto the staircase, he tried to avoid the loose nails in the boards that might give his presence away. Four steps were silent, but on the fifth, he lost his balance and his blood stained shoe pressed down on the loudest spot there was. A rather emphatic squeak was produced beneath his foot and he stopped cold. He shut his eyes tight and prayed they hadn't heard his misstep. Once he thought himself in the clear he took the next step, but before his foot could land, he felt a hand on his back. It was his father, drunk as ever, and upset that Evan hadn't greeted him with the respect he felt he deserved. His father grabbed his t-shirt from behind and pulled Evan back down the stairs, tripping him and causing him to land at the base of the steps and on his back for the second time that day. As his father pulled him up by his shirt, which was now torn so badly it was unwearable, he screamed in Evan's face. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath wreaked of whiskey and cigarettes. He dragged his son into the living room and threw him loose onto the couch. "Get the fuck up!!," he yelled. "You ungrateful little shit! Who the fuck do you think you are coming into MY house and not giving me the respect I deserve!!"? Evan replied, "I didn't mean anything, dad. I just heard you and mom yelling at each other and I wanted to stay out of it. I didn't think you'd even want to see me." "Well, you got that right, you little faggot, but respect is respect!," his father insisted with a petty smirk on his face. His mother came sprinting into the living room shouting, "What the fuck did you do this time, you goddamn brat!?" Evan, his rage boiling, yelled back at her, "Fuck you, you drunk slut! You're supposed to be my mother! You hate him as much as I do and he treats you like shit too. What the fuck is wrong with you two!? Why won't you both just fucking leave me alone!? I didn't even do..." Before he could finish his sentence, he felt wind across his face just before his father's fist connected to the side of his face. The force of the hit knocked him several feet across the living room and face first onto the carpet in front of the television. The tv was on and turned up loud, which Evan hadn't noticed until he was laying on the floor bleeding in front of it. Still in a haze, he stared blankly at the screen, which showed a picture of his hero, Kurt Cobain. He was confused by what he saw. He had no context for why his favorite musician was on the local news, but as the ringing in his ears slowly subsided, he saw a set of numbers flash on the screen. They read 1967-1994. He was still in shock, and seeing this nearly caused him to pass out. His heart pounded intensely. He heard the words come from the tv speakers, still loudly. "Kurt Cobain, dead at the age of 27 from an apparently self inflicted gunshot wound. He is survived by wife, Courtney Love, and daughter, Francis Bean Cobain." Evan didn't even notice his swelling face or the blood dripping from his ear and nose. His heart was torn and beaten, and he couldn't breathe. He gasped for air as the quickly mounting anxiety constricted the muscles in his chest. He could hear his own heart bellowing like the deepest tribal bass drum. His vision went in and out with the beat of his pulse, and as he pushed himself up to get off the ground, everything was slow motion. He wiped the tears from his eyes, which he noticed were mixed with a fair amount of his own blood. He turned slowly toward his parents. His father was to his left and his mother to his right. There were a few feet of space between them, and as they continued to shout, he stumbled in between them and then past them. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he began to run, struggling with all his might to find the strength to make each successive step. He forced his way through the door of his parents' bedroom and headed straight for the night stand. He knew his father had a pistol there because on many a drunken occasion, he would pull it out. If Evan ever challenged his father on the wrong night, the gun came out and Evan had seen down it's barrel plenty of times. He opened the drawer and palmed the gun. He adjusted his grip until it was firm and secure. He pulled back the slide to make sure it was loaded and he floated back down the stairs in what seemed to be more moments of slow motion, his heart beat increasing even further until it was all he could hear in his head. He entered the living room once more and saw his parents with their backs facing him. Evan screamed, echoing through the room. "Hey, Dad!!!" His father, surprised, quickly turned around to find his son holding a gun at his side with the look of desperation reading loud and clear across his tear soaked face. His mother turned a moment after his father and when she saw Evan standing there, gun in hand, she let out a scream that could have shattered glass. His father, trying to seem in control, began to slowly creep toward his son, his hand outstretched toward Evan as he commanded him to give up the gun. His father said, with some satisfaction, "I always knew you were a fucking psycho. Just look at you. Crying like a woman and bleeding because you aren't man enough to stop me from making you bleed. This is all your fault, you know." Evan's eyes filled with tears and the lump in his throat made it hard for him to speak. " I'm not the freak! I'm not the fucking psycho! Dad, your whole life is a disaster and you can only blame me! Mom, you let this piece of shit bloody me and put a gun in my face! You are the psychos! You are the fucking freaks!" His father continued his slow approach, hand still out, and as he reached the couch a few feet from where his son was standing, he began to taunt him, but Evan couldn't bear to hear another word from someone he hated so thoroughly, and before his father could finish his slander, Evan raised his arm and he squeezed the trigger. His eyes blinked as the shot rang out in the small room and it forced the welling tears from his eyes down his cheeks. His mother screamed bloody murder, as she rushed to her husband's side. She looked at her son, shaking and crying, and in shock, still holding the gun, arm still raised. "What have you done!?," she wallowed. "Call an ambulance!" Evan's compassion was long gone. His life had been a cruel joke and the only person he loved had taken himself away from him. In that moment, his mind became more clear than ever. He aimed the gun at his mother and dispatched three shots into her head. She was lucky. She died quickly. Her husband, though, was still choking on his own blood. Evan's father had a look of rage in his eyes. The last words he ever spoke were unkind. Without hesitation, he put three bullets in his father's head. BANG! BANG! BANG! A his feet, his parents lay motionless in pools of blood. He walked over to the couch next to the television and he sat. He felt no guilt or regret. No sympathy. Evan stared at the blank tv screen. Looking back at him was something familiar. That same look that Kurt had in every photo. He was tired, so he closed his eyes, and never opened them again.

It was a Thursday. I was waiting in line at my university to schedule an academic advisement appointment. The chubby girl in from of me was wearing the latest fashions and reeked of a cheap perfume she probably bought at Macy's. Her matching wristband told me that she supported our troops. She stepped up to the front desk when it was her turn and proceeded to tell the woman her classification, major, and student I.D. number. It was disgusting. The woman pulled up her information and asked her if she could be back on Monday at 9:15 in the morning. I took a step forward as the interaction between the two seemed to be coming to an end. My interaction would be similar, I knew. The girl departed to the left, having apparently memorized the exact sequence of steps that the last student had taken. I stepped forward and produced the same information as she did. Brian Roberts, senior, 20066995. She pulled up my information: "Brian, you have an outstanding GPA, you have no dropped classes and you are in excellent standing. It looks like this Spring will be your last semester. Can you come back on Monday at 10:10?" Her face was blank as she asked me. Halfway through her drowsy discourse, her phone had sounded from a text message. The theme song from Friends. "No," I said. Her eyes shot up from the screen and turned inquisitive. "Are you scheduled to go to class at that time?" She thought she had it figured out now. "Yes," I said. Her face turned blank again and she clicked her mouse. "Ok, how about-" she scanned her schedule for a different time. I saved her the trouble: "But I'm not going to that class." I said abruptly. She sat upright. "Okay, then," she began, speaking consciously for the first time. She looked intrigued now. "What time would be good for you?" The student behind me coughed impatiently. "I don't know," I replied, "what time would be good for you?" She was irritated now. I was wasting her time. She hadn't even gotten to finish reading her text message. "Sir, there are a line of students waiting. What time would work for you?" She asked, stumbling over her words. I looked around. Everyone except the guy behind me had their phones in their hands. A few held textbooks. I told her "never" would be a good time for me. I left. I couldn't take it anymore. The weight of apathy and indifference in my environment finally crushed my motivation to go to medical school. These people were just not worth it. Not anymore. Not in this dose. I dropped out the next day. It wasn't Thursday anymore.

The claws inch their way deeper into my skin. I can feel the tendons and muscles in my neck and chest tearing, like a thousand rubber bands being pulled apart slowly. My blood is a river, oozing out and streaming down soaking the elastic waistband on my underwear. I am dead. For all intents and purposes, this is it. Time is slowing down and it's getting harder to maintain focus and try to fight this evil rotting corpse away from what little flesh is left on my face. It wasn't always this way though, I was one of the best. I had survived for seven and a half years out here. The first year was hell, quite literally. In-Fighting amongst small bands of survivors was the norm. Famine, rape, cold blooded murder, you name it because it was happening. Most of my time was spent inside of a lonely island beach house, suspended in the air on stilts originally to protect from heavy flooding. All was well at first, until their slithering bodies started piling up like a disgusting rotting mountain. It was time to flee. There isn't much to tell that you haven't heard. Bash them in the head, sever it, destroy the brain. I was good with a sword, and even better with a machete. Apparently not good enough though, and I close my eyes and slip deeper into this warm and comforting abyss. The seven and some years were tough, and the loving embrace of death is slowly wrapping its bony arms around me. I take in one last gasp of air through the gaping hole of ripped trachea, goodbye cruel world. This is the next chapter, I must prepare so I am ready.

“The ceremony is held for boys and girls in their sixteenth year,” I intoned in a low voice to the dragonfly perched not far away on a lily pad in the grand hall’s courtyard. “A valiant boy or girl, will be turned into a warrior today, if the creature so chooses,” a quick glace to my left and right showed I was not being overheard. “It is not uncommon for a Parcel to go decades without being chosen, it is not an accurate indicator of your Parcel’s worth.” The parade is starting to form. I drag myself away from the pond to join in line. The separation between male and female didn’t particularly bother me unless it was days like today. I yearn for my twin brother, Cassius, and his strong nature. If anyone were going to be chosen today, it would be Cassius. But, I couldn’t shake the nervousness growing inside. I don’t want this honor, though I would never admit that, but I would still be on display in front of thousands. Not only in my home Parcel, number two, in case you were wondering, but also all the others. It would be broadcast for everyone to see. How I acted at this ceremony could have effects on my future courtships and even the type of career paths open to me. On my tiptoes, I caught sight if brother’s coppery hair glowing in the sunset. It made me feel a bit more stable. The parade crept slowly forward as it entered the arena. First, the teachers, having drilled etiquette in to the heads of the sixteen year olds for months, walk in. They deserve to be honored, I thought as I heard the cheers erupt. “Essence?” I hear being whispered behind me. I turn at the sound of my name, but only slightly. Deviating even this inch is hard for me, as the only comfort I can find is in following instructions. “I’m scared, I don’t want to be a warrior.” I turned to Cami now. Those words should never be spoken allowed, especially not here. Even if we are friends, the idea of being associated with someone not ready to serve our Sovereign Princess is not something I will tolerate. “Shush Cami,” I sigh as a warning, “If you are chosen you will serve the best you can. That is all that it asked of you.” Then, against my better judgment, I lean in and say, “A woman has not been chosen in a decade, you are safe.” I hear her sigh in relief. We all know the statistics, but I’m sure it helped her to hear it in a voice other than the one inside her head. Essence is a strong name, or so I’m told. Sometimes I feel like it’s such a mouthful. Not as bad as Cassius though, and for that I am eternally grateful. My head hurts from the up do I insisted on, and as I hear the roar go up for the Parcel guard I take it down, letting my straight white blonde hair fall all the way to my waist. I hear a sigh of envy from Cami, whose curly hair looks chronically unkempt. I stick all the clips and pins in the pocket of my robe (Archaic right? Traditions, what can you do) as I walk out of the tunnel into the blinding spotlights that light up the platform we are to stand on. Last to come through is last years Chosen, Dimitri, a boy from Parcel 16 (out of twenty, fun fact). A roar goes up for him and his spider creature, the first of its kind in 15 years. The spiders can climb walls while keeping their Chosen in place. They are also ridiculously fast, and their webs are thin enough to go undetected but strong enough to be practically inescapable. The facts help me relax as Dimitri makes a final lap around the arena and comes to center stage. The introductory speech is as rehearsed, and then our names are called. We are to walk up to the egg of the creature, place a hand over it, stand for a minute, and then step back. If the egg moves it is yours; you are the Chosen. Peter, Spencer, Calum, Ricktor, called in order by seniority. Nothing happens, and I see some disappointment and some relief, both reactions are to be expected. Next is Cassius, at the end of the line, as is his place. I can feel the room hold their breath. Everyone believes that Cassius will be the next Chosen. Our Parcel has not been Chosen in thirteen years, and while we are told that this does not reflect on our worth, we feel we are clearly behind. Fifteen seconds pass, then twenty, then thirty. Everyone is on edge waiting for the creature inside to sense its Chosen near. Fifty-five seconds, nothing. Then, the tiny bell rings, and all our hopes are dashed. We will not be graced this year with the Chosen. The girls’ names are now called, only because of formality. Women are rarely Chosen, but because it has happened in the past we must be given the full minute allotted to the boys. This is one of the only points at which we are equals. Mary, Beth, Elizabeth, and then Essence. I step up to the alter where the egg rests. It is a beautiful one this year, cream with lines of deep purple and red, making me hope that we will be seeing a baby dragon soar over the sky on our monitors later, when the Chosen is found. I dutifully place my hand the designated three inches above the egg, ready to get my minute over with so that Cami can go and we can get on with our duties. Thirty seconds passes in the blink of an eye, then twenty more. I stare straight ahead, feeling relief as my minute comes to an end. Then we hear it, it resounds through the arena as though to make sure it is heard. CRACK, it screeches at me. I look down to see a faint spider web of a line down the center of the rocking egg. The silence is deafening as I watch the egg. The bell rings, and the silence is still overwhelming. Then my people erupt. “She has been chosen!” and “A woman has finally been blessed!” can be heard from a number of voices. My classmates and teachers are silent. And then I hear them sing, and it is a song I never expected to hear. Chosen ones are brave and bold Leading us to futures yet untold Shout praises to the highest legions Our Chosen will bring us home As the verse ends Dimitri comes as my savior. “Silence,” he says in a voice of power. “We have been truly blessed today in Parcel Two, Essence has been chosen.” Then, like clockwork, and exactly as I have rehearsed out of obligation for months, I for the first time lay my hands on the egg. Is this real, I’m not sure yet, even as I pick up the most precious possession I will ever receive. I walk forward and stand next to Dimitri, then hold the beautiful egg above my head, as is custom. I realized I haven’t exhaled since I laid my hands on the egg. I won’t bore you with the specific details of what must be done when a Chosen is found, but I will tell you I never stumbled once. I was perfect, no mistakes in execution. My teachers kept their faces straight, and so did the students, until the ceremony ended. Then my teachers each come up and told me they were proud of me. I also received some looks of awe. The first female in a decade, twin sister to the preferred candidate. Once the formalities were done, I had to speak to the cameras. I was uncomfortable without a set statement but made it as precise as possible in my current state of shock. “How are you feeling Essence?” I was asked. The expectant camera crew nodded their encouragement as I contemplated. “I feel overjoyed. I am the first Chosen from Parcel 2 in thirteen years and the first female in a decade. I am proud to be worthy.” And with that, I was sent home to prepare for an in depth interview about myself in the morning. The entire country wants to know about me. I am Chosen. I arrive home to and go to my room, where I know an incubator will be waiting. I nestle my creature egg into the bundle and exhale. The tiny crack has gotten bigger, and I cannot for the life of me remember the length of time I may have to wait before my creature will hatch. It varies, but the statistics are slipping and reality is setting in. I am the Chosen, this creature is mine, and I will be a warrior. We are at constant war with the rest of the world. Their knowledge of the creatures roaming their deserts and forests is minimal and they envy us for our Chosen. They want to know how we do it, and though historically we have tried to explain, they can never find a chosen amongst themselves. So a never-ending war wages, one hundred and thirty nine years and still going strong. Many believe other countries do not even know the reason we fight anymore. Chosen are sent to the most dangerous areas to be of assistance and many countries just aren’t dangerous anymore. One country, known to us only as Confederacy of Tongues, has not seen combat with us in over 100 years. They still threaten us and cut us of from trade with our allies from time to time but never something enough to risk Chosen. Our Sovereign Princess chooses when the Chosen will go next. We have never been defeated. To me it seems like the other countries would just stop fighting, they always lose against the Chosen, but the war rages on. I walk out of my bedroom and hear Cassius on his communicator complaining to Calum. “Essence can’t do it, she isn’t prepared.” His words burn at my throat. Maybe he doesn’t realize that I was rooting for him too. I didn’t want this. But now I’m “blessed” and there isn’t any going back. I did not choose this, my creature chose. Tears spill over as I pass his room to speak with my mother. My father is making arrangement for my transport when the time comes. He will probably go to the only restaurant in town that serves liquor to numb his feelings after that. He was the only one not hoping either of his children would be chosen. He, of course, never said this to us, but we could feel it. He didn’t want us to go. “Hi mom,” I say as I enter the kitchen, where my mom is putting together trays of food. “Essence, darling, did you get your egg settled in? How are you feeling?” my mother is still hard at work. She knows her place, as did I until just before sunset. “Honestly?” I begin playing with my hair. Braiding and undoing the mile long hair I have grown accustomed to. “I don’t know how I am feeling, I think I’m still in shock.” My mother’s laughter fills the kitchen as she prepares the last trays for our late night guests. This is the latest we will have guest ever. But we must honor last years Chosen by welcoming him into our home; it’s tradition. “You will a wonderful warrior, Essence. Even if no one can see it, I do.” I help my mother set the trays out on the dining room table. All of my favorites are here. Delicate pastries with flaky crusts, meats fried and baked, and even a pie. I don’t know how my mom pulled it together, but she always does. I wander back to my room and try to sing in my head to avoid my brother venting to his friends. As I walk in, I look down at my precious treasure. My little one must be restless. The blankets are no longer snug and a few more cracks have appeared. I hope this is normal, but I’m sure it is. I nestle the egg in snuggly again and wheel the incubator to our living room, where our guests will be arriving shortly. I watch the beautiful egg’s slight shaking while I wait. I know I need to be the one to answer the door. Mesmerizing cracks are splayed across the visible portion of my egg. I’m not listening and I finally hear the knock around the third time. I quickly get up, careful not to disturb the incubator. I open the door and lay my eyes on the Chosen that is Dimitri. He’s cute, rugged in his leather jacket and jeans. He looked better in his suit, but hey, who wouldn’t. His brow hair curls over his brow in an incredibly sexy way and for a minute I just stare. “Welcome to my home,” I manage to choke out as he step over the threshold. I lead him to the kitchen where my mom has just finished dimming the lights and lighting candles. Dimitri has been quiet, but when he sees the food his stomach growls audibly. “Eat, don’t let anything go to waste. Would you like something to drink? Wine, beer, juice, water?” My mother is a great hostess, making sure all her guests are comfortable. That is one art I have not mastered. “Water will be fine,” Dimitri replies, grabbing for a baked lamb pie. His voice feels like velvet on my skin. His smile creates a dimple in his cheek on the left side. Score points for the hot Chosen. Cassius comes in and plops down on a chair, not in the proper spirit of guests. I can tell he is still fuming, but I don’t understand how he could forget the things so grilled into us. His greeting to Dimitri is brief. I know he is waiting for what will come; the explanation of my duties. I am scared but also relieved. I want to, no need to, know more about what will be expected of my creature and me. Dimitri clears his throat, and directs his attention to me. “Essence, you have been blessed. You have been Chosen, and your name will be known throughout Ambrosia. Your creature made an interesting choice today and many are curious about what it will be. As you know, the last female chosen was a decade ago. We are truly honored to have you among our brotherhood.” His words are rehearsed, but that’s okay, they are what I need to hear. “You will be taken to the training house once your creature has hatched. There you will learn everything there is to know about your duties and the abilities of your creature. We know you are very talented, and we know you are blessed. Our Sovereign Princess is excited to welcome such a smart, talented woman into our ranks.” I’m momentarily forgot to breathe. “Thank you, Chosen,” my mother interjects for me. We then sit to eat. Though all my favorites are displayed, it is hard to eat. I’m starving, but I barely taste anything that lands into my knotted stomach. Dad still isn’t home, even as Dimitri is heading toward the door, thanking us for the meal. His foot is out the door before he turns around to hand me a crumpled envelope. “From the Sovereign Princess,” was the last words he said to me. Chosen, Blessings! I am so honored to have you join the ranks of my elite warriors. Whether you are male or female, know that you were chosen for a reason. Creatures never make a mistake in their choosing and they are the most loyal friends you can hope to attain. Be strong, Chosen, much secrecy will be asked of you in the coming months. Be watchful of your egg, it is your most precious possession. Never help your creature hatch; it will free itself. Hug your parents and fill a photo album. Know that you are loved and your second family is ready to greet you.

I saw the whole thing. I work in a cramped gas station kiosk for a department store chain. The wall-to-wall front window overlooks Freddy Gonzalez street. On that street, I shared in Snowden's secret for the first time. Only on this day, there was no elegant prose, no moral learned, no imagination at play. Only grim reality. It was a muggy Saturday evening in Texas not far from the Mexican border. The air was damp and hot, encouraging me to stay within the walls of my air conditioned box with the radio on. My favorite song by Pink Floyd was playing on the radio: "Wish You Were Here". The sky remained grey and heavy between the episodes of violent rain. The blue Nissan Xterra appeared in my left peripheral. It always did. The vehicle crept forward to the stop sign, idled a moment, and turned right onto the street, unaware of the fate to which its harbored passengers would succumb. A beautiful young girl sat in the rear passenger seat. Her dark brown hair went past her shoulders and shined with a vibrancy challenged only by the radiance of her skin. She faced out the passenger side window - her cell phone was in her hands. She sat facing that way for a reason only she and I knew. The vehicle was still moving slowly, the driver taking extra caution on the wet road. The girl looked up and caught me staring. I tried to look away, but I was transfixed. She was my Beatrice; she was my salvation. That's when it happened. In my right peripheral, a second exit opens onto the same street. It is much closer to my kiosk than the exit on my left. I heard later that the driver was drunk; the driver was asleep; the driver had a heart attack. It didn't matter. She was looking at me, and she smiled with those lips that became fuller and more beautiful by the day-much in the same way that Beatrice's beauty increased for Dante as they drew closer and closer to the center of Eden, to the Good itself. My lips began to form a smile back, one that would always pale in comparison to the ones brought forth by those lips that sustained my life. That's when it happened. The truck collided directly into the rear passenger door. I hadn't noticed how fast it was going until I witnessed the magnitude of the impact. I saw the whole thing. When the ambulances and police cars arrived, only two of the occupants were of importance. The young boy in the car was the only one moving. The mother was unconscious at the front wheel. The boy was removed first. He was hysterical. One eye struggled to remain open in a swollen pool of black. From the other sprang tears. As a waterfall crashes into the pool of water below it with a grand and indifferent force, so did his tears cascade onto the puddles of water that littered the road. Blood painted his upper lip a dark crimsom. The heart wrenching sight of him was diminished only by the most painful and broken wailing I have ever heard in my twenty-one years. He didn't want to be pulled from the backseat. Where his strength failed him in the struggle to free himself of the paramedics, his eyes succeeded in maintaining an unbreakable grip on his mother and sister. The mother was removed second. She offered no resistance. Her airbag had been deployed. Her face was red and purple, a swirl of the two colors which appeared so mixed that one could not tell where they separated and joined. But something told me she would live. Before the onlookers had arrived at the scene, the EMTs had covered the girl's body. She was removed last. There was no rush. The crowd that had gathered there did not know what had happened to her. They craned their necks and squinted their eyes in a vain attempt at discovery. But I saw the whole thing. When the truck hit her door, she was still smiling at me, phone in her hands. It was bedazzled or bejeweled or whatever it was she called it. I always teased her that it was childish. But now, the glimmering plastic emeralds and rubies seemed more inappropriate than ever. Her eyes were brown, just like mine. In the next fraction of a second, which is still an inescapable eternity in my heart and mind, her forehead broke the glass. Only half of her phone was still visible. The precious plastic jewels had changed colors. The rubies were no longer shiny, but redder than I had ever seen. The green of the emeralds had morphed into wet peas in marinara sauce. A few glistening strands of cortex added the final ingredient. Her right right eye was shrouded in a gory fortress, taking refuge from the fatal scene. A hint of brown hid near the center of it, all of it's radiance and gleam wrung from it forevermore. The other half of the phone was buried in her left eye socket. Her smile was gone, replaced with lifeless, parted lips. They seemed poised to whisper something; perhaps an unwanted secret she had learned and had hardly the time to process. But her lips didn't have to move for me to hear it. It was the secret that Snowden had spilled while he went cold in the sun. It was a secret that I would never forget - not now. I saw the whole thing.

It had been 511 days. 511 days since the sky was sundered by the deepest, purest black you can imagine. For a time, we panicked. We screamed, we cried, we were sure the time had come for humanity to be cleansed from the face of the Earth. But after 63 days of nothing... no sound, no light... nothing... after the panic started to quell, after the fear faded, and the curiosity began to flood through... so did they. The death they brought was beyond devastating, beyond catastrophic, beyond cataclysmic. 1.1 billion estimated people in the first day. After day 2, no one could keep count. As we became more scarce, harder to find, they became more desperate. It was like they were driven by nothing more than their need to kill. They did not consume. No, they needed no fuel, no sustenance and no rest. They made it clear from the very beginning, their sole desire, their sole purpose was to kill. They did not relish the suffering of their victims, they killed quickly and quietly. They killed not because they wanted to, but because they *needed* to. It was a compulsion more gripping than any addiction. More engulfing than any obsession, and more powerful than any bullet, shell or bomb. After 448 days, there were only a handful of us left. We didn't band together, didn't try to retain any dignity or civilisation. We behaved like what we were; scared beasts hiding from the hunters. They didn't speak, they defied all description and explanation, but we had to call them something, so we decided 'Hunters' would have to do. We learned quickly that, no matter how desperate they became, they didn't go underground. They would level 5-storey houses with their hands, so your basement would not keep you safe, but they wouldn't even approach subway tunnel entrances. Of course, after a month, there was no power... anywhere. So the tunnels were black, night and day. Now with no humans to keep them out, the animals with the sense to hide did just that. And what better hiding place than a deep dark hole? A deep dark hole swarming rats, dogs, and... if you were *really* unlucky... Charlie. I know exactly how little I have told you about the Hunters, and the reason is simple. If you've seen one, you are no longer alive. But Charlie... There is no sequence of words that can adequately express what Charlie was. He was a paragon of everything that should be feared in a beast. He was tall, he was strong, he was fast-moving and fast-thinking, and most of all, he ate what he killed. He colonised almost 10 miles of track, and no other living thing would set foot on his land. Those that tried, became a corpse, then meat, then gone. Charlie dwelled in the tunnels by day, but when the sun went down, that's when he became an artist. He could feel Hunters a mile away. Not see, or hear, or smell them... but when one was near, he just... knew. Some tried to fight the Hunters with guns, some even tried with knives... but not Charlie. No, Charlie abhorred tools. Charlie used to say that 'if you can't kill it with your hands, you don't deserve it'. And he followed this creed to the letter. He would pull hunters apart with nothing more than his fingers. But what was truly beautiful, is what he did with them afterwards. Charlie would take them back to the tunnels, skin, butcher, cook and eat them... but not all of them. Every one, he saved one thing... a finger, a rib, a tooth... and one day, he had a Hunter. Well, more accurately, he had a skeleton held together with nails and duct tape, covered in dripping, festering skin. But what he did with this harrowing scarecrow he created, is truly the most beautiful thing about Charlie. One morning, Charlie dragged his new doll up the escalator, into the sunshine, laid it out flat on the ground... and began to scream. He must have screamed for hours. Screamed so hard, so loud and so long, his lungs bled and his throat tore. But not before his cries were heard. The hunters showed up moments later, but wouldn't attack. They'd never seen something of this world kill one of them. They were afraid. Charlie knew they were afraid, and what he chose to do about it was quite spectacular. He put his right hand into the throat of the Frankenstein's monster beside him, and, without looking, took out the heart of the creature, dropped it on the ground beside him, raised his right leg, and reduced the Hunter's heart to viscera. For the first time since they landed, they spoke. But they did not say a word. They did not grieve for their fallen comrade, that made no threats, they spoke in a language of shrieks and squawks, and terror is universal. Never have you seen so many monsters turn tail and flee for their lives so swiftly... and Charlie smiled to himself. He dragged his sacrificial lamb back to the mouth of his lair, but this time, did not take it inside. In stead, he pulled a steel cable from his pocket, and threw it over the sign above the staircase. He took one end, wrapped it around the feet of his prize, took the other, and yanked down hard, launching it high into the air. Then he tied off the loose end to a fire hydrant, and, without a word, slinked back off to his pitch-dark fortress.

my opinion is a comment about religion and where you stand ,. but it up to you; its really not that important, but what is important is a citizens right ,To Resist Oppression, , .the first amendment is a citizen's only weapon against the police because the PRESS is a citizen's act, and is not limited TO THE MEDIA [this is not a stretch of the imagination its a check and its your balance] —because you have the right to resist oppression, period. end of the discussion since we have the constitution as a highest law and that law is to practice freedom not sovereignty— and because it becomes a human rights issue— is why we cant afford to lose the right to press back. Kanye West's a YuuK and a LAME sing it[s] epiphany um having, and om race-less when i comes to learning other people. ducks are lame. , your probably a lame. i/m the wolf not the sheep; but i love the gospel because it lets us have the holy spirit in ,our lives.[So] and the spirit has the power to sing through us , not just merely, yet more involved like. i'm the best at coming up clever. the laying of hands is a gospel teaching. Apocalypse believing is a ticket to hell , god is like the water ,he moves .forward; and to baptize is for babies, for i/t does not omit the sins of the adults, but the gospel does , YOU CANT JUST SAY JESUS is your SAVIOR, either, you have to learn the gospel ,so that's all i have to say about that— if you don't agree we can still get along because after all YOLO only was my original the {plan}— duh!! I CAN'T BE BESTED because whether you like it or not we are all with only a certainty and that is dying; and its horrific for everyone— So #Yolo it up my #brothas and #sistas because i'm going at death with care and not a single worry. swaggie! my minds on auto-attack and i came up with this fiction./.. i think its funny and its eliciting feelings from the reader and if your all Stop GAmes! it not funny james., i mean let me exercise my free speech because im overt and mindless when i think up of things inside my head... and its mostly interesting having insight and brings a value: its entertainment. {you all should repent, (the station the [christ] is not some episcopal idea) thought sought you can feel better' BUT the purpose is to please GOD}; r u people insane god is like a engine moving forward and with great intent lnfo! we're (just blowing steam) #iwantobeuniversal #humble and a hybird. belies, heav'n and kneel before the Christ, su'cl,a. 4, god is original and the sinners [h.e] ..machine kills everything without ..HOST(G) in the "end", which will be your death #spoiler WEhat" is up iZ that im just letting U know belief in him is a destiny into sin because GOS'S : awesome. ..i mean why bother ur pissed off at me and im just trying not to get shot up.. well i'm mean and u could always ://html and j query off. life are scary when your feeling uneducated. [0,i] r ,(.0):reisn' yet<? ,whatever .I prefer popcorn, cola and a movie in my room. #confessions hey.im # (1) |'if b%g != 0: return None=> return ((b/g)*c).n/% SU,CL'A rap to that and say i'd beats red, your. ,g'.ooisey and out of control but whatever its qool| but ill still win: \frac{x}{y}\cdot \frac{a}{b}=\frac{x\cdot a}{y\cdot b}=\frac{xa}{yb}. < speed of light sucka ... hey SUSY from limits to (B\to\mu\mu) and (Bs\to\mu\mu) you would be "ORANGE" |. ly glade from (B_s\to\mu\mu) to purple, a mass and a spectra of light >HARDONS from $\overline{B}{(s)}0\to h+h'-$ decays a $\overline{B}_s0$.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 2... And yet you did. I’m sure it took you some time to find purpose or the curiosity to follow my path up the infinite stairs, but you did. One day, you will tell me what made you take that initial leap towards the stars and onto the stairs—stairs seemingly carved for giants that could not be merely stepped upon. But until then, keep your gaze focused on that distant blinking light and come find me. Looking up is nauseating and beyond intimidating as no one of faint heart could look up the vertical slope with no end and continue on. But you are not faint of heart. You have traveled weeks up these stairs, by now out of the sustenance you brought with you, living off the vegetation hanging off the rock, just as I have. But take heart my friend, and take a moment to enjoy your surroundings. Our previous lives lay far below, seemingly insignificant to what they once were. Now you can see, our old world wasn’t on the ground at all! We lived in a pit. We were not meant to stay there, let alone live there. We have been tricked, all of us! As you’ve climbed, you’ve surely noticed the stairs becoming shorter while increasing in number, yet all the meanwhile never losing their near vertical shear. As you look at your feet, I’m sure you’ll be surprised to find path under your feet are no longer stairs, just a thin dirt way. Have no fear! I didn’t notice myself either. The infinite stairs do in fact have an end, but this end is just a small pause in the journey. The easy part of the Climb is over; a new part begins. Do not toil near the edge of this path; hug the wall as close as possible. No doubt you have seen the remnants of the bodies that long ago fell off this path. Finally, look up. On a clear night, the above blinks with a brighter intensity. You can feel its presence now, can you not? As you draw nearer, you can feel its warmth and sense its splendor. It is no myth, this utopia is real! However, I fear even greater challenges lie in between it and ourselves.

As haze fell over a particularly azure morning, I woke up for Mrs. Killpack’s 6th grade class surprisingly early. As per usual, the shenanigans of the night prior had held my brain in a some-what active state throughout my slumber. Peeling back the dreams of the evening, I felt a distant sense of indifference. Not being able to pinpoint its source, I cautiously pulled myself upward off my bed to ease the crust off my face and eyes. Even as the listlessness wore off, I couldn't shake this peculiar feeling, an astonishing array of confidence was whizzing & whirling above my head, as if it was begging for a chase. When the initial enthusiasm faded, I quickly realized I had slim means of rewarding this confidence with a hunt. Some deep, seemingly introspective, conversations with which I had shared with the lovely girl-next-door were my only connection to that world. Fortunately enough for the both of us, we shared a very common, and ostensibly complex, place of mutual affection for one another. Silently becoming aware of my overwhelming preference for bearer of this quest; Sara would be my best hope for accomplishment. I held hostage to my pillow trying to comprehend what such a meaningful and significant task would entail. Seeing as though I have yet to reach this level of infatuation with a fellow being, I decided it would be best to play it by ear (or heart, which ever you prefer). Being so young, we hardly grasped how we felt towards each other, Sara and I. For us, it was a relationship in which the criteria was defined by; the musicals we repeatedly watched on the Disney Channel, ...and what we saw in our folks. Honestly, wasn’t much in the way of partnership. Rather, for lack of a better word, entitlement to each other. With all of the absolute best intentions of course. Upholding the others happiness with our own, that was essential. All of those conundrums were shimming my thoughts, so I hastily got dressed and headed upstairs. Dark sapphire mountains welcomed me when I opened my tall graphite front door. Taking all but one stretch out of my warm, safe, and meticulously prepared incubator, for what felt like the first time in my decrepitude. Able to precisely decide on the positions and conditions of my amenities, from the inside of course, had always been necessary. In hindsight, my most important covenant was extending myself towards those cold boundaries of my home. Looking forward, the dawn ahead was uniformly beautiful and blue. Uncertainty still loomed as I was not yet finished with the final stage of my plan. Surprising her with a scene from your standard chick-flick, that was the rubric for which I would act. All the while not necessarily knowing what such a task would entail. I felt a cloud of confidence start to uncomfortably predominate the length of my body; knowing a decision had to be made quickly, I expanded my chest with the frigid outside air. Exhaling my mediocrity I proudly bounded off that porch, careening my way across the wet lawn to our shared fence. I shimmied around the fence and onto the sidewalk, where I carefully stepped across sticky fallen pine cones and needles onto her driveway. Moving towards her basement bedroom window, I tip-toed over to where I would patiently remain. Sara had quite a large family, three sisters, and five brothers. The thought of waking anyone up at that ungodly hour nearly jeopardized the entire mission. Proceeding cautiously, I lightly tap on the chill glass. Knocking once more, the window shoots open! Her urgency I have yet to see equaled by another human. There she was, frozen; resembling Léon-François' The Blonde Woman, her face being framed flawlessly by the stark white window. Stunned for a few moments, I requested back to the inner cavity of my chest for something to say. Never had I been at such a total loss of breath; Sara, however, knew everything I wanted to say en masse. It was undoubtedly clear she hadn’t slept very well on her right side. She broke her opposite forearm cheerleading some weeks ago (that 'sport' had forever been central to her life I so quickly learned in the conception of our companionship). The stare she had on her face paradisiacally matched her disorganized hair with exquisite detail. Feeling as though half of her was abundantly relieved I was there, while the other half was quite equivalently aware of the danger my presence would summon if aroused. And aroused we were, recognizing the necessary worry on her face I quickly, and quietly, placed a kiss on her lips. All at once this hug of cold air grasped my adolescent body, each and every follicle of hair nervously standing at attention. The chill of accomplishment prompted me to, then, wrap both of my hands softly behind her ears. Easing my face into hers, I gripped the back of her neck with the utmost care. It was then when I saw things change for Sara. My own reflection couldn’t of matched the sincerity I saw when I opened my eyes. Her pupils, now covering most of her cornea, were spacious and black. Suddenly the universe was looking right back at me, as deep as it was dark. Withdrawing from the fervor of her being was like peeling silly putty off of a freshly inked newspaper. Consequently, we left each other with swells of speculation to ruminate through our aeons. At that moment, I heard what I can only describe as a siren call from a hunter to his hound. Without a doubt the loudest whistle I have heard to this day, bereft of hesitation I weightlessly flew back through her driveway towards home. Across the fence, and almost into my yard I reared back. Coming upon the somewhat defrosted blades of grass, I slowed my approach further. My father took his stoic place on the front steps. He was very serious with being impeccably prompt. Calling me over to depart for school, I unconsciously cull back the feelings from the beautiful moments prior. Then it struck me, the indifference that woke me of my dormancy earlier derived from he and my mother arguing the previous night (due to that same studiousness, I suppose). So I stayed focused, continuously pushing and pulling my thoughts to the furthest most corner of my psyche to rally after school. Having had a wonderful day with Mrs. Killpack and class, I gleefully proceeded home. I try and chronicle the moments of Sara gracefully opening the window to the substantial kiss we shared after. However, those dream-like memoirs remain as faded as the opaque clouds of that incorruptible morning. Racking my brain for the roads not taken, thinking of things that I should of, or could of done differently is fatiguing. I keenly remember The Statue of David on my front porch glaring through me to the soaked green grass beyond. Years later, finding myself at a distance to my nostalgia of juvenility, I sulk towards the same square of grass I found myself so adoringly numb an eternity ago. All along, wonderstruck of my affinity for that juncture; furiously have I investigated the caverns of those great halls for a 'why' to that question. For a moment, standing blankly in front of my father’s, now singularly-occupied, home, I stopped all of it. To this day bewilderment succumbs me to discover through the ardor, sentiment, and, most importantly, the capture of confidence within that individual moment, Sara and I had not said one word to each other.

"Believe me or not, I hope you dont mind listening to my story. To start off, am a normal, 21 year old single man, living alone in a Small home, in a small town in Scotland. Most of my friends from University Were now graduating, and i still had to learn my microbiology for few years, but lets stop talking about me and my boring background and start the story; Once I was surfing through the net, going through Youtube videos, i noticed something prculiar. You know how the videos are in line? Well, the thing is, one of the videos was on the right to the other, the title was in a different font, nearly unreadable, with the tite 'Come in, Son' i just thought to myself 'its just a bug in the design i mean, its not like its only there for me to see." and went on, watching videos. But, on every video i watched, the same video was still there, still in the same place... I got fascinated by it. I wanted to go and watch it, but... it just disappeared. I was stunned, as if i just found a Youtube secret, excitted, i went to google and tried to find a forum, or a board, maybe even a news article about the secret but to my suprise, nothing on the event was there. 'It can't be right... I saw it' So i went back to Youtube and started searching for the Videos to find the mysterious video, so that i could be sure that am not going crazy, and to be sure I actually found a secret no one else found. So, I went to random videos once again, searching so carefully that i could spend a good few minutes looking around the sidebar of the videos, instead of actually watching. The videos weren't even about the same topic, they were just random things i picked out from the recommendation bar. After few minutes, my eyes oppened up, i looked with dibelief as the video from before 'floated' onto the screen and locked into the same place it did before. I started to get ecstatic! The happiness flooded my mind, as i placed my hand over my mouth not to start screeching like a school girl after getting a present from her crush... I took a screenshot of the page, and saved it, just in case i would need a proof of this, and tried to go and watch that video, but since i already tried up, my hopes weren't high, so i tried to go through... but through the ecstatic feeling, shivers went through my back, as if i hard someone pulling their fingernails on a chalk-board, and the hyperlink redirected me into a different site, not a video, but a strange, nearly blank page with only a small video player, that looked nothing like a Youtube player, but more of the old-fashioned, simple format With only a circular Play button that took most of the screen, that was opaque so only part of a word, or a sentance was showing. I decided save the page, and started the video... The video was only few seconds long, and only had the word 'SOON' on the screen. I thought 'This isnt what i imagined... I thought it was going to be extraoridinary! Or at least strange!' But then, after the video ended, my headphones started to play a slow, very quiet song, or so i though. The song, was actually voices, getting louder and louder, untill the voices were easily distinguishable; 'Come play with us!', 'Soon, you will join us' and 'Look B-E-H-I-N-D Y-O-U'. I was scared, i started to shake and didn't want to turn around. The voices continued, as if looped. I tried to stop them, i turned off the video and the internet alltogether, but nothing worked. I threw my headphones in front of me, but the voices were loud enough to be hearable even with the headphones laying on the desk, few centimeters from me... i reluctantly turned around, as the voices told me to, Just to feel a very fait pain in my stomach. I looked down to see a hand, going right through me, from my back side to the inside, through the stomach. I looked from behind of my shoulder and stared at the blank monitor, and twins, with their hands streatched towards me and whispering 'We told you were going to join us hehe!' The next thing i remember, is me sitting on my chair in front of the computer screen with the website oppened up, with the words 'REMEMBER US, AND WE SHALL LET YOU LIVE' I shouted on top of my lungs, and shut my computer down and run out onto the streets, just to get away form that place..." Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my First language, and i just came up with this story like... 20 minutes ago and its 4am... This is my first story i actually wrote alone and i wanted someone to judge it, so i thought this was going to be the right place :) Thanks for the read.

The prompt was "When everyone turns 18 they receive a pet that is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon..." “They keep calling me ‘Ghost Boy’” Joqur said, he found it hard to look into Chelsie’s eyes as he said it. Before his Choosing Ceremony, staring into her eyes was a favorite pastime of his, albeit a covert one. Two years his elder, she always seemed to be there for him when he needed her. In a city the size of Gilead, her constant presence was truly a feat—the logistics of which he had not quite determined. In part he refused to question out of fear. Ten years now they had been inseparable. Her touch, her eyes, and most of all her words had kept him going during the most trivial of trials and those more demanding. His most cherished memories of her were blurred kissed, shared under moonlight in the fields of the outer walls after drinking cheap root drink her and other students had stolen or smuggled for the New Year celebrations. Yet, since her Choosing Ceremony two years and not a fortnight passed, she had changed. She was still there when he needed her, without question. Yet since receiving her Sea Eagle she spoke more and more of her travels to come; the lands she would explore, the new tongues, the colored people. These travels of course did not involve the studious Joqur—his travels were little else but through ink and parchment. To date, however, she had not left. And of course she spent time tending to her resonant. Sea Eagles were large creatures. Hers was the size of a man and the wingspan of four. Given time and special attention it was said even some could be ridden. “Joqur…” Chelsie reached over and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder and stared where his eyes should’ve been if his head weren’t downturned. After some time his eyes met hers. She gave a soft but strong smile. “Ghost boy because of all the 79 men of my day-of-birth this Choosing Ceremony I was the only one to receive no resonant whatsoever. They said my resonant must be a Ghost and he hides in the books I cling to.” “Joqur, please stop.” Her voice was gentle yet firm. “I’ve talked to my father as I told you I would. He says the records at the Changing Gate indicate that this has happened before. In the last Century a pair of twins didn’t receive their resonant at their Choosing Ceremony either. They had to wait a month for theirs to come.” Chelsie lived not far from Joqur, though their families were of different report. His family walked to the second wall during the faming season and worked for their rice and roots. Chelsie’s father worked in the Great Temple and her mother ran a large Inn close to the Capital Building. Chelsie’s voice rose in pitch as she saw some light pop back into Joqur’s eyes. “Well it has been only three days. Maybe I’m like them then? My resonant has yet to come?” Joqur’s chest finally rose and he pulled his hands away from his face as he took a deep breath and offered a slight smile. “I think it could be.” Chelsie said smiling. She soon began to chuckle and this built in to a roaring laugh. Joqur’s laughter slowly joined with hers and rose in volume until they were both rolling on the floor in her parent’s sitting room as though they were youngins again. Their laughter was harshly interrupted as Chelsie’s father abruptly entered the room. “Joqur? Well, I’m surprised to see you here… But relieved. I’ve been sent to find you” Joshua was tall, guant and regal. He too spent much time in books. After meeting Joqur by chance as a young boy he began paying for his schooling. He always assured Joqur that his mind was sharp as any and that no low-birth could dull the wit the gods had given him. “My parents must need help with the sorting at home, I’ll—“ “No Joqur, not your parents.” Joshua’s tone was clear, almost harsh. His normal quite demeanor was not to be seen. “I’ve looked into your Choosing Ceremony. The water priests at the Great Gate have informed us that your resonant his here but we must leave immediately. There will be no time to invite your parents; no ceremony at all. This must be done now. I’d be happy to escort you to the Great Gate and be your witness.” “Father that’s great! I’m sure I could be his witness though, and I’m sure my company will be much more interesting than yours down the Central Canal. As if he needs a companion for the three minutes it will take to paddle there.” Chelsie shot her father a playful smile and nudged Joqur across the chin with her pinky finger. “Chelsie you are to stay here, you presence won’t be needed.” His eyes lacked their usual twinkle and his prose was uncharacteristically witless. “Father! I—“ “You. Shall. Stay.” Joqur finally spoke. “Chelsie don’t worry, you know I don’t mind being alone. This makes my Choosing Ceremony that much more fitting.” A sudden rigor filled Joqur and he quickly stood tall and met the gaze of Joshua. “Let us go Sir Joshua.” Joshua did little more than nod and they both left the room leaving Chelsie still on the floor looking bewildered and hurt. They quickly walked out the back entrance and into their family ironwood boat. They each took an oar and began to stroke. “Joqur, we have not much time. You must know you will not have your ceremony in the Choosing Room. I will take you through a small channel underneath the Sept. You will have your ceremony at the Pool of the Night Willows.” The Autumn breeze was strong, the splash of oars soft, and Joshua’s many adornments and jewels clanged the loudest, yet Joqur heard his heartbeat above all else. “I’m not a Priest… I, I, I don’t even go to the Sept as often as I should. I didn’t even make It there but once during the Reap Moon, maybe twice, I—“ “Joqur! Listen to me.” Joshua’s voice turned deep and sharp. His jaw set firm yet, the muscles of his temples bulged as he ground his teeth yet his eyes revealed sadness. In the silence created by his outburst their boat passed from the sunlit canal into a darker passage closed off to the sky. Slowly they wound their way down into smaller and smaller passages. Joqur’s breath quickened as he struggled to keep pace with Joshua’s stroke set by his long lean arms. Each breath seemed to rip between their silence while Joshua’s seemed to struggle only in reserving tears. His movements and breaths were as smooth as ever. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity to Joqur, Joshua stopped rowing and pulled his oar in. He gestured to Joqur to do the same. They slowly drifted down the canal as Joshua pulled a large crystal from underneath his billowing cloths. Soon the dark passage was light with the light of an amber crystal, the shape of which seemed to be shifting after each glance though the light was more constant than any torch or gnomic orb. “Joqur, I’ve loved you as a son and I always will.” Their boat continued to drift at a constant pace though they had not pulled and oar for minutes. The tunnel they traveled through seemed to be more ancient by the minute yet the walls were free from any algae or marks of wear. Joshua stood abruptly and handed the amber crystal to Joqur. “I must leave you know. Be brave. I will tell your parents of your love and that you will see them again. Do not be afraid. You will pass a gate soon but the light from this gem shall open it for you. From there you will have precious moments to prepare for your ceremony. Use them.” Joshua finally looked at Joqur and smiled. His eyes twinkled in the amber light. His green eyes mixed with the red and produced a blue hue. He then leapt from the boat to the canal wall. Joqur’s head wiped around as he watched Joshua stick to the rounded surface of the canal with just one hand. His right hand, always jeweled, light up as it clung to the wall and the stones that held the wall together slowly moved to form stairs that he put his feet upon. With his free hand he raised his fist to his right temple and tapped it with his knuckles. The movement was dexterous as any but it looked odd as the farewell gesture was always completed with one’s right hand. Then he turned up the newly formed stairs and was gone. Joqur began to shake and realized he had worked up a cold sweat. He looked down at the crystal in his hand in fear of dropping it. What was once ephemeral was now not a crystal at all but a simple dark stone. In awe he started until he heard water rushing near him. As he looked up he saw a simple iron sewage gate swing open to allow his passage. The movement shocked him and the rock fell from his grip yet it hovered in place. Joqur’s mind raced. ‘Never in ANY of the Histories of Gilead have I read of any Choosing Ceremony leaving a man-formed-new alone against the world with no resonant. Men and women, kings and queens have gone berserk, wild, and mad at the death of their resonants in wars, lov,e and espionage. Why is it that I receive mine now and here in these dark tunnels under the Sept?’ Joqur’s thinking then shifted from that of words to the more primal thoughts of images and emotions as he looked at the stone in front of him and the eerily shadow-less light it cast all around him. Everything seemed to glow as if the stone gave the gift of light to each object but itself cast none. While lost in his mind the channel widened gradually and the ceilings grew taller and taller until they reached as high as the cone needles in the Silk Forest outside the final city gates. Then his boat stopped moving as it caught the root of the Night Willow. Joqur’s head rushed as he stared at the purple luminescent Night Willow. The pool beneath him was shallow and blue. Be brave…. Joshua’s words echoed in Joqur’s head yet fear kept him seated. The Night Willow was the most sacred of the Priestly Sanctuaries. He had never met anyone who had even seen a drawing of the Night Willow and he tried for years once he learned of its existence as a child. The roots were woven together like those of his mother’s finest tapestries—her winter hobbies. The trees themselves reached as high and as far as his eyes could see beyond even the luminescence of the tress and the amber light of the stone. Joqur’s thoughts dissolved from logic and became fear; pure primal fear. Be brave. Be brave for what? Why must I be brave? I’m not brave. I’m brave with a pen, my figures, my arguments, my thoughts are brave. I can be brave for a moment or two, but no more. I’m not brave. It pulsed in Joqur’s head. I’m not brave. I’m not brave. I’M NOT BRAVE. “I’M NOT BRAVE!” Joqur shouted. The Night Willow all but swallowed his shouts. Yet when it did the amber light from the stone flickered and began to move. Once he realized it was moving away from him he swung to grasp for it yet just escaped his reach. The light began to dim as it traveled away from him, floating through the air. Without thinking Joqur jumped from the boat to chase after the crystal. As soon as he began to chase after it he fell into the pool of knee-high water as his feet caught on a root. Fear surrounded him as he fell face first into the water. He could NOT lose the stone. That he knew. He quickly jumped up for air breathing water into his lungs as his did. Pain shocked his chest yet fear drove him forward. Joqur chased after the crystal in a high stepping manner to avoid the more perilous roots so as not to fall again. At times he reached up to low hanging branches to swing a few steps and others he ducked under branches grown too low and roots grown too high. No matter how hard he ran, jumped, and climbed he could not catch the crystal. It was always past his reach. Just as Joqur swore he could chase no longer without dropping from exhaustion his path became easier. The trees grew farther apart and his path grew wider. Yet with their scarcity so too diminished was the light. Eventually the purple faded to a light glow and the path was clear. The ground rose and so too the water disappeared. Without warning the crystal stopped moving before him. He slowed his pace towards it and just as he reached out to grab it blue sparks erupted from the ground before him and the crystal vanished. Joqur found himself alone in the purple light barely able to see his hand in front of his face. Shocked, tired and sore he lay down, too tired to think or even fear. A light sleep almost took him within minutes but just as was about to give in to the comfort of the darkness a blue light caught his eye. Small at first yet it grew. As the blueness grew he sat up and then stood. The blueness grew larger and closer. As it did it split into two blue orbs. Too tired to feel he stared, intrigued yet dumbfounded. Then, instantly it clicked; they were eyes and they were close. Joqur took a sharp breath and turned to run yet has he did a brilliant blue light burst forth into the air, shocks and lightning flew into the chamber above. His head seared as a deep humming vibrated in his head. The pain was so instant and overwhelming he could do naught but drop to the ground. ‘I am dead’ Joqur thought. ‘This must be death. I am in the holiest of depths of the Sept chasing red lights, I must be dying and I must deserve it. Let it be quick.’ The pain reached a feverish pitch and vibrated Joqur’s teeth, his very bones shook. And then, serendipitously, the humming receded enough so that his consciousness stayed. The humming pulsed, not just in his head now but his whole body. The pain receded further and further until it all but disappeared completely and his body held but a light hum. As he opened his eyes he realized his surroundings were now blue entirely. As he looked up before him, not thirty steps away stood a beast on four legs with two terrible eyes the color of lightening during the raining days. Each leg was the height of the tallest man though not as thick and each claw the length of a short sword one would find on a common body guard. Before fear could creep into his mind his now softly vibrating body pulsed and a calmness rushed over him. Fear still lingered but it seemed more foreign now. The beast opened its mouth, drew in a breath and the air cracked and lightly boomed through the giant Night Willow Chamber. The beast’s wings were each seven or eight times as long as it was tall. Its face had two small horns atop its head where light shocks bounced back and forth as did bones that seemed to run down its back and across the front of its wings. Joqur knew at once what he was gazing upon: the Mother of the Burnt Isles; the Shepard of the Sea Eagles; precursor to man; old as elves; as secretive as dwarves; as cunning as gnomes; as strong as treants; this was a dragon. In his mind, thoughts, words, images and emotions fused as one. The message was clear as it pulsed through his being. “Joqur. There are lands other than these. Be brave. You are no Ghost Boy.

In the early hours before reveille, Sergeant Baines rose from bed to prepare for PT. He pulled on his cold-weather gear and departed his barracks room. The sharp bite of the late Autumn wind tugged at his jacket as he pulled on his wool cap. He was up earlier than the rest of his Soldiers, as always. He was haunted; not by ghosts or spooks, but visions of the atrocities he'd witnessed during his last tour in Iraq. Tears welled up in his eyes, which he forced back. He took in the chill air and calmed himself. As he took the final step to the ground floor, he was back in Mosul, the dust and wind scratching at his face. The harsh Middle-Eastern sun beat down on his sunburnt cheeks. The weight of his rifle was nearly unbearable. He reacted blindly. Baines squeezed the trigger with his eyes shut, unleashing a burst of armor-piercing NATO rounds into a child. The kid collapsed into a lifeless heap as a cell phone rang. An explosion shook the control point and sent Corporal Baines and his squad mates sprawling. They lost one in the blast. Private Spelling. He stumbled and his rifle went off into his chin. Baines snapped back to October on the drill pad, awaiting the rest of his platoon for morning formation. He struggled to suppress the memories. He'd lost a brother-in-arms. He carried the loss as if he'd shot him with his own weapon. But his commander saw it as an unfortunate casualty. The Captain praised Baines as a hero, saving lives thanks to his fast reactions. He was promoted to Sergeant and awarded for murdering a child to save himself and his battle buddies. Baines hated the way his comrades looked up to him. He couldn't bring himself to even look at his nephews when they cheered for him at the parade field after his return to American soil. The din of his platoon and the rest of the company brought him back to the now. "Company, attention!" His First Sergeant shouted. Everyone snapped to and awaited the first tone of the trumpet. As the post-wide loudspeakers blared the first few notes, the First Sergeant shouted again, "Present... Arms!" Baines stared into the distance as he awaited reveille's end. The rest of the day was a blur. He fought hard to restrain a flood of tears throughout the day. At just after 2145 he finished a bottle of whiskey and put the barrel of his stashed pistol in his mouth. With one last wracking sob, he pulled the trigger and opened his eyes to the control point around him. He was back in Iraq, watching a bomb with a child strapped in approach. He moved, unthinking. He grabbed the child and ripped the vest free from his tiny body. Corporal Baines ran as hard and as fast as he could. Hugging the vest as close to him as humanly possible. His legs pumped and he dove for a ditch as the ring of a cell phone sounded. He smiled and thought to himself, "And I'd do it again," as an explosion shook the control point.

I posted this story last night with a link to my DeviantArt page and turned on the filter on, it was later today I realized that you needed a deviantArt account to view mature rated contents. Sorry about that. It was my fault to turn on a filter for a paragraph worth of mature scene. Here is the text version. is the DeviantArt link, if you still would like to view it on the website. The following paragraph is my explanation of why I wrote the story. You can skip it if you like. **Hey, so I wrote another story. This time, it was for my creative writing class. We were asked to create a maximum 5 pages long story for at least every two class, not specifically finished and present it to class. I hate to give people an unfinished story for them to read/mark. I needed to finish it. It was 8 pages long, but I could read the rest of the 3 pages on another class. Everyone in class loved the story, so I read it all in one sitting. It was hard for me to do that in front of 20 people, but small steps are important, I guess. It is an original story, but I stole the main character's race from another story of mine. I cut a lot of detail at the end, and this story was supposed to stay in my archive until I edited for a better way to post in public. Then I said "What the hell, it is not like I will ever go back to it." The story has a proper ending, I just rushed the end and cut ending details, that is all. Enjoy :)** Before I tell you about Earth’s last few hours, I should explain why all of this is happening. My name is Lort Valec. I was born as a healthy boy in Chroin race, in a town called ChrockTale as the eldest child of a diplomat family. For those who don’t know about Chroins; our average height is around three hundred and ten centimeter tall, we all have a dark bolt yellow-light greyish colored skin and almost two inch wide eyes and pointy ears. I was blessed with pale green eyes—which is considered highly special in my race, since most of us have just a grey iris— and flame red stubbly that I am too busy to shave. We have a squid originated body that we use 6 of our tentacles generally for walking and two for hand interactions. I work as the lead biologist in the research department of a pharmaceutical drug manufacturer company that also worked for Galactic Union. Currently, I am on planet Earth for an important mission. The thing is; all of the speculations said about December 21st of the year two thousand and twelve was true. A long time ago, Galactic Ministry of External-Relations contacted some of the intelligent civilizations on Earth. They left a message stating “Humanity was too savage to have a place in Galactic Union and it was already too late for any hopes for humanity to change.” As a plan to remove this barbaric race, GU explained that humanity has time until the year two thousand and twelve. That was if they could advance their technology, stopped killing each other for a moment and think about each other, or any living creature on Earth, really. GU had members that were not a fan of killing an entire race, and they voted for a less violent way, at least giving a chance for survival; Humanity as a whole must have contact another intelligent life form in space by December 21st 2012. Hundreds and thousands of years passed since then, but humanity only in the last century started their space age. It was already too late to stop what is coming in the next few hours. I was sent down to Earth twelve years ago to collect information about the modern world. Beginning of every century, the GU would send a research team to collect a pair of every living creature on Earth for reserving and study purposes. This time, I was in charge of the project and honestly, I am having problems to find the perfect pair of humans. My team and I looked at every country, inspected millions of profiles, but there wasn’t a good matching couple. As a last resort, we chose a young actor for our male subject and already sent him to the lab. The team wanted to choose a female athlete, considering we chose a famous man, but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to show GU that humans aren’t all barbaric as they thought. I wanted them to see there was a hope for the mankind. An athlete would only show that the capabilities of the humans. I needed to find the purity in the dark. As the hours passed, the team already left the Earth in my order and was waiting in space for my return. I was taking a fairly empty bus at night in the city of Istanbul, disguised as a homeless man wearing an old pants I found in garbage, a ripped shirt and a beige trench coat. My homeless disguise had grey hair, wrinkles on his face and dark brown eyes. It was nothing more than a realistic hologram. I was a total crazy man on the outside for the human eye. I was sitting on the back seat of the bus, “secretly” taking sips from my bottle of rum that I put in a black bag with some snacks. I took the bus from the Asian side of the city and the bus was traveling on one of the bridges that connected to the European side. The bridge was shining with colorful lights and I could see the fireworks going on all over the city. The humans all over the world thought it would be a great idea to celebrate the false day of apocalypse. It was another excuse for them to get together with friends and families to drink. As the bus got closer to the other side, I got up from my seat, pressed the “stop” button. It stopped on the first stop after the bridge, right next to a hill that was covered with woods. The roads were empty expect a few cars running past every few seconds and there was a stopped car near the woods entrance. Seemed like empty to me. I didn’t give too much thought as I wanted to watch the world burn and view the city one last time while I fail on my mission in the next hour or so. I entered the woods and started walking on a different path than the original road that leaded to a picnic area. There was a spot on the top of the hill where I could just sit and view the other side of the city in one big picture. The woods were dark for a human eye to see properly, but I did not have that problem. I reached to the middle of the forest in a short time when I heard something. It sounded like some sort of a scream or an animal cry. A few seconds later I heard another one. It was coming from the way I was walking. I got curious and started walking faster. As I get closer, the cry was getting louder and louder. The screams turned into a crying woman voice “Help! Someone help me! Get off me!” I decided to run. In a matter of minutes, I reached to the opening area of the forest where you could see the city lights. There was a group of men circled around a picnic table that was twenty meters away. I assumed a woman was lying there. Some of the men were carrying different type of melee weapons, including baseball bats and crowbars. I counted four men holding the woman and one turned his back on me, trying to drop his pants. The woman kept crying for help and the men were just laughing at her and calling her names. “Come on,” said the one that was turned his back on me, I assumed he was their leader, “If you can’t stop it, at least try to enjoy it.” I felt like I was going to regret what I was going to do next, but I needed to do something. “Hey!” I yelled. “Stop it.” They all turned to me. “What the hell,” one of them said. “Get lost,” said another one. “Stop this right away, or else I am not responsible for what will happen to you.” They laughed and let her go. “Good.” I said. They laughed more. Their leader picked his metallic grey colored bat from the floor and charged towards me, the others followed. I did not had enough time to draw my weapon and scare them off, but at least I knew a way to protect myself. I dropped my bag and picked my gun from the inside pocket of my trench coat. It was green colored and designed to look like a normal pistol, but it was actually a laser gun in disguise. I aimed it towards them, it only stopped them for a moment but they continued running after they realized I wasn’t going to shoot. They reached me before I could aim properly. The first hit of the metallic bat hurt the most. I took fetal position on the grass as they hit me, smack me and kick me. I sighed. I was never a supporter of violence, but I would use it if necessary. I aimed my gun to someone’s foot and pull the trigger, I saw a red beam cutting his leg. He cursed in pain and fell on the grass. Others stopped and tried to figure out what happened. Blood on his leg rushed from the inside and covered him leg entirely in seconds. He passed out shortly. “What did you do to him?” one said and grabbed me by my neck. A punch hit my face. “Go away or same thing will happen to you too.” I could see the confused look on their eyes. “Come on, let’s go. It is not worth it. We will come back later for her.” They grabbed him by his shoulders and dragged him in the woods. I needed a minute to calm myself. I sat on the grass for a bit, panted. After that, I got up. I saw her getting up and resting herself to the table. She was trying to clean her face, trying not to cry again. “Are you okay?” I said. She was young and wearing a beautiful white dress under a black coat and a piece of clothing that covered a part of her blonde hair. She had the most caring blue eyes I saw. She was wearing a trinket on her neck, I didn’t see what shape it was. She did not have shoes, or socks on her legs. She gave me a big smile. “Yes.” She cleaned her eyes one last time. “Thank you. You saved my life. Those men, those monsters… They… him… It was my husband who sold me to them. I was given away by my father to my husband in exchange cleaning his gambling debt. My suppose-to-be husband sold me to them for his own debt. Thank God you came before they did anything to me.” I saw tear drops filling her eyes again. “How old are you?” I grabbed a chocolate bar from my bag and handed to her. She grabbed it right away, “I became eighteen last month.” She took a bite. “Do you have another relative that would take care of you?” I sat on the table, she followed. “My mom left when I was little. I never saw her again. No one on my father’s side wants me. My siblings neither stopped my father’s abuse. I dropped school a long time ago to take care of the house.” I felt bad for her. Despite of her looks, she was alone in a city full of people. This may sound creepy to you, but I wanted to help her. I gave a rush decision to take her with me. She would make a fine subject. “Ma’am,” I said. “Please don’t look at me weird when I say this but; I can take you to somewhere safe. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” I saw the scared look on her face. “What do you mean?” I explained to her who I am and what will happen in the next few hours. She looked at me and just laughed. Possibly from all the things she went through, but she was laughing like a little kid. When you think about it, it was a bizarre thing to hear from someone you just met, especially when the person who said this to you looked like a crazy hobo. She calmed down after a few minutes. “I am sorry, but that was pretty funny. You are crazy.” I sighed. “Will you believe me if I showed you my true form?” I said. “Probably not, but do it anyway. I want to see you trying.” “Is that a yes? In case you blackout, I want to be sure." She giggled. “Sure.” I changed my form by pressing a button on a phone I took from my trench coat. She looked at me with wide open eyes and screamed a few seconds before blacking out like I guessed. I sighed again. I put my hand on her shoulder and requested for a teleport. There you have it. I, Lort Valec, was there when the remote-controlled meteor hit the Earth, and wiped clean everything that stand on it. The pair of humans was with me. The whole crew were having a dinner and watching as the Earth shattered to pieces, and a giant dust cloud covered the face of Earth.

Call me lucky. Why? Because I AM lucky - the luckiest man alive, in fact. That's not to say that I'm luckier than anybody else, of course. I just happen to see my luck in every situation. When my cat died, I saved myself the expense of taking care of him. Lucky me! When my father told me that he hated me, I didn't have to worry that he might not love me anymore. When my schizophrenic ex-girlfriend burned my house down and fled the state, well how much luckier could I get! I didn't have to stress over selling the damned thing anymore, or buying a goddamn Valentine's Day present! But, in the interest of full and honest disclosure, I'm not always as lucky as I seem to be. Take, for example, my failed suicides: one pill short; not enough carbon monoxide; slashing horizontally rather than vertically. It's always something. Not only that, but look at my failed suicide NOTES: too drowsy to write legibly, flew out the car window, destroyed by bloody bath water! But this time, my plan is foolproof; I have luck on my side.

I was walking down the street earlier tonight, in no different a manner than any other night of the week. Its a ritual of mine. Walking in the the early morning hours; at 2 or 3 in the morning, theres an energy in the air then. A certain eerie silence that both wakes me up and calms me down with a single gust of the cool night breeze. The daytime is filled with distractions. The bustle of the crowds rushing to and from the open air market just 100 feet from my small apartment. The smell of garbage crowding the tight corner outside the building. During the day my senses are overwhelmed. I live in overdrive. Scanning back and forth as the crowds move beneath my balcony. Smelling. Breathing. Looking. Doing anything but living. At night, everything slows down. I take the time to stare at the piercing blue eyes of the homeless neighborhood cats. I listen to the sounds of the crickets and the fluttering of the wings as the bats fly overhead. I started going on these walks when I was still just a child. I was always angry. I was short tempered and impulsive. I vividly remember all those times when my eyes would burn in anger and I’d lash out. I would become a different person. A person without control. I’d punch and throw and scream and kick. I would destroy everything in my path. Like a tornado unleashing its rage on a small country town. Nobody was able to stop me. Every energy in my body, every energy in my soul would burst forth like a rushing river flooding its banks. I hated that person. The person I became in those moments. I needed my control back. Walking was my answer. Outside, away from my real life, everything was serene. Everything was perfect. Animals roamed free. People stayed away. Leaves rustled in the wind and mighty trees swayed gently with every powerful gust. It is at night that the world truly comes alive. But tonight was different. Over the years I developed a feel for the night. I would lay down on the cold grass in the park just a few blocks from my apartment, close my eyes and breath. I discovered that the entire world has a rhythm to it if we just stop and listen. And so I’d breathe. In and out. In an out. In an out. I’d breathe until it became as if me and earth that I was laying upon were beating to the same rhythm. The rhythm tonight was different. It was frantic and wild at first, then quickly faded until the beat was steady and calm. Suddenly, with a strong gust of wind and a cloud of bats rushing from their trees, everything had changed again. The night I knew had reason. This night had none. It had a desperation. Like the entire night was reaching for something that wasn’t there. The desperation overtook me. My blood raged within me. My mind raced. My legs and arms twitched in nervous excitements. I began to feel a wave of euphoria. I jumped into the air. My arms spread high above my head. I yelled into the darkness. Like an animal. Like a wolf howling into the night. I danced. As if I was an Native American sending away spirits; I danced. My arms flailed wildly. I stomped my feet into the ground and and whooped and hollered. In that moment, no one else existed. I embraced the euphoria with every ounce of life I had.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 3... I know you have not fallen—I can feel it. The path of dirt was not long, just a short preamble to the greater challenge; the wet wall, an endless supply of smooth watery stones meant to act as footholds and handholds. But which stones could be trusted? The gaps in the wall showed where adventures before put trust in stones and rocks that they should not have. Can you tell which stones to trust merely from sight? I found that some of the sturdier looking stones were the easiest to come out of the wall. I spent many adrenaline rushes with my heart beating through my chest clutching at anything to break my fall. Despite that, I’m actually quite proud with my three day climb. Three days, three nights, with no chance to stop for rest. Rest meant relaxation, relaxation meant loss of focus, loss of focus meant a slip and fall to certain death. But it was only the first two days that the climb was difficult. On the second night, I could faintly hear the music from the heavens. This reignited my body to push for the top of the wall. Nothing would stop me from reaching my goal. When did you hear the music, what did it sound like to you? You were always stronger than I was, more adept with physical activities so I’m sure you heard it much earlier. I hope the music inspired you as it did me. The stones grew increasingly jagged for me as I reached the top and I cut my hands more than once. Just as I pulled my hand from an alarmingly sharp stone just inches from the top of the wall, what appeared to be a small arm reached over the edge and allowed myself to use it as a last pull, over the top of the wall. I use the qualifier ‘appeared’ because this arm ended with no hand, only soft tissue. A small man with misshapen form and large eyes filled with fear and sorrow, brought me into his small metal shack overlooking the cliff and gave me food and a place to rest. I thanked him profusely, stumbling over my words while trying to catch my breath. His mouth was a mere slit in the bottom part of his bearded face and never opened. It looked as if it hadn’t opened in years anyway. Even so, he nodded, dropped his head, and shuffled back out into the night. When I awoke, perhaps days later, he was gone.

For our final installment, we present to you our finest, most distinguished dessert. In the beginning, you will be introduced to the gates of heaven - a chocolate fountain. As it gallops towards you in a regal fashion, your heart will simultaneously melt along with the chocolate as the flow of silky, brown ooze caresses each tier of the fountain’s structure, drooping over, and finally landing gently in a chocolaty stream below. The noticeably complex artistry of the fountain’s engravings will become blindingly prominent and utterly irresistible to admire when planted in front of you, awaiting its other half, its soul mate, the strawberries. Out of the corner of your eye, you see it. The freshly moistened strawberry platter mimics a saucer, cutting through the air with total silence. The golden dish packed with prizes and secrets to be uncovered by your taste buds lands in front of your nose, providing sensual foreplay for the senses. Your career as a food critic is sure to now come down to its final battle as nothing will ever come close to this experience – the only experience the mind of your senses needs to know for this is the epitome of taste, sight, and smell. Now, it is time for the adventure to begin. Not just a new chapter, but an entirely new story. You spot your prey. The perfectly symmetrical strawberry standing solely, unguarded, possibly neglected by the other strawberries purely out of jealousy. Suddenly, your eyes lock with its numerous seeds staring back at you. At last, you inject it with a toothpick. But, you desire more pleasure. Of course! The fountain! You lay your eyes upon it, strawberry spear in hand. You plan your attack and land in the thick of the action – the stream below. The current fights against your force only to encourage more chocolate to join. The once strawberry has now been overrun by a frothy chocolate soup. You airlift your strawberry, now engulfed in chocolate, out of the battle zone. As the foreign liquid falls from her body, you move to catch it in your mouth, carefully poking out your tongue to guide the string of chocolate back into its cave. As the chocolate continues to drip inside of your mouth, you swiftly take a bite of her. Another fluid is released from the seedy, red, heart shaped body. The mixture of fluids causes a chemical reaction, thus an explosion of flavour never quite felt before. This is the feeling you have been searching for, for your entire existence. This is the reason you were placed here on Earth. After the succulence has passed and the last drop of that heavenly mixture only possible by an angel living among us, the universe becomes still and euphoric. The soul completely free, wiped clean of all the evil ever committed or seen and an overflow of joyful memories and a road of good things to come. A new beginning.

It finally happened. Today I lost my mind. After weeks of toying with the lines of sanity and delusion, one tiny act pushed me over the edge. It's seems fitting that this act, committed by a girl of course, is what broke me. She said no to a date. That simple. Taking it at face value, I'm overreacting. Now throw this monkey wrench into the mix. 5 years, 6 months, and eleven days since I met this girl. I won't name her because she isn't a name, she isn't a person, and she isn't this divine representation of everything I aspire to have in my life. She's just a regular, down to earth, broken girl. Father’s a deacon, mother’s a teacher. I won't say I've loved this girl since I laid eyes on her, that's just not true and only happens in bad teenage girl movies. We were fast friends, and she stole my heart within a year. Over the next four years, without showing the slightest bit of interest in me, this girl managed to persuade me that I should marry her. Every girlfriend I had was compared to her, and every girlfriend paled in comparison. Sure, they were prettier, funnier, and better all around, but they weren't her. She will always be the pinnacle of the female gender, my Hera to everyone else's Aphrodite. Every previous rejection had a reason, many including a boyfriend or sports or family issues, but this final one had the real reason. She would never see me as more than her best friend, and would never allow me to love another. That was four hours ago, and none of the pain has subsided. Life isn't fair and has never been fair, but the deck is always stacked against you. Bad things always happen to people, regardless of how good or bad the person is. In the end, humans are monkeys with the ability to rationalize their insignificance and say it's for a greater good. The only greater good mankind has ever known is death. Everything a man does is another act to propel him towards the grave. Like every other creature on this hellish planet, man procreates and dies. There is no love, there is no justice, and there is no greater good. So I pull the trigger.

First work! Did it at 3 A.M. That might explain its weirdness. Beep-beep-beep-beep The alarm sounded noisily, but to no avail. It's fundamental purpose made obsolete by one simple fact, the individual for whom it's ringing was intended simply didn't give a fuck. He was done with all of it. But it wasn't his fault, it truly wasn't. No, it wasn't bad parenting, a non-existent social life, repressed issues brought up by a two bit psychiatrist or even "special time" with Uncle Tim as a child. It was a far more universal reason for this new change in thinking, or better put, the lack of it. In the words of the coroner, "Yup, the poor bastard is dead alright, kicked the bucket." "Gee doc, what tipped ya off, the unmoving body, lack of pulse, or his brain matter spread across that ugly wallpaper", came an exhausted reply from the other end of the room. "And turn off that damn alarm, wouldja?" "He's right", muttered the coroner. "Who decorated this place? This shit wants to make me claw my eyes out." Beep-beep-beep-beep "Like this guy's had his?" said the detective, striding across the room and pulling back the head of the body on the floor by its hair to reveal two eyeless sockets. "Well, the wallpaper can't do much more harm to him now." A tall man in a blue coat strode through the doorway and bent down to turn off the alarm. "What do we have today, gentlemen? Jesus, put on some gloves before you tug at his hair." "Single gunshot to the brain and post mortem removal of the eyeballs, chief," came the reply as he noisily dropped the head with a thud. "Gently, for fucks sake. And gloves now, I mean it" The coroner was about to speak up when the wail of sirens accompanied by the mandatory flashes of red and blue pulled up the entrance of the building. The chatter of footsteps on road to pavement to hushed carpet was heard. "Time to leave" said a a man who seemingly emerged from the shadows of one end of the room. He stood tall, with sandy brown hair that fell to his eyebrows. His clear blue eyes seemed to cut through you like a knife, it had never known warmth, just cold. Blue ice. Daggers. He held a gun in his left hand. Cold metal. Death. "Aww but it was just getting fun" grinned the man knelt beside the body. "Nope, we have to go now. Back inside, all of you" said blue eyes tapping his gun impatiently. A single man exited the room and stealthy stole away into the night, away from the blue, red and noise. They had found the body. The voices fell quiet, for now at least. The silence would last a while. It gets colder. Give them work, settle them down. Shhhh now.

There I was pondering my years of training and discipline, I was so close to getting a Tetris. Everyone I knew had already gotten theirs, I was the only one who didn't have one! I thought I was stupid, incompetent, unworthy of receiving one. "Hunter!" My friend Whisper called out to me, she is the only one who continued to believe in me and pushed me in my training, always reminding me that I was **so** close to getting a Tetris. I respond with a bashful "h..Hey Whisper". We had grown up together and had been friends forever, though we are 16 years old now and every time I am around her I have trouble speaking, I get butterflies in my stomach and my hands start getting all clammy. She was truly beautiful, and so was her Tetris! Her Tetris was at least a good 280 pounds, had the usual 4 legs, big floppy ears, two silky soft angelic wings, and a 3 foot long bushy tail, all covered in white fur with black spots. Perhaps you are not from around here, maybe it's your first time hearing about the land of Artelia. Then allow me to shed some light. When an Artelian is old enough to start training in the mind and body through meditation and different levels of advanced combat, (the average Artelian starts at the age of 3) they spend their entire childhood and teenage years training in order to receive their Tetris. If you refuse to train, you don't get a Tetris, simple as that, those who don't train are usually outcast to a society of people we call The Anti-Tetris. Now let me explain to you more about the Tetris. The Tetris is an individualized, soul-bound guardian that is assigned to you by our creator, given you have trained well and are worthy of receiving one. They resemble that of a dog, but much, much larger, with wings and a defining symbol of our creator on their head. They can not speak, though they are telepathically linked to their master and are able to act and make decisions based on your emotions and actions. Each Tetris is different in personality and appearance, I can not tell you what type of dog a Tetris resembles because each one is unique. Whisper's Tetris looks a lot like a Saint Bernard. I had trained so hard all my life and still I have yet to be awarded my Tetris. I told Whisper, " I just don't understand Whisper, why haven't I gotten mine yet?". She says to me "Hunter I know how special you are and I know there is a good reason why you don't have your Tetris yet, my guess is our maker sees you as special, too." I pondered this for a while, wondering if she was right, it's not like I refused to train, quite the opposite, I started training at age 2, before I could even speak more than a couple words. I had been training harder than any of my friends. I tell Whisper that I am going to call it an early night and head home and go to bed. It was still light out as I travelled the beaten path through the forest between our two small villages. What otherwise seemed to be a perfectly normal walk home, I couldn't feel as if though I was being watched, the hairs on the back of my neck were going crazy, of course as I looked around I saw nothing unusual. I arrive at my house and I open the door and kick off my shoes, my parents were already in bed, they didn't worry about me staying out late too much as they knew how strong I was and that I was more than capable of defending myself. I head to my bedroom, strip down to my under garments and throw myself into bed, quickly drifting off to dreamland. I awoke the next morning to a letter with a gold seal sitting in the window sill that read "Hunter" on the envelope. Curious, I carefully open the letter and begin to read it. **Hunter** **You are special** **You are chosen** **I have a very special Tetris for you** **In time** I couldn't fully comprehend what I had just read, but I was sure of one thing. I was so close to getting a Tetris.

**PART ONE** *Oliver woke up as lazily as he would any other day, slowly shifting his body and nuzzling his pillow one last time before he says goodbye to it for the day. Oliver stood up out of his bed and stretched his arms out and proceeded to start putting his clothes on.* I always left my bedroom door open when I went to bed but this time it was shut, not too strange though as I do have a cat that could push it shut if he had enough momentum. I see a bright light coming from under the door as I reach for the doorknob, I think to myself "Hmm, must be a sunny day." As I turn the knob and open the door my heart began to sink into my stomach, I was not home, I don't know where I was but all that lie before me was a seemingly endless room but with a set number of doors. Each door had a sign above it that produced a luminescent glow depicting the names of what I assumed to be planets as there were a couple names I recognized. I see one that says Mars and one that says Earth (that one freaked me out the most!). However the rest of the doors had names I did not recognize, the first one I saw read Mjmufmep, the one next to it read Tpoz. I was confused, it just looked like gibberish to me. I looked once more for some type of exit but there wasn't one, only doors leading to a planet. I turned around to the door that I came through from my bedroom only to find that it was locked. There was, however, another luminescent sign above it that read "Choose a Door". I guess I had no choice. Choosing one was my only option. My thoughts started to race. What if I choose the door to Earth? Does everything go back to normal or is it an alternate reality? Once I choose is that it? I will never know what would have happened had I chose another door? This was extremely difficult as I always had a hard time making decisions. Luckily, I had my smartphone which for some reason still had service, so I knew wherever I was I was still on earth...for now. I did a web-search for a random number generator and decided I would do a random roll from 1 to 20 and whichever number I got, that's the door I would pick. 3, it came up with the number 3, out of the first 20 doors I could see number 3 was the door with the sign above it that said Mjmufmep. "Well, this was my choice, no turning back now." I thought to myself. I reached for the door, slowly opened it to see what looked like total darkness, I stuck my hand in and pulled it back out, stepped back from the door and shut it. I was scared, what if I was making the wrong decision? I decided to change my mind just incase the first door you chose is ''bad'' or something and proceeded to the door next to it that read "Tpoz". I reached for the knob and to my surprise it was locked, I couldn't open it! I notice a flickering of light above the door and the word Tpoz changed into a message that read "You've already chosen". "Damn" I thought, back to Mjmufmep it is! By this point I felt I had been just wasting time so immediately I opened the door to Mjmufmep and stared into the blackness for a second before taking a step through the door. I began to fall for what seemed like an eternity through darkness, I remember falling for so long that I had actually passed out due to lack of sleep. When I awoke I was in my bedroom again, this time I was still fully clothed, I quickly opened the door to see what appeared to be a very beautiful rain forest. As soon as I took my first step outside of my bedroom it disappeared, all of it, I was just **there** in this rain forest on the supposed planet Mjmufmep, with nothing but my wallet and my smartphone with 72% battery left. TO BE CONTINUED... **PART TWO** *Oliver just stood there, scared , awestruck, and alone. Gazing at the surreal scenery that lay ahead of him.* I looked around in a total trance, I couldn't believe how significant everything looked, it was as if I was on psychedelics! After the initial jaw dropping of truly processing what I was seeing, I decided to look at my phone. Why? I'm not sure, I believe it has become habit. I press the button on the right side of my phone that wakes up the phone and the display comes on, revealing the time and date as it always does, but there seems to be a kind of static interference and there are those kind of wiggly lines you see on an older low-res monitor. Well that's to be expected I guess, I am on another planet after all. I click the button on the right side of the phone again to put it back to sleep and slip it back in to my pocket. Now as I had said before my surroundings were surreal to say the least, sure, it was beautiful, but allow me to go into detail what it really looked like. It was as if everything were computer-generated images. The trees and the plants had almost a liquid quality to them. There were bugs flying around but they definitely didn't look like any bugs I had ever seen, one of them had very plump-like features and sort of resembled a caterpillar, except with a very large body and exaggerated features. I swear the face resembled that of your average, run-of-the-mill, yellow-colored smiley face, like a colon and a parentheses. The sun in the sky was blindingly bright to be sure, but it wasn't like the sun we know, I could have sworn it was a giant halogen light. I honestly thought I was dreaming. I begin to start venturing forward through the forest, very cautiously. Trying to see if I can find someone, or perhaps a structure in which to take refuge, anything at this point, really. Now I don't know if the sun goes down here or if there is a night and day cycle, but for the sake of worry I'm assuming there is a night time. I wouldn't say I'm much of a survivalist so I know that I need to find **something**. *Suddenly my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket! Am I really getting a phone call NOW? I quickly grab my phone out of my pocket and the screen displays that bewtnwrW is calling me! I don't have a bewtnwrW in my contacts list! Oops, the phone is upside down, it actually says Mjmufmep was calling me, not that this was any better, I was still terrified and confused.* With extreme skepticism I touched the answer button on the touch-screen and shakily put the phone to my ear. "H....hello?" I barely muttered. **"Hello Mr. Fowler we just want to talk to you, we don't want you to be afraid of us. We figured the best way to talk to you with the least amount of a shock to you was to contact you through your smartphone."** **"You know we actually invented the technology that is used for your smart phone, as well as many of the other devices you use every day."** "What do you want from me?" I said in the most cliché way possible. **"We don't want anything from you Mr. Fowler. In fact, we wish to share our world with you."** **"Continue down the path in front of you Mr. Fowler, we will present ourselves to you shortly."** *Oliver fumbles with his phone, as he steadies his hand he sees the display on his phone that reads* **"the call has ended"**.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 4... I spent another day slowly recuperating from the sores and small wounds I received on my tedious crawl up the wall. As day ended and night began, I was able to crawl out on hands and knees. I didn’t get very far out of the shack before I collapsed onto my back. All the pain left my body as beautiful, cheerful sounds filled my ears and gently vibrated my soul. It was the music from the angels themselves, begging us to reach them. Even from below the wooden vertical maze I could see the bottom of utopia. It shone with a brilliant array of colors that could almost be tasted. I cannot satisfactorily describe what lied above me. But I can say with confidence, that it was begging me to become part of it. I laid there until the next morning and was shaken awake by the misshapen man. He spoke in a deep raspy voice that shook the early morning dew even though it came in a whisper. What he told me then confused me, but something deep inside me knew that I was not allowed to question his command. I was to carry a two armed vase on my back, filled with a precious liquid, all the way to the top of the next leg of my journey. It was—as he called it—energy for the skies. I was shaken, but had no choice to continue on with the large ornate vase on my back. I gave the man one last wave as he directed me toward the bottom of the wooden dizziness above. Two thin pieces of wood extended out from the edge of the cliff and onto the very bottom (and very small) segment of the wooden chaos.

This is my take on the Norse myth of Thor's fishing trip with Hymir. Some liberties taken with the mythology. Enjoy. The wind howled like a pack of wolves nipping and tearing at the cloak strewn over the shoulder of a large man striding along the coastal path. Tyr pulled his hood further over his eyes with his remaining hand to protect against the bite of the gale. As the cloak shifted and the wind attacked the mottled skin of his stump, Tyr was painfully reminded of the great beast that took it. Fenrir, the giant wolf, bound by the Aesir until the breaking of the world. Pale blue sky stretched overhead as he looked behind him, not a cloud in sight over the horizon. That day of reckoning would not arrive today, so he cast it from his thoughts. As Tyr once more turned into the frigid wind leaping at him from the north, he heard the air burst into the booming sound of a voice echoing from afar. The familiar chant of a raucous battle song, he realized, and in the distance he saw a lone figure leaping towards him, bare-armed, hammer swinging carelessly at his side. Tyr shook his head and chuckled as Thor approached, bellowing with the percussive force of thunder. A thick, corded arm reached out to roughly clasp Tyr by the shoulder, giving him a firm shake. Thor’s cracked and weathered lips parted in the midst of an unkempt red beard to reveal his bright teeth before throwing his head back, erupting into laughter. “Odinson,” Tyr said warmly, bowing his head formally to the huge man. “Tyr, you bastard. On time as always! Ready for a feast?” He clapped both arms on Tyr’s shoulders. “How long has it been since you’ve tasted the mead of your father’s halls?” “Not long enough,” Tyr winced. His father was the giant Hymir, and there was no love lost between the jotnar and the Aesir, giants and gods, fated to a deadly clash at Ragnarok. He did not know why Thor had insisted that he take him to see his father, but he would put aside his own reluctance all the same. “Let us go on,” he said, “though you may be at home in icy gales, I find myself longing for the crackle of a warm hearth and a full table.” They set a brisk pace, and soon enough they reached the great halls of the giant Hymir. Thick black pillars of ash and smoke billowed from the smoke holes of the longhouse, a huge structure built from sturdy planks of giant trees, stacked fifty feet high. The polished jaws of an enormous whale opened wide to form the entrance of the hall, and as the two gods approached, they could see intricate carvings etched with great care in each plank of wood. Blue sky had long ago been chased away by the pale moon in a sea of gleaming stars, and the red glow of the hearth beckoned Thor and Tyr through the mouth of the whale and into the long hall within. Beds were leaned against the walls to make room for tables. Feasting giants sat upon high benches, laughing, singing, and drinking in abundance. The clamour of the hall burst into an uncomfortable silence as the gods walked into their midst, as even the seven foot tall Thor was dwarfed by the behemoths. From the end of the hall an especially large, magnificently bearded jotun rose from a great chair carved from bone. “Ah. Our guests have arrived,” he said, “Welcome Tyr, and Thor Odinson, to the hall of Hymir.” The courteous words were said with thinly veiled distrust, and deep-set eyes leered at the Aesir over a prominent nose. Tyr simply nodded in reply, and found an empty seat beside his father to clamour onto. Thor, never one for manners, shouted, “Welcome indeed, Hymir! I hope you have butchered your finest oxen to set a table for the likes of two hungry gods!” He laughed, and strode over to the seat next to Hymir, opposite Tyr, and casually leapt up, tearing off a shank of meat in the process. He wasted no time in setting to the task of filling his belly. Hymir looked on in wonder and annoyance as he watched Thor eat two whole oxen, while he himself, a great being over ten feet in stature, consumed only one. When the eating and drinking had subsided, giants lay upon the floor or hunched over the table in drunken slumber, with Tyr slowly nodding off as well. Thor had just finished licking his fingers when he looked over at the scowling Hymir, clearly eager to bid this guest farewell. For the first time since he had sat down, Thor gave his host his full attention, beckoning him to come closer. In a hoarse whisper that would have woken a deaf mule, Thor said, “Tomorrow, you take me fishing Hymir.” If Hymir had already been confused, now he was dumbfounded. “Fishing?” he asked, thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief that the son of Odin had come all this way for a fishing trip. “Aye,” said Thor, looking over at Tyr to ensure that he was still asleep, “Fishing. For serpents.” “No… You cannot-” Hymir gasped. The air around the two seemed to chill, the giant stunned as he was pierced by Thor’s raging eyes. The man seemed to grow beyond his stature, looming over him as the anger within him welled like the gathering of black clouds. The fingers of a thickly calloused hand spread as they shot towards the throat of the massive Hymir like bolts of lightning, his face twitching in spasms under the strain of the godly grip. The hand holding Hymir’s neck pulled his face into Thor’s so that the jotun’s eyes could grasp the full depth of those electric blue orbs promising death at a single stroke. Thor relaxed his hand and the giant slumped forward, gasping. After regaining some semblance of colour in his face, he looked to Thor and nodded resignedly, panting all the while. With one final glare at Hymir, Thor threw his feet upon the great table and shut his eyes. Hymir had a magnificent boat made from solid ice, and as dawn crept over the horizon, Thor and Hymir launched it in secret, leaving Tyr and the other giants behind, still strewn throughout the hall in contented sleep. The boat could hold several large jotnar, so with just Hymir and Thor, it was quite spacious. Thor had his great hammer Mjolnir, and Hymir had brought with him his magical harpoon, attached to rope so strong no beast could break it through sheer force, though one needed to be careful when holding a keen blade near it. Hymir began to grumpily row his boat at great speed to the north, through waters he knew well, for he was a fisherman and whaler of great renown. All the while, Thor watched Hymir row with suspicion. He knew not where their destination lay, and he feared some form of trickery from the giant. A thick mist soon encased them as huge chunks of ice floated alongside the boat, its frozen prow cutting through the sea like the blade of an axe. Hymir’s rhythmic rowing came to a halt, and the boat slowed to a drift. Panic filled his eyes, and he carefully moved over to Thor. “Odinson,” there was sincere terror in his voice, “Do not do this. You know very well the havoc that you will wreak should you succeed. Ragnarok itself may be the result of your actions. Do not be its unintended herald.” Without looking away from the dark cold of the water Thor growled, “Keep going, Hymir. One of three will die here today. Hymir, Thor, or Jormungandr, and I mean it to be the latter.” “Thor –“ “ENOUGH!” he yelled, and thunder cracked amidst a host of clouds that had not been there a moment before. The echo of his cry joined the peals of thunder in a fey song, and Hymir closed his mouth, hands holding the oars in a white-knuckled grip as he propelled the boat forward into doom. Thor, Odinson, stepped over the benches of the boat, perching himself in a powerful stance at the upon the prow’s figurehead, feet digging into the ice of the carved dragon head. Rain began to pour as the fierce wind whipped his wild hair against his grim face. The savage gleam in his eyes betrayed his purpose. Thor, Odinson, was here to slay the Midgard Serpent. He was fated to kill the beast, though not on this day. At world’s end, he would kill Jormungandr, though the monster was prophesied to take the great god with him. Nine steps he would take before the poison of the wyrm brought him to his knees, like the felling of an ancient oak. But Thor, Odinson, lord of the untamed skies, was here to change his fate. Like the wind itself, he would not be guided by any will but his own. Under the torrential storm that followed in the wake of the god of thunder, the translucent ship came to roiling waters of the deepest black, waves heaving to towering heights. Still Thor stood at the prow, upon the icy dragon’s head gleaming in the dark of the heavy clouds. Hymir’s huge, tireless arms released the oars and he furtively peered over the side, quivering with fear. With Thor’s eyes locked on the water in front of him, he reached behind him, his open hand outstretched as water dripped from his glistening arm. “Harpoon, Hymir. NOW!” he bellowed. Almost crawling toward him, the cowering Hymir passed his great harpoon into the palm of Thor’s hand. The storm seemed to rise into a crescendo, the wind, rain, and thunder pitched in a macabre concert. Thor’s roar dwarfed their volume as he hurled the great spear into the water, its sharp blade slicing into the darkness, tugging the rope with it. Endless lengths of line flew over the side after the harpoon, and there stood Thor at the prow, holding the end with both arms braced. Abruptly, the rope stopped, and a great sound rose from the water like an otherworldly shriek, along with sickly green pockets of air that burst into gas as they erupted to the surface. With one arm in front of the other, Thor began to haul the rope back into the boat. As Thor reeled in his catch, the waves around the boat grew to monstrous heights, and Thor could feel the world itself strain under the tension of the great beast he was hauling forth. So large was Jormungandr that his body encompassed the earth, its tail meeting its gaping mouth in the very waters sitting below Hymir’s boat. Still Thor pulled the mighty rope, and as minutes passed, the shrieking grew louder, and in answer Thor let loose a blood-curdling roar. Finally, emerging from crashing squalls and tremoring earth, a black hulk filled the very air around them. For many moments, Thor could not distinguish any discernible features upon the unfathomable mass he had pulled from the deepest recesses of the sea, until his eyes set upon the savage maw of the Midgard Serpent, stretched wide to swallow its own tail. He tied the rope to the prow’s figurehead, then grasped Mjolnir and leapt, leaving behind him the desperate pleas of Hymir, “Thor, no! Stop! You’ll break the world!” With a dull thud he landed upon the snout of the beast, where the harpoon of Hymir was lodged deep into the flesh of the wyrm. He looked into the huge, serpentine eyes of Jormungandr. The eyes of death. Feral zeal filled him, and with unmatched strength he hefted his hammer, ready to put it to purpose. Elation filled him. He would cheat death, cheat his fate. The prophecies themselves held no sway over his power, his spirit. Knife in hand, Hymir lunged forward at the taut rope, rending it in two. With a colossal lurch, the hateful eyes of Jormungandr descended at speed, knocking Thor from his perch to crash into the frozen sea. The Midgard Serpent sank back into the dark crevice of the world, amidst mammoth waves and quakes. Thor, Odinson, hauled his dejected body back into the icy ship, head in hands as the rain and the wind battered him. His soaking hair hung raggedly over his face. Gone was the torrent in his eyes. Thor, Odinson, was going to die.

Well, you're standing at your locker when you hear a familiar voice, and so you decide to glance up. It's not a friendly voice you hear, it's more than that. Its one that irritates you, one that makes you loath not only the speaker but the listener. The one who's conversing with the very thing that makes your life hell. You see them. They look almost happy, as though they have not a single care in their world. Not a single care about how many nights they caused you to sit there, crying, lonely, and angry at the world. How they so casually took the best thing that's happened to you. Them. You hate them. You make eye contact, but only for a second before they look away, they're afraid of you and you know that. And so you close your locker, slowly with shaky hands. Slow enough to let them pass you before you dawn your backpack and follow after them. You clench your fist. You walk only feet behind them. The only thoughts in your head are of anger, and revenge. You know what you want to do, you know how easy it'd be. You're mind is clouded in hate as you make your way past people, clenching your fist tighter the closer they come to you and any thoughts of consequence fades from your mind. You hear a voice, faint in the back of your head, "do it". "Do it!" It says louder, until it's almost a scream, blocking out the cries of the hallways. This voice drives you forward. "I will" you whisper to yourself, almost menially as you begin to take your backpack off. You toss it to the side of the hallway. You know what you're about to do and you're right behind him, he knows your there. He knows what you want to do. You go to reach for him. To grab him. But quickly he turns, and walks into class, leaving you there alone. You're shaking. One or two people look at you, knowing what you were gonna do. But you remain calm, you chuckle and smile and pick up your bag. Then slowly begin the walk to class while you contemplate the idea of whether or not you're gonna wait for them after class, but you won't, because you're not even sure what room number it was. But it was room 310, and you regret not waiting. You regret not doing what you wanted, you wanted him to feel the same pain you felt. You want the whole world to hurt and you have every right to want that. So you cuss under your breath. But you smile, knowing you'll have class with them later that day.

The night was dark, dim light sky's with water falling hitting the ground with such force that you can hear it. The sky is moving fast scraping the skin of the earth, the sidewalk lamps are nothing but a yellow haze, with one broken and the other flickering. The rainwater on the ground skid, and the object comes to a stop. Clicking open and snapping shut. The bottom of shoes clack the wet pavement. Making a sound, then a different one as the shoes grew upon the sidewalk. As the wet shoes scratch the stairs leading down into the ground, the door opens, revealing a darker light than before. It's a tavern. Empty booths side by side with tables with wobbly chairs that can't be fixed with a box of matches. Followed by the stools that only collect dust. The place is only lighted by colorful sea glass that surrounds the bulb. Dangling down trying hard to snatch the table. In the corner sat a large music player, barely audible to the room. The man in the shoes took off his coat and hat, placing them on a rack. Then proceeded to grab a seat at the bar. A drink slid in a tiny glass cup. Filled with the atmosphere around him. Something ordered not too long ago. The warmth blistered his body, the glass clinked. Pushed it back. Life. Normal. Emotions. The glass clinked again. Pushed it back. Life. Normal. Emotions. His inner pulsating. It comes rushing back. Life. Normal. Emotions. A brighter light is revealed. Shoes scratch the stairs. The drizzle is not audible. Clicking open and snapping shut. The street lamp flickering. Stops.

Storm clouds raged in the distance just over the mountainous horizon to the north. They quickened their pace as if the storm was racing them to their target. James held the drive cube in his shaking hands thinking of nothing but the mission at hand. His friend Megan quickly trailed behind him as they made their way up the walkway into the expensive looking front garden forest of the giant mansion. Megan grabbed his arm, hesitant about what they were about to do. “Are you sure this is important enough?” She trembled. She still had no idea what her friend was so nervous about. He never spoke a word the whole night after the short ten minutes in the observer room. Again, James remained silent and pressed on, ignoring the question that was just asked. Megan was frustrated. She had a right to know after nearly getting pulled over multiple times on the two hour drive in the middle of the night. But she pushed the feelings aside. She knew all would be answered shortly...hopefully. James knocked on the giant mahogany door, completely oblivious to the door bell button just to the right of his banging hand. For several seconds there was only silence, followed by more knocking which echoed through the entire house. The knocking was cut short, though, as it flung open to reveal a short, elderly man with quite the enraged look on his face. “God dammit, James!” He began, Megan knew this was it. They were so fired. “What the hell? It’s 2-” “I know, sir,” James cut him off. Megan knew they were fired now, for sure. “But you need to see this.” He held up the drive cube. “We found it.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 5... Getting across the small wooden platform was no small feat, my love. With the winds and weight upon my back, only the music helped me continue. It was beautiful and encouraged my uneasy steps out from the cliff. When I finally made it across, I collapsed onto my shaking knees and onto my sweaty palms. I was alive. And not a drop from vase spilled. Now was the final segment of the passage to heaven. Above me, spread out all across the sky, with no sense to its layout was the wooden labyrinth. Ladders and stairs in every direction, platforms big and small stacked half-hazard above one another, each holding small shacks similar to the one at the top of the cliff. The entire structure creaked and groaned, continuously swaying in sections. The only thing holding that structure together must be some magic or technology that I cannot understand. As I climbed up to a bigger platform, one that would later appear to be a sort of “base” near the bottom of the wooden maze I could see that navigation would be incredibly difficult. Any direction could take me to the top, but some may be longer and others may take me the wrong way completely. I stopped to ponder this problem that lied ahead when another misshapen man came out of his small shack. He sipped on a skinny tube that led into a vase that looked nearly identical to mine. This man was different than the one I met before. He seemed quite happy, although a bit clumsy. His walk swaggered back and forth as he approached me. Without saying a word, he dropped a different tube into my hand and beckoned me to use it. I tried to extend it into his vase as I thought he was asking that of me before he quickly grabbed the end and instead put it into my vase! I was unsure of what to do at this point as the misshapen man at the top of the cliff told me the contents were meant to go all the way to the top. Any doubts or insecurities I may have had immediately vanished as the liquid hit my tongue through the skinny tube. The taste was completely alien. There had been no other liquid in my mouth at any other time that had the flavor that this energy liquid had. Not only that, but it reinvigorated me! I could actually feel the music from above flow though my very essence. I had to sit down as the experience was so overwhelming. My new friend gave me a cheery wave and waddled back to his shack. I sipped a bit more from my vase, as there was no way that all of the energy juice was necessary for the utopia above. As I leaned back onto the wooden railing, curled up against my vase I looked up for a few moments and had a small jolt. Nothing seemed to be in the same place it was just a moment ago. I was hopelessly lost. But I had my liquid to keep me company and I spent the night right there and waited for the next day to settle the madness of the wooden kingdom.

The rain hammered on the old doors of The Regent. The heat from inside was barely enough to condensate the windows, thick with years of grime and smoke, sweat and dust. Two statues sat by the largest window, years of alcoholism had slowly ebbed away the last of their youth. Fingers seemingly moulded to their glasses grasped the demon that slowly siphoned the last of their life away. If you studied them carefully, you may just notice the beer periodically drain from the glass. An old man stood crooked behind the bar. His brow was low, as was his patience. He had become known as 'Regent' and he emulated the old structure in almost every way. There was no new blood in this place since the new factories had been deemed unsafe and everyone left to find work elsewhere. Gravity seemed heavier here, as if this was somehow both the densest, and loneliest place on earth. An old phone rang. It was a young man, calling to confirm the new bar top being bought from the company he worked for. It was his first sale, he was excited. Regent was not. This bar too had cost him a months worth of take from the pub, but it was necessary. Pints no longer stood on the bar top, they balanced and wobbled between the gouges and crevices on the old oak. Regent didn't flinch and most wouldn't have seen his eyes flicker. But they did, and he clocked the figure who had opened the door tentatively. A thick brown cloth hung on the bulbous figure of the man, adorning the cloth were two items - a long discoloured rope, tucked under his belly and a wooden cross, worn as a necklace. They both were sodden under the tyranny of the cloud above. There was enough water dripping from him to warrant a storm inside the pub, but no-one cared. Not even Regent. As the father shuffled over to the bar, the door was caught by a large hand. It struggled at first under the weight of the heavy wooden door, but eventually won through, and the door opened once more. This figure had a friend. He wore all black, and a large black hat nested on his curled hair. He was skinny, maybe half the size of the priest but his features were certainly comparable. His friend was dressed in a white cloth that fell to the ground, picking up the dirt and wet mud that had been washed to the front door from a nearby green. His beard was black and full, even with the water that soaked it. They both scrambled in, not noticing the disapproving looks of the patrons/sentinels. They both followed the small stream that lead from the priests robe to the bar, and sat beside him, panting and quieting. Regent had put the phone down by now, having got rid of the young ball of energy on the other side of the phone. He slowly made his way over to the front end of the bar, where the three strangers were sitting, and he eyed them. The priest had been looking at him, waiting for him to speak and offer him a drink, and the rabbi and imam had only just noticed Regent staring at them when he finally spoke.

"An angel came to me in the night and she took of a cow and made it into meat, then she ground wheat and made it into bread, then she took milk from a cow and made it into cheese, then she put them all together and made a dinner. Where can I get this?" Jasper sighed and explained "That's a cheeseburger. It will be around in a few thousand years - you're going to have to sit that one out." "But it had red sauce, too. Can I get that?" "That's ketchup. No." The Pharaoh's wife then spoke "I too, had a dream. A dream where the clouds wrapped around Egypt and suffocated the land, but a wind came in from the West and washed the clouds away." "K. See, THAT's a dream. That means that the Bethelens will attack Egypt, but the Mayohitites shall come from the West and save Egypt." "A cheeseburger?" The Pharaoh was incredulous. *Seizure* "Seize their donkeys!" The Pharaoh commanded. Ryon plead with the Pharaoh, "But Pharaoh, we are simple farmers and only want to quickly pass through your land to Canon, where we can buy cameras for our horses." "Nonsense, you are Hebrew spies looking to bring famine on my land." "No, look. Here is a picture of our horses on vacation - they took these pictures. They are nuts for cameras. Please let us pass." "Hmmm...these pictures do portray horses enjoying themselves in the sun and playing with beach balls. I will let you pass." "Can I get a hand with this bag of locusts?" "Seize their donkeys!" *The Pharaoh's Dream* "The angel told me it shall be the sixth of its kind and it shall bend upon the seat and shatter when dropped." Jasper sighed again "Yeah, that's an iPhone. You are way out of your time with your dream, Pharaoh. You literally have thousands of years before they come to pass and you won't be alive. Does your wife have anymore dreams?" The Pharaoh's wife murmured "Yes. Yes. I dreamed that a locust came buzzing through the city and went to the land of Canon where it dropped blood upon the land." "'Nother good one. Good info. Real news. This means that the Hebrews are going to unleash Trojans on the land of Canon. Let's stay out of there for awhile." Pharaoh then spoke "But is not a device that takes pictures and has 5 G an amazing creation that will help the masses?" "No." *Clay Angels* So, Maythew went down into the land of Bethsheba and hid himself under rocks and clay as the Egyptians passed by. When they had passed, he withdrew from the rocks and clay and made a rocks and clay angel in the desert. An old man passed by and Maythew instigated a rocks and clayball fight with the old man. That was the first and last rocks and clayball fight ever. *Covenant* God appeared before Getra and declared her a whore and said to her "For lying with Sephan, you have made a mockery of my covenant, you shall now walk the Earth as a snake, upon your belly." And then, God made Sephan witness to Getra's transformation, and God smiled on Sephan and told him, "Behold, you shall be spared, but you shall be circumcised as a sign of our covenant." God paused for awhile and Sephan whispered "Sorry" to the snake. "But you shall be circumcised with THIS!" And God produced a mighty lawnmower. *Sheep* Jenifar's brothers became jealous of her after her adornment in honey by her father and threw her in a pit. In the pit, she stayed for 20 years and lived off worms and water from the clay walls of her dwelling. Alas, an angel came upon her in the night and told her of her father's death and carried her above the land and to her brothers where she told them of her escape by angels. The brothers had forgotten her and knew not who this woman was. So, they threw her in the pit again. The angel returned again and brought her to her brothers and told them of her relation to them. But the brothers weren't having it. They wanted to save face and not seem like they forgot their own sister. So they threw her in the pit again. This happened to a lot of families and was one of the biggest domestic problems in Egypt back then. I'm serious. *Begatting* And Jarob begat Robyn and Robyn begat Beath, Deeath, Claerke, and Romonica. And Romonica entered Tonica and had seven offspring: Jeronica, Pheronica, Sephonica, Demonica, Toberone, Destiny, and Lil' Pete. *Seizure* "Seize their donkeys!" The Pharaoh exclaimed. "But what have we done?" Crag asked. "You have come to Egypt as Hebrews and have cast your shadow long on our land." "But we are just going to Canon for camera's - for our horses." "I will not fall for that lie again. No, you have come to plant locusts in my garden." "Let me be honest." Crag said. "Yes, we want to come and dump locusts in Egypt and, yes, free the slaves and all that stuff. God told us to. BUT! We are out of locusts and just want to go to Canon and get some more." The Pharaoh stroked his extremely gay beard and said "Very well." The Hebrews moved passed the Pharaoh's army and almost got by when the Pharaoh exclaimed "Halt!" The men halted and the Pharaoh asked "What is that giant wooden locust structure you are carrying?" "It's just a bunch of Trojans in a locust. It's payment for the locusts." "Very well." The Hebrews made it to Canon and they traded the locust structure full of Trojans for locusts and then they went back and plagued Egypt with locusts. Eventually, the Trojans would storm Canon from inside the locust, but it took years as Trojan Horse technology was in it's infancy, as depicted by the locust. *Original Sin* Tany and Lizraine settled in Aab, as it was the only town they could read. Tany said to Lizraine, "We are but poor wanderers, who cannot read our own names or find a shelter to fornicate in and begat other people." Lizraine looked at Tany and said "Our Lord has forsaken us." And she looked up into the sky and asked "Why have you forsaken us, Lord?" The Lord turned off his lawn mower and said "Did someone say something?" "Yes, why have you forsaken us!?"" Tany yelled. "Oh, my bad, I was mowing the lawn up here. What's the problem?" "We cannot read and have no shelter and are poor." "That's everyone's problem." The Lord said and he went back to mowing his God-lawn. *The Pharaoh's Dream* "OK. This is a good one. So, I dreamed of a war. A great war with machines. The men could not squelch the machines and had to retreat, but the men were wise and fought honestly and reduced the machine's numbers. But the machines retaliated by sending one of their own back in time to defeat the men. But the wise men sent back one of their own to save a great leader who" "That's Terminator." "Is this another phone from thousands of years in the future?" "No, it's a movie. Let's hear what your wife dreamed." "It was my sister, Getra. She had taken up with a man and God had turned her into a snake." Jasper sighed "That already happened. Your dreams are getting dumbed down by your husband. I'm sorry, Pharaoh, but it needs to be said.

It was a good day to die. Most of them are, out here. This town isn't unfamiliar with bodies popping up like Robert Oliver's. After all, even the best men have secrets. Had secrets. I got out of the Chevy, it was approaching noon. Don't ask me why I choose noon to work, it's the least sensible time of day I could do this. Digging's awful hard when the Sun is dropping bricks on you. I tried to ignore the banging from the trunk for as long as I could. Finally, when I had had enough of it, I decided to let him out. The stench hit me harder than I expected when I opened the trunk, I should have laid down a towel or something. Doesn't matter now, we're at the end of the line with no connections. He was on his knees twenty miles north from El Paso, Texas. Forty or so miles from where I picked him up an hour ago. It was always this spot, here, where I took them. I brushed off his jacket so he looked presentable while I made the preparations. It was hot, too hot, for something like this. It's the only way I'd have it. The closest man to us would be at least ten miles away. The road itself is nearly that far from us. The sweat rolled down my face in the sun. I marked out an 'X' on the ground with my foot. "Here." I said, pointing to the mark. "Wh-what?" He stammered. "Kneel here. It has to be here." "Okay." He said as he shuffled into position. I took the .337 Magnum out of my jacket and pointed it to his head. One silver bullet, that was all I needed. He whimpered as the metal touched his forehead, I glared until he composed himself. You may be thinking that I have real balls pointing a gun at a man tied up on the ground. Well, this isn't the Grand Arena, this is the fucking desert and if you're on your knees and covered in your own shit with a gun to your head it doesn't much matter. "Are you ready for this?" I asked. He shifted uncomfortably on the sand, "It's just... Death's awful lonely for a guy like me." "I'll send you company." I replied. Bang. His name was Robert Oliver, he was the eighteenth man I've killed. Eighteen times I've made this journey, eighteen silver bullets I've put between thirty six eyes. I've dug eighteen holes and filled all eighteen of them. Every one of the men and women I've killed has known why they died. Robert Oliver owned two small print houses in the Bowery, he participated in charitable work when he was free and he had two foster children from troubled homes. It was no surprise to him to be on his knees in the dessert with a stranger's gun to their head. I can say the same thing about the others. I hear you ask what crimes these men and women committed to deserve this fate? How had they wronged me? Well, they all knew in their last moments why they were dead. Y'know, it's funny how things work out that way. I just picked their names out of a hat.

We all live in a society were we are taught to ignore our instincts. We have decided ourselves to believe we are part of a "civilized society". Taught to ignore our inner animal instincts. But everyday is a fight to try and keep control. Blacking out and coming to weeks later in the middle of a lecture in school. It's like something inside of me is trying to break out. Vivid images of people dying and being killed with blood everywhere. I can hardly hold it together. This boring class so we can continue to a boring desk job and live boring lives. Why must we ignore our instincts. It's natural, people need to die and people need to kill. My head is hurting and will not stay calm, I just go to sleep. I start dreaming of being in class. Nerves on edge, tapping my pencil on the desk. Nothing will stay calm and everything is moving. I turn my body and stab the kid next to me in the eye. He screams and everyone looks to the back of class. I reach into my book bag and pull out two guns and start shooting. I kill the teacher and over half of my class mates are dead or dying. Blood everywhere. It's so beautiful. Everyone just hides instead of fighting. They could easily take me if they went with their instinct and just fought back. I walk to a freshman cowering under a desk. I pull a knife out of my pocket and throw the desk across the room. He looks up and I slit his throat. Blood pools on the floor. Everything feels calm and clear for once. I grab his hand and bite off a finger, the taste of blood in my mouth is calming. I hear a sound from behind the teachers desk. I spit out the kids finger and go over to the desk. The last person left in this room alive. She is begging for mercy but why should she get to live? There was plenty of time to stop me while her friends died in front of her. Now everything is covered in blood and she just watched. I grab a stool and break it across her face, tears streaming down her face as she realizes she will soon die. Maybe now they see we are all monsters, every single person has wanted to do this at some point but I took a step toward it. I pick up the broken leg of the chair and start stabbing. Blood and guts fly across the room. The body is unrecognizable. I finally stop and look up to see I am surrounded my police, all pointing guns at me like I'm an animal. I finally realize I was never dreaming, that I never fell asleep. This has been real the whole time and I have never felt more at peace. Their faces show disgust, not because of the dead bodies. Because they realize this is what a human is truly like. That everyone has this instinct to kill and fight and when it has gone ignored for so long a person can snap. I run toward one of the cops, I get shot on the way but it doesn't stop me. I jump on him and rip out his jugular. When I get up and look at the shock on their faces. He is still making a gargling noise from trying to breathe. Trying to stay alive but it's too late now. One of the fires repeatedly and my body falls to the ground. Gunned down like an animal. Hopefully others will follow in my footsteps and fight back against this society.

It’s been days since I’ve slept. That is to say, it’s been weeks since I’ve slept the peaceful sleep of the dreaming. Hours of tossing and turning, praying to God that if I just close my eyes and breathe, I might be able to forget for even a single moment. It’s been weeks since the funeral. As I saw him lying in that cold, wooden box, his face too pristine for one who’d lost half his face to a rifle, the nausea rising in my core made me wish I hadn’t asked for an open casket funeral. It’s been months since he left. My husband, my kind-hearted joker of a husband, had gone to a place where any shred of levity was scarce and underappreciated. They needed him, he told me as I cried helpless tears and begged him to stay. His father had fought, and his father’s father too. I understood why he did, though that made it no easier. It’s been years since we fell in love. We met in the evening, on the weekend of the annual carnival. He offered me some cotton candy and won me a stuffed bear. We talked for hours and long after that humid summer’s night, we would continue our endless conversation. Three years passed, and then we were wed. I had never loved someone as much as I loved him. Nothing could keep us apart. It’s been hours since I decided. I was an only child and my parents died young. I now live in this house for two without my other half. I feel incomplete, as if all the emotions I once had are leaking out through the hole he left. I have nothing now, because to me he was everything and this morning as I awoke to the sound of my own vomiting, hands shaking as I read the information I feared, I learned that I was to be a mother. It’s been minutes since I found a new reason to live.

On the last day she lived here we went to the sea. It was a dark grey summer morning and it was beautiful, like dusty broken glass, and the waves broke over the shore that was stained dark by the clouds overhead. Humidity hung low and heavy in the air, as palpable as the sand between our toes, but her smile filled the grey air around us and made the late summer chill a little bit warmer. She shivered in a one-piece; I danced circles around her in a summer dress and changed into a bikini behind the tallest rocks on the beach. What’s the worst that could have happened that day? She had already died once, her heart sputtered and skipped like a car battery after a jump and restarted and she woke up in a hospital bed with cold hands, broken ribs, a totaled car, and family, nerve-wracked and hands wringing, in the waiting room. She told me that she saw the stars for a few seconds, dark and cold and farther away than they should have been, and the first thing that came back was sound, and she heard everything, but there was nothing she could do. It could have been hours or minutes. We swam far out past the rocks, farther than I’d ever gone, and then she swam back and I sunk like a stone. It was dark underwater, and the sky dropped out from above me and the sand dropped out from below and all there was left was dark green brown mud, and it was the end of me, I was certain, and I knew I would be entombed in the sea. There were snakes there, coiling around my ankles, slimy and soft, and I kicked them away and kept kicking but the undertow pulled me further and further under and there were more, and more, until she grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me out from the ocean and pulled me onto the seashore. When I woke up with the grey air all around me she was gone, and the sand between my toes was cold and wet and it was high tide and the sun peeked through jagged holes in the clouds above. When I hauled myself to my feet I ran to the tallest rocks on the beach, clambered up them, and dug my toes into the algae to try and hold on, and I looked out across the parking lots and fields and train tracks strewn all around me helter-skelter like the toys we used to share for as long as I could remember, and she was gone, she was gone and I was alone with the sea on a dark grey summer afternoon, with the seaweed and the rip tide that almost dragged me under and kept me there, and I pretended the tears on my cheeks were saltwater left over from when the ocean washed over me. I walked the three miles home along the side of a highway without shoes on, and I didn’t see one car. I passed her house on the way back to mine and all that was left on the sidewalk was ripped-out floral wallpaper and her mother’s sweet jar, broken, and the vans were gone and the car was gone and the lights were off and the gate was locked and the lock was changed and the key I’d had to that lock since before I could talk had already sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I tried to write her letters but they all came back returned to sender, and she never did send me her new phone number. I tried to look her up in her new city’s phonebook that I had to mail order specially, but all I could find was a hair removal specialist and a hair replacement specialist, so I gave up. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, like if she remembered the time we danced to Björk in our underwear, or if she remembered all the cookies we stole out of that broken sweet jar, or if she had kept even a little scrap of the wallpaper that had covered her room that we covered in stickers and doodles and hearts. I wanted to know if she still listened to my mixtapes, shouting along to Hooked on a Feeling in her shitty old econobox Camry. I needed to know, so I tried and tried to find her, and I tried and tried and tried, but she was gone. Every day, she was as gone as when I first woke up on that grey sand beach, salt water rising in my throat and pouring out my eyes. So I gave up. Even after all that, I did see her just once after our day at the beach. It was years past, and we were out of college then. We were at a train station in the city, and I saw her across the platform, immaculately clothed with hair pulled neat into a bun by countless bobby pins, and she saw me, comfortable but ragged in a summer dress I’d been wearing for years and drooping socks with frayed edges, and we sat together, and the silence settled around us and hung heavy on our shoulders. I asked her if she remembered the day by the seashore, and she asked me if I remembered the day I kissed her for the first time, and her voice was as ragged as her sweater—which is to say, not at all—and I didn’t answer, and I couldn’t answer, and if I had waited for us to be okay I could have been waiting for a hundred lifetimes. > so, that's it. i would appreciate some feedback. i'm arranging a portfolio for applying to colleges and i'm not ashamed to admit i'm pretty proud of this piece, but it definitely needs critiquing. my concerns pretty much reside in the second-to-last paragraph, which was added after everything else was written because i thought of the line "I wondered if she remembered that time we danced to Björk in our underwear" and wanted to be able to work it into the piece.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 6... I woke up in a daze, completely at a loss to where I was. Not only where I was, but who I was. All self-knowledge had left me. It was like I had been born lying on the wooden surface with a near empty jug at my side. I stood up and nearly collapsed back onto the ground; I had to grasp the railing at my side to regain my balance. I stared up at the wooden maze above me for a few moments before my memory returned—the thoughts of my journey to the heaven above quickly rushed back. I knelt down, grabbed my vase, removed the skinny drinking apparatus and began climbing again. At each level I reached, the short men of the network would come and refill my jug, ensuring that it was never empty. The trek to the top was somewhat uneventful. Each day would carry on as I consumed more of the liquid in the vase and would end with me collapsing in ecstasy from the drink. The music grew louder and the lights brighter in a hypnotic fury each night as I closed my eyes. It took me a few days before I realized that my intake of the drink would increase to reach the same level of trance that the vase provided in my first days in the maze. Not only that, it grew more and more difficult to find myself in the mornings after I climbed. More and more the elixir would be drained by the each day coupled with the lengthening of time it took to find my senses before continuing my climb upward. After months of climbing the enormous atrocity, I finally reached the highest levels. I could see the heaven above clearly—a beautiful sparkling light emitting a soothing and uplifting tune. But my body felt drained and my mind clouded. At this point, it sometimes took many hours to regain my consciousness and days were lost waiting for the effects of the vase juice to wear off. However, I did notice that as I continued upward the people of the wooden keep were taller and taller; almost to my height. I learned there that the juice is meant to keep the travelers such as myself from reaching the glowing orb above. All the people of the wood that I had met along my journey were those who had not finished the climb themselves. But it did not matter. My mind was not completely lost to the drink and I still had the heavens at the front of my thoughts. I leave you this last note before I reach the goal. I’m here. Come find me.

Adrian sat down on the ledge. How had it come to this? Less than a year ago, he had been a happy, ordinary man. He’d had a wife, kids, a stable job, a life. And then, suddenly, it came. So fast it wasn’t even given a name. It was simply ‘the virus’. A brutal disease, which would infect a victim in the morning and leave them a pale corpse by the evening of the next day. There was no human resistance to it. People fell in their thousands, every day. No-one was spared. Except, somehow, for Adrian. At first it had seemed a blessing. While he and his family lived, he was glad that he was managing to avoid the infection, and to stay healthy and strong. But gradually that attitude changed. As his family were picked off, one by one, the joys of survival began to turn sour in his mouth. And then his miraculous immunity finally revealed its true colours as a curse. He, an ordinary man, was left living as governments collapsed, cities crumbled, and civilisation fell. He stood, alone in the wreckage, with nobody except his shadow and his tortured soul. But, to his credit, he had kept going. After all, statistically, he couldn’t be the last one really. There were over 7 billion people in the world, before the virus struck. The chances of him, Adrian Lucas, being the only one left were astronomically low. So he searched. He took a massive supply of canned food, got in his car, fuelled it with the remnants from the abandoned petrol stations, and drove. For months, he looked for any sign of life. Another car, a pillar of smoke, anything to show that he wasn’t alone. Because he couldn’t be alone. It was impossible. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. But here he was, at the top of the Empire State building, thousands of miles from home, definitively alone. It seemed an appropriate place to end it all. Adrian felt there was a certain irony in the last human falling from one of mankind’s most iconic landmarks. Maybe it was for the best anyway. God knows, humans had tortured their planet. Surely a quick and relatively painless death was all they deserved, and it would allow the world to return to its former state, where no creature was overly dominant. A world without humans, Adrian decided, would be a better world for almost every other animal. That made him feel a little better. Still, that didn’t do much to make him feel better about what he was about to do. His race had dominated this world for millennia. Sure, the world, in places, had suffered. There was no arguing that. But wasn’t the cost worth the reward? Humans had done miraculous things. They had seen that natural materials couldn’t fulfil their every want, and rather than choosing to believe they could not achieve what they wanted, contrived to make things that had simply never existed before. He was sitting directly on a prime example of that. Steel does not, and had never, naturally formed. And yet here Adrian was, being supported by it, because man had decided they needed something more structurally sound than what they had already. No other animal could do that. And that wasn’t all. Humans had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. They had looked up at the sky, and flown to the moon. They had constructed the perfect habitat for themselves, lived in it, and perfected it. They were incredible. And here Adrian sat, preparing to snuff it all out in an instance. Oh sure, the virus had done most of the work (another irony there; a being so simple capable of annihilating arguably the most complicated race in existence), but it was Adrian delivering the final blow. He would be the one who pushed off and snuffed out the human race. That argument was almost strong enough for him to get up and carry mankind’s torch just a little further. Almost. But not quite. At the end of the day, a life alone was no true life. Adrian sighed, and pushed his weight over the open air. His arms held him up for a brief second. Just enough time for him to close his eyes. Then he fell. But he felt no rushing air, and heard no sickening thud. Instead, he felt a tight grip around his wrist. ‘You ain’t getting away from us that easily, buddy’ Adrian smiled. He didn’t recognise the voice, he didn’t know where the voice would take him now. But none of that mattered. For he was no longer alone.

She wakes in the morning. Dry mouth, sore legs and the sour taste of spent whiskey lying in the back of her throat. A quick look to the left reveals glowing green numbers; 6:08 am floating towards her through the darkness. Too early for any happy soul to be awake, she thinks to herself, before dragging her aching body up and out of bed. Her warm feet hit the cold wooden floor, sending an unwelcome wake up call shooting through her body. Grabbing the tattered robe from the hook on the door (left over from the last tenant, never removed out of convenience), she pulls it over her shivering shoulders, making her way down the derelict staircase into the kitchen. She crosses the well-worn tile, making a beeline for the coffee pot. Left over elixir from the day before, she pours into a chipped ceramic mug fished from an overhead cabinet, coaxing herself onto her toes to reach in. After taking a couple cautious swallows, she decides it will do before setting the mug on a windowsill, peering out into the waking world, watching fog begin to rise away from the streets. She reaches into the front pocket of her robe, removing one battered pack of cigarettes, using the expert flick of a thin finger to push one out. Securing it between her teeth, she moves to the stove, bending carefully while igniting the flame to light it. She sucks in the fire, watching the ember race towards her lips, before inhaling and then letting slowly escape one of the many vices she swore herself to give up long ago. Well, it’s almost time for a few things. Making her way back upstairs, she sets to the task of packing up her life, throwing away memories and washing this part as far down the drain as it will go. I “Hannah! Hannah wait!” No, she thinks to herself. Call my name all you want, but I’m not waiting around for anything from you anymore. She pulls her peacoat tighter around her petite frame, shielding herself from the harsh Midwest winter air as she hurries away from him. “I didn’t mean it, come on, you know me!” Well I thought I did, she scoffs inwardly. Clearly I should’ve known better than to presume I knew anything about you at all. She quickens her pace, letting his voice get lost in the tight air. Nathan, you asshole, she thinks to herself. What more could I have given you, and what makes you think you deserve anything else, after what you’ve done? Not only did you cheat, but she was my *friend*. Tears stinging in her eyes, she continues her brisk walk. To where, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she had anyone left to confide in. Her mother, loving though she was, would only offer paltry words of support, while quietly judging her for letting any man get as close as Nathan had in the first place. Her sister, miles away, with a bouncing new baby and a husband about as developed, would hardly be able to hear her over the cacophony of a teeming household. And Alice. That *bitch*. She knew of Hannah’s insecurities, knew how burned she’d been in the past, and she still slept with him? Well, to hell with her then. Perhaps her and Nathan could keep each other warm in the desolation of purgatory. A vibration in her pocket causes her fingers to search out her phone. Involuntarily she checks the screen, not knowing whom she would be hearing from at this time of night anyway. *Alice*, it reads. Right, like I’m giving you a chance to explain. She lets the call ring through, only to be greeted by the ding signaling a new voicemail. Accessing her inbox, she holds the cold piece of metal to her already stinging ear, waiting to see which words Alice would choose to try and justify the situation. “Hannah, baby. It’s not what you think, I swear it’s not. We just.. I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything, not to either of us.” Either of you? Hannah thinks. So what, now you’re a package deal? A bitter laugh escapes her chapped lips, while she hits *End* and stows the phone back into her pocket. It had been years since she allowed herself anything stronger than a glass of champagne, but right about now the bar up the street was looking awfully welcoming. She pulls her shoulders back, and sets her feet on a determined path for it’s warmly lit doorway. II “Where the fuck…?” Hannah begins, her voice raspy with sleep and the tail end of at least a packs worth of cigarettes. She begins to look around her, absolutely nothing familiar about her surroundings. She takes stock; no panties, bra flung over a lamp against the far wall, no sign of her pants, purse or phone. No one in bed next to her, for the time being, which offers her a small relief. She can maintain at least some of her dignity while she gets her bare ass out of this strange bed to go on the hunt for her clothing. She's on the floor, ass in the air, trying to fish her jeans out from under the bed “How in the hell did these even get here…?” she mutters, when she hears the door quietly push open. Popping up quickly enough to bang her head on the bottom of the frame, she looks up while massaging the sore spot, to see someone in the doorway. “Hey…” He begins, grinning at her sheepishly, turning with blushing cheeks slightly away from her, presumably to give her a scrap of privacy while she shimmies into the skinnies she managed to retrieve. “Uhm, hi.” She replies, trying to maintain her composure while yanking her feet through the holes, which isn’t a small feat in the standing position. After fastening the button in place, she musters up the courage to look this fellow in the face. Dark, thick hair pushed over to the side. Deep green eyes, and a nicely chiseled mouth still wearing a bewildered half smile. Given her lack of memory, she actually finds herself to be a little proud for not having gone for a total dud. “So you’re.. Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t actually remember.” She stammers, an unwanted blush beginning to creep up her cheeks. “Yeah I, uh, thought that might be the case.. I’m Nathan. It’s nice to.. Uhm. Meet you.” He holds out his hand awkwardly, like they hadn’t just spent the night, naked, in the same bed. “Hannah.” She responds, taking his strong hand in her own. “Did we, uh…?” Trailing off, letting the question ask itself. “Well no, actually,” He says, “You.. Well, you were a little.. out of it. Call it chivalry if you’d like, but your friend, Alice I think her name was, fell all over me on her way out with someone else and asked me to take care of you.” Typical, Hannah thought to herself. She loved Alice and all, but she was notorious for being MIA in desperate situations. “Well gosh.. Nathan. I really am sorry, for.. Whatever it is that, uh, happened.” “Not much, actually,” He says, a reconciliatory look in his eyes. “I actually slept on the couch.. I guess maybe you just sleep better naked?” Another blush, this time his own. “Haha well, I guess that is actually true.. I just wasn’t sure, if.. Well. Clearly I don’t remember much from last night.” “Yeah, you were.. A bit of a mess, I’ll be honest. But it just wouldn’t have seemed right, even if you had wanted to.. You know. Which for the record, you didn’t. You just.. Talked. A lot. But no!” he paused, raising his hands palms up at the crumpling expression on Hannah’s face. “No, no. It’s alright, it wasn’t.. Look, please, really don’t worry about it. Honestly I’m glad to have brought you home, You’re.. Well, you’re different. In a good way, I assure you. Look, is there any chance you’d let me buy you coffee? I think we both could use it. And maybe I could help you piece together exactly how you got here. Deal?” Hannah looked at him, straight on. It would probably be easier to say no, I’ve actually got to get going.. But something in his face made her want to say yes. “Well, it couldn’t hurt.. Sure, let me just find..” She looked about herself, her eyebrows knitting together. “This?” He said, hooking her lacy black bra off the lamp with one finger. “Haha uhm.. Yeah. That. Thanks.” III And where did that get me? Hannah thought bitterly to herself, nursing her fourth Jameson and ginger at the dingy little bar she had found herself in. So sweet, so knight in shining armor. Such a good seeming thing, in the beginning. So easy to let my guard down, to tell him where I’ve been and where I hope to be. All those walls torn down, and for what? Betrayal? To be proven right in building them in the first place? Well it’s pretty clear there’s no place in this town for me anymore. Mediocre job, bridges to be burned, not to mention I can’t remember the last time I saw anything that astounded me. Well, aside from.. But that’s over now. He’s gone, and I’m not going to let him come back. She raises a single finger to the tired looking bartender, signaling her desire for another. “A double this time, if you wouldn’t mind. No ice. In fact, skip the gingerale, too.”He gives her a brief look of concern, before shrugging his shoulders, as if to say hey, not my business. He certainly delivers, a short rocks glass almost overflowing with the amber liquid slid in front of her. She knocks it back, places a couple $20’s on the bar before grabbing her purse, sliding into her jacket and making her way once more out into the unforgiving night. Sitting on the floor of her room now, she takes stock of the boxes around her. A bit saddened by the fact that the ‘give away’ outnumber the ‘keep’, she lets her head fall into her waiting hands, her small fingers beginning to gently massage her temples. She can feel the beginning of a sob rise into her throat, and throws her head back, pulling in a deep breath to stem its flow. No use, she thinks. Succumbing will only lengthen the process. Better to continue. It hadn’t been an easy life for Hannah. In fact one could argue that there had been more dark stretches than bright. But she was still here. She had still been able to keep going. And there was nothing now to hold her, no reason to let this instance be the one to break her down. And with that, she grabbed the packing tape, and began to seal away her old life, to be left on the curb for whoever might like what they found there. The next morning she took her small ‘keep’ pile, and loaded it into the back of her car. Armed only with a map and a large coffee from the gas station, she drove away from the town she once thought would contain her happy ending. Without sparing it one last backward glance, she got on the freeway, speeding eagerly toward the beginning of the rest of her life.

is a magazine for science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories in a contemporary setting. It officially launched last week and will continue to release new short stories three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The magazine is always accepting submissions; more information is available on the . For commentary and discussion of the short stories, as well as general questions, the magazine has its own subreddit at /r/AcidicFiction . For announcements, the magazine has a and a .

His father and mother were both architects. They worked together tirelessly, always trying to make ends meet. He had no brothers or sisters, alone in the world with nothing but a spiteful intrigue for things unproductive that left his parents furious. They said he never worked for anything; that he was only circling in his thoughts of the stars and the clouds. And now here he is. Flying. Flying above the mountains once impassable by man, across oceans and through the clouds, over forests and into the stars. The air streams through his hair as he thinks of his parents below, building the relics of mankind. Relics that take a lifetime to design. Relics that will never push against the endless blue sky. Relics that he would have always looked down on from above though he can’t open his eyes as the wind is too strong.

Wheels spun round, four of them, down the mountain, bouncing off the flats, catapulted into the air, finally landing in the ditch. A car was attached to the wheels in the usual manner. Also, in the usual manner, there was a driver and a passenger. In the typical case, the driver of a car is the one in charge of where (and how) the car goes, but this case was atypical: the passenger—and his gun—were squarely in charge of what happened up until the point when the fate of the vehicle was taken away from passenger, gun and driver. This was when a four-inch nail—having bounced off the back of a construction vehicle, probably “loaded with beaners and two-by-fours” as Carey’s racist uncle would have put it, was newly promoted as “Lead Agent In Charge Of Redirecting Traffic On Mile 17 of Interstate 99.” The blue Mazda sports car was the nail’s first—and only—client. Which is a fancy and longwinded way of saying that dumbass Martin carjacked Carey three hours before, and now they were in a ditch, and though the gun did go off (you try to keep your trigger finger relaxed as you’re bouncing down an incline in an out-of-control car), only the rearview mirror and windshield suffered fatalities. A few things happen when a couple of people share a traumatic experience. First of all, they both suffer shock. Granted, Carey was already in shock because of the whole carjacking thing, but now both he and Martin were suffering the mutual shock of a) having experienced a car crash, and b) having survived a car crash (a is a necessary condition of b). The second thing that happened was that both Carey and Martin forgot the roles they had been playing, victim and victimizer. “Are you okay?” asked Martin. “I think so,” said Carey. He looked up at the rearview mirror to see if he looked the way he felt he looked, but the rearview mirror was shattered beyond useable (I told you that, already). He tried to roll down the window so he could adjust the side view mirror, only the arm felt ice-block heavy, ice-block cold. He felt friction like spools of twine rubbing together as he twisted his head to look at his arm. He was relieved to see it attached properly. Well, almost properly. It’s not that he really forgot, but he was now able to hold the fact that he was in a car accident alongside the fact that he had been carjacked. He must have made a face, because Martin said, “Sorry.” He said it like he had come home from the grocery store having forgotten to buy the milk.

The wind buffeted their face with sand particles as they walked along the coast's edge. Nydia and I had faced worse conditions on their journey so far, but the sand was annoying nonetheless. "How close are we? we've been walking for ages." "The Earth shakes louder and louder as we walk, we mustn't be far off." Indeed, as we rounded the jungle's edge, a small house in the style of Southern Plantation stood on the inner beach. But this was far from the most shocking of what we observed. "Are those...mammoths? And, Giants?" My eyes stretched to the far corners of his face as he tried to absorb all the flaring awe of the Giant's industry. They must have stood some 50 feet from the ground, and picked up the bulky mammoths as if they were dogs. They lugged them from their pen at the plantation house to a dock stable near the water. "We should move, Logan. Ethanol and smoke smothers the air; a feast and ceremony is happening tonight, and it might be with Aliviah. Move quickly and quietly, the last thing we want is to be mammoth fodder, or for our bones to clean the teeth of Atlas. Come, come." They stepped on the porch of the house; it was a bleached wood, some kind of palm that was weathered over the years. However, the house still maintained an aura of nobility and cold pride that only a rich slave owner could exhibit. "You go in, I'll stay here and watch over the commotion, make sure nobody comes round to interfere." I nodded in agreement, and slowly opened the ancient door; the creak itself was haunting enough, but the more terrifying aspect was the complete tranquility the inner house encompassed - nothing had been disturbed in eons. No dirt, no dust, no airflow, nobody. I creeped along the planks of the house, trying to gauge which ones were loose and would thus creek, in hopes I wouldn't disturb the mystery inhabitants of Tranquility lane, but as I traveled further in, the conclusion that no one had lived her for ages seemed more and more true. This quickly dispelled, however, as I approached the far end of the house. I could hear a modem, the ring-a-ling of a machine lullaby and the mechanized rocking of a baby swing. The lullaby sounded almost uncannily like that of an ice cream truck, a song used to alert and lure children to the sweet vice of ice cream; the setting transformed the sweet, nostalgic sound into a numbing agent in my knees, a shiver in my spine. One feet after the other, I slothed over to the baby swing. Sure enough, a blonde toddler, about the age of two, slept in the swing. I crouched down to get a better look; why would Giants possess a baby? Surely a creature this small would be far too little nourishment for something as a massive as a giant. It was all too eerie, and I could feel the dread in my chest, welling in suspense. All I could do was stare at its nostrils, moving back and forth in a calm rhythm, its arms nestled in the blankets, the swing rocking to and fro with a creak at each peak. "I'm glad you came, Logan." My heart instantaneously materialized in my throat, the blue eyes staring into mine, peering through my pupils to my soul. I could feel my inner being corrupted, as if molested by a filthy hand. I stumbled backwards, yelping and heaving. I kept trying to yell, but I would choke the words on top of gasps, breath rushing in while words struggle to break free. Fear manifested in an infant, and it swung in front of me with devilish aura. "Wh-where's Aliviah? Where is she!? I know she's here, what have you done? My poor sister, she's so young! What could you want with someone so small and innocent?" "Grief. This young boy's name is Tobias Dela. He is exactly twenty-six months old. He has a father, Jonathan Dela, and a mother, Christina Dela. He has two siblings, Jim and Grace. They love him very much, as much as you do your sister. I imagine they would scour the Earth with the same intensity you possess to retrieve their lost boy. He's been missing for one month. They are in shambles, as a family naturally would if the young fawn suddenly disappeared. Christina sobs for the whole neighborhood to hear, as she laments the loss of her last son. Christina's chest aches with the absence of Tobias' love, his smell, his laughter, his smile. She cannot eat, as Tobias cannot eat. She cannot breathe, as Tobias cannot breathe. She is dying, kept alive only by the dependence of her family. She blames herself, and everyday the grief eats her alive, boring holes of rotting flesh within her. Jonathan instead turned to alcohol and self-harm. He plunged his knife deep into his hand, to feel the warmth of blood flow down his cold arms. When you lose your children, your soul loses light, fire, warmth. Jonathan is nothing more than a specter, a dead version of what he used to be. He feels cold, a deep frozen cave where he can't escape. So he stabbed himself, to feel the warmth that was all too familiar, but seemed to be farther and farther every day. Logan, I want to test your bounds, your desire to save your sister. I want you to seal the reality of Tobias Dela. You will have to kill me and Tobias, as I stand in the way of what you want. In order to receive your precious sister once more, you must kill another family's child. Can you do that? Can you kill a small child? Do you have the will in your hands? Take me to the kitchen, and slaughter me. Confirm the grief that is the Dela legacy, end Tobias and I. Do this, and your sister shall return to you." There are moments in everyone's life where the world shifts in hue, where the world stands still, where emotions die down, and where time rests. Kill Tobias. Kill me. Again and again, the words rattled in my head, pounding with more force the more times they bounced. KILL TOBIAS. KILL ME. RETRIEVE YOUR SISTER. SHE MISSES YOU. SHE'S IN THE DARK, CRYING IN THE CORNER. SHE SITS IN A BALL, CRYING FOR THE BROTHER WHO WON'T COME, FOR THE MOTHER WHO WAILS, FOR THE FATHER WHO CRIES. SHE WAITS, WITH THE HOPE IN HER DYING EVERY MOMENT. KILL TOBIAS. KILL ME. I felt incredibly sick, as though I were floating on the ocean, nausea broiling in my abdomen, the world swaying up and down, this sick infants eyes peering into my skull. KILL TOBIAS. KILL ME. SAVE YOUR SISTER. Could I do it, could I take another family's infant? I could feel the pain of Christina in me, the numbness Jonathan experiences. I knew it all too well. I couldn't murder someone else's child. But Aliviah, I could see her crying, so alone, so afraid in the dark. She used to love the dark; she would hide in the bathroom or laundry room, close, the door, and have a dark dance party. Now she is vulnerable, on the verge of death, and she needed me. How could I leave there forever, tell her she has to be left behind for someone else's child? I could kill Tobias and save her from suffering, or I could let Tobias go home to his family, soothe Christina and Jonathan's pain, give them happiness --, but Aliviah would pay the price. What would mother think? Would she kill Tobias? How could I let Mom live on without her little girl? How could I live life without seeing her little pig tails in the morning, bouncing along to the tune of morning cartoons? To have her scent leave the world, her laughter? Her yelling "tiggle, tiggle" while I tickled her, and her tiggling me on the back of the head in retaliation, her little chubby fingers trying to give me the giggles, her pouts in the mirror, frowning at the baby frowning back, her smacking her brothers for trying to mess with her while she watches cartoons, her very rare kisses to us, and her very common kisses to her plastic lion, her flowery sundresses and fluffy infant cheeks, her 6-tooth smile that simply beamed innocent love - it would all be gone. I summoned the strength to my legs. I had to do it, for Aliviah. I she deserved to live, and I had to do anything I could. I picked up Tobias and I brought him to the kitchen. "There is a knife in the drawer, use it as you see fit, Logan. Kill Tobias. Kill me. But know I feel no pain, but Tobias does. Hurt Tobias. Make him squeal." All I could feel were my fingers trembling as they opened the drawer. The knife gleamed with a soft reflection of my eyes, blood-shot and horrified. I had to do, I kept telling myself, I had to kill Tobias. For Aliviah, I would say, for Aliviah. I kept thinking of the crying toddler in the dark room, the girl who needed me. I couldn't think about Tobias and Christina and Jonathan and his siblings, I couldn't think about his pain, I couldn't. Only Aliviah. I raised the knife. Only Aliviah. I pointed at the neck. Only Aliviah. My nerves had missed. The knife barely went past the eye. Tobias wailed with pain, and my heart wrenched itself into a knot. My chest beat with the ringing of guilt, my arms weighed with the suffering of an individual struggling to survive, flailing his arms and crying for his mother, for anyone, to save him from his doom. Only a small stream of blood trickled down his jaw, and I knew I had failed my first attempt. All I had done was delay the death, and instead maximized poor Tobias' misery. I failed the death, and instead committed torture. My teeth kept grinding with one another, my jaw in tension heavy enough to crack steel. I took the knife by the wood handle and I plunged it deeper into Tobias' neck. The cut went from barely noticeable to a gash from center point to the left side of his neck. I yelled and yelled to drown out Tobias in hopes that I could forget about him dying, him trying to survive, to beat the odds that he faced, hoping that this was all a nightmare, that he wasn't dying, that the world was fair. Tears streamed down both our faces and blood splattered us in unison. The knife must have missed his larynx, and Tobias felt no restriction against his ability to cry out to God. My knees felt the burden of guilt and buckled. Kneeling on the floor felt like ages. Tobias refused to die, and through the gurgles of blood and gasps came out horrendous screeches that scraped the bottom skull side of my scalp. They clawed my skull from the inside, the flesh tearing from the bone as they tried to escape out my neck. My vision blurred, I had to end his misery. Tobias seemingly had no end to blood, and out of desperation and frenzy, only one method was left on my fading mind. It was a Saturday morning. I had gotten up early to prepare for my SAT exam later that evening. There was hustle and bustle in the kitchen, as usual. Aliviah watched her cartoons in her feeding chair, my mother making eggs for my brother and me, Micaela drooling on the couch. As I stumbled down the stairs, I heard a peculiar sound of glass clinking against the tile floor, rapidly and erratic. I could hear the "oh no, god no" as the clinking stopped, and a gloomy mood manifested in the room. "I'm sorry Logan, you usually do this, but you were asleep so I tried, but I messed up. I think I crushed his spine, poor thing. Oh I feel awful, and he's only a baby." It was a baby lizard, who managed to sneak inside the house. Usually when critters end up in our lovely abode, I'm the one tasked with the effort of removing them safely. Mom tried to do it in my stead, and accidently crushed the lizard down the middle horizontally with the glass, in the effort to trap it for safer transport. "You can see its innards on the side, oh I really messed up. It didn't know better, it just wanted to eat. Stupid me, I should have at least used plastic, or not have pressed so hard. And he isn't even an adult. Oh it's not fair. What do we do? He's trying so hard to live, and now he's just suffering. We can't leave him outside, he'll be torn alive by ants! What do we do?" "We have to end his misery, rather I do." I scooped up the lizard and brought him outside. I gently laid him on the sideway and said a prayer, like I usually did. He reminded me of Baby Blue, an adolescent blue bird who I buried after he failed trying to fly for the first time and broke his neck on the pavement. I didn't believe that animals had the same God we do, but I did believe there was some sort of spiritual force among living things, and so I prayed to that. With a heavy heart, I finished and raised my leg. I hesitated a bit, and said sorry to the poor lizard, who kept yelping for his mom. I stomped the ground as hard as I good. When I looked back, he didn't even look like a lizard anymore, but rather an organic Pollock on the sidewalk. At least he turned into art when he died, but it still felt awful. The memory flashed in my head, and was the only thing I could remember as I sat on the Tranquility Lane couch that had sat around for centuries, undisturbed. My blood on my clothing stained the couch, giving me a small glimmer of satisfaction in a sea of burden. Tobias lay in the corner of the kitchen, propped against the corner, the bloody shadows of hands swept across his mouth and his neck. As I stared at Tobias, small glimpses of memory rushed across me. The mouth trying to scream through my hand, the throat resisting the squeeze of my palm, the light of life in his eyes slowly being snuffed out. Him being limp in my arms, the cut vein dangling out his gash, the dead eyes that had turned milky green from the ruptured blood vessels, the stab wound, the strain. On the couch, I brought my knees to my face. I slowly rotated and descended on my side. I let out a guttural scream, I cried until my voice hurt, I cried for Tobias. I cried because Tobias had stopped, but my guilt hadn't, and I needed to feel the pain. I beat my head in disgrace, and I squeezed my body as hard as I could, maybe to stop me from being able to breathe. I did it for Aliviah, I keeping muttering over and over like a mad man. IdiditforAliviahIdiditforAliviahIdiditforAliviahIdiditforAliviah. The eyes kept flashing on my eyelids, like a movie scream. I could hear my mother saying " what do we do? He's trying so hard to live, and now he's just suffering," while feeling Tobias flail in my arms. In the middle of all the agony, a movement caught the corner of my eye; Tobias' body had twitched. There was no possibility of him not being dead; fear flooded my chest. Before my eyes I saw Tobias change into another: his hair grew longer and curlier, his eyes drained the diseased milky green and left brown irises so dark they seemed black, his skull became rounder and his cheeks gained fat.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is Part 7... Her hands shook as she held his last note. Heaven was an arm’s reach away, and the members of the wooden labyrinth informed her of the way in. She looked down, seeing the path she had taken in her mind’s eye. The stairs, the wall, even the mishmash of wooden platforms and ladders had been difficult at times to navigate, but nothing like he had mentioned. The steps far below could be bypassed by the thin trail up the side of the lower mountain side. The holes made by missing stones on the wall were of better use for a foot and hand hold. And without drinking the vase’s liquid, the climb through the wooden maze was not difficult. It took her less than a month to traverse the entire climb. She wasn’t sure whether to be mad at him or feel bad for him. But what confused her the most was how he had viewed their home. It was not a pit of darkness or despair, it was a community sheltered and protected by the walls of the fertile valley that their home resided in. Even from here, she could see the sun shining brilliantly onto where their home rested. It was a beautiful place; and as much as she loved him, she felt angered that he could not see it. Her heart aching, she reached forward and put both hands on the heavenly orb.

There was a time in my life when I farted freely. I pushed as hard as I could to make them loud. The fits of laughter me and the old gang used to have about my gas, I'll tell you what. You see, I was kinda known as the 'zany' guy. They'd say, "This here is Don Stinz, hella of a guy, butch u watch urr nose around him if you get my drift". (What the joke was you see, is I fart a lot. It's my thing, but this new guy didn't know that) Then at some point later in the evening I WOULD actually fart. They'd all say, "Stintz, go to a doctor", and "Is that Stinz stinking it up again"!? A And I'll tell ya somethin else, anything that comes out if the hind end of anything isn't gonna smell like roses. Because mainly, farts are shitty smelling. Put it to ya this way, whenever I farted alone it felt like a waste. Sure it's still funny, and yeah it smells plenty stiff, but I was alone. Me and my now stagnant fart, but alone technically is what I mean. Anyways, everything changed after 9/11 ......

Who does this happen to? This doesn’t happen to people like me. Dragged away from the cage and the ragged coughing figures in it. Ice and mud sucking and dragging and tearing. Steam fills the air with every breath. Thrown against the wall; struggling as the blindfold descends. The scream catches and claws at my throat as I hear them fumble with rifles and bark commands. This doesn’t happen to people like me. Standing up from the frozen trench. Uncaring. A sure death sentence to have stood up yesterday. They advance across the snow as slowly and cautiously as I stood up. Kick my useless gun away, the bayonet broken before me like the shattered jawbone of a donkey. My fatigued mind wonders if I out to help the man next to me up before I remember that he’s dead. I realize I should raise my hands before feeling only one stand shakily and upright. When did I lose my blackened fingers? Where is my canteen? They pull me from my trench and I collapse into the icy soil as the cudgel swings towa— This doesn’t happen to people like me. My fingers stamp at the neck of my trench-mate. He wouldn’t stop screaming and I wanted to sleep. Just to sleep warm and safe. Wanted nothing of hunger or pain or cold. Why couldn’t he just stop screaming. This doesn’t happen to people like me. My trench-mate caught a bullet in the stomach when he stood up to piss. He said he didn’t want to piss on his kit and foxhole like a goddam animal he looked at me funny when I said he is an animal This doesn’t happen to people like me The artillery stopped firing today. The last few rounds landed on our position anyway: the barrels must have worn thin. How do you explain to your brothers that it is the enemy’s shells killing them when there are clearly no whistling furies arcing from the opposing lines and silhouetted against the frost burnt sky? You can’t explain, only lie. This doesn’t happen to people like me I can’t remember what its like to have air support. Or fresh food. Or clean clothes, or ammunition, or warmth or a fire or even a laugh. Especially orders though. Of all the things to miss. They always reminded me that there were people in charge of us, looking out for their citizen soldiers. If I’m not reminded of that, I start to think they lied to us. This doesn’t happen to people like me. Stand or die. What does that mean? How can I be expected to die? I’m too smart and strong and unique and alive to die. My rifle won’t fire anymore. The wind tears through my uniform. The mud wont leave my boots or stop filling my foxhole. This doesn’t happen to people like me. We just heard from corps HQ. Outnumbered and trapped, other units grinding to halt. I saw a man near me torn to shreds by a shell. Right as he was sitting and smoking and laughing and living. He couldn’t do anything to prevent it. I couldn’t do anything. It’s getting so cold. Too cold. We’re making entrenchments and setting up lines or fire, but the ground is tough to cut through despite the work of my friend and I. At least we have each other’s back. I have faith that we’ll breakout and link up and give the opposition hell for god and country. No doubts. Maybe a few doubts. Mustn’t think like that. This doesn’t happen to people like me Our advance was slowed by high enemy positions. Charging and leaping and run up the slopes, firing over the bodies of men with uniforms like mine. How can they be dead? Why wont the enemy break like they used to? Why am I so tired and scared? How much closer are we to victory? This doesn’t happen to people like me. High command checked us in our cutting offensive. Said we were overextended and unsupported. I believe that as much as those who say that our rifles are bad and our uniforms chafe and our boots wear out and that the ground is turning into mud and that the enemy is encircling our gallant band. Us, underequipped and outmaneuvered? Preposterous. We are you and strong: nothing stops us. This does happen to people like us. To charge and run and leap against the enemy! To see shells fly overhead, to hear the radio announce the advances and victories, to see the faces of your men flush with excitement and rapture! This doesn’t happen to people like me. How sharp our salutes are! How filled with cran and elan and esprit du corps! What it’s like to be young and strong and and handsome trusted for the first time. How well does this rifle demonstrate my enthusiasm to bring havoc to those who dare to stand up to our lovely nation. How well does this uniform explain my qualities as a citizen and as a soldier! What lovely things it says. A girl even kissed me because of it today.

Blinded Death is the most undesirable motion of life that no object of life can conquer, but as seemingly horrific it may sound it is the beginning of a beautiful part of life’s cycle. Her death was considered to be a sad and unpleasant occasion here in Idaho Falls, the murder of eighteen year old Ashley Bingham happened a day ago when her body was found at 11 pm in her college dorm room. She was found mangled by rope, knives cuts all over her body, laying on her back, clothes removed, and a sticky note that read thank you. The bottle hits the hard oak wood table chipping off some of the fine smooth cherry finish. The weeping man holding the bottle doesn’t care for anything except for the loss of his child, his sweet Ashley the most laughable, likeable, kind, loving, and only child. Her mother died while giving birth so he was a single parent working hard to put food on the table. Life wasn’t always easy because of work and what life’s trials has in store for each individual and family. He raised her and taught her right, gave her morals and an understanding of the inevitable outcome of death. The papers seem to be stacked miles high and never ending notes and reports from the case files. There has to be link somewhere hidden in the maze of files that pile endlessly. He searches relentlessly for a lead, he has already dreamed of his revenge, it will be sweet and savory. He is the judge when it comes to his daughter and he found the criminal guilty and charged with a gruesome death. He stays up late eyes piercing through the files, his drinking getting more heavily but he doesn’t get weary, he strives to find an answer and he won’t give up till he does and finishes the punishment he deems necessary. The morning is young and the sweat from the morning dew dribbles down the windows and a glaze on the grass seems to make the blades of grass have been crying all night for the man inside. Why cry and weep when he is rejoicing in a drunken stupor. His piercing eyes found a link, an old case file that was solved, the perpetrator was sent to jail and just shortly released from what will be heaven to what he has coming. The man starts a cup of coffee and grabs some hydrocodone to calm his hangover he has had for days, it has been a week since the murder of his child. He takes a quick shower, drinks his coffee, puts on his badge and gun and grabs his files and walks out the door. The office is well lit from the morning sunrise beaming down upon it. The reflection of trees bouncing off the windows, it’s peaceful outside but what is happening inside is an uproar, people running and flying around to find a killer. The man pulls up and opens his door, he grabs his bottle from the passenger seat and puts it to his lips and fills his empty stomach with its burning sensation. He drops the bottle on the ground below his feet and lights up a smoke, he shuts the patrol car door and heads toward is office, his smoke burning bright red like a fireplace during the winter it dims. He grasps the gold plated handle on the huge glass door and pauses, his grip firm like he his choking the perpetrator, his time will come though and this man is ready. The heavy glass door opens, swinging on the hinges without a squeal. Sunlight bursting through making the dull drunken man a silhouette to all inside, he looks glorious in this moment but when the door closes behind him everyone pauses. Everyone can see what the man has become a weary drunk feeling sorry for himself, unable to put the bottle down and get the sleep he needs. His hair a mess from getting out of the shower, he hasn’t shaved in days, clothes are in a cluster and haven’t been washed in a week and he is in the lowest part of his life but they understand. He walks to his office and closes the door, the people in the office immediately start working always busy in the station. He logs onto the computer and pulls up the name from the old case files and his face goes cold, dead cold, tears streaming down his face, the man begins to weep as if he just heard the news of his sweet daughter Ashley being found murdered. The name he read is from an ex-partner of 15 years that has used many aliases and linked to many crimes but never a good amount of evidence to convict the man. Than man with tears streaming down his face punches the picture on the monitor smashing it into pieces, blood starts running down his hand to his finger tips and onto the floor, but no pain is felt because his heart was already broken the day he lost his sweet daughter Ashley. Hand bleeding the man throws everything off his desk, phone, computer, papers, and a picture of sweet Ashley on graduation day smashing on the floor. His tears could be more extravagant then the Niagara falls for there are plenty of drops of water that could fill an ocean. The man stands up and knocks his desk over and throws a fist so hard it breaks through the plaster on the wall, white dust flies through the air. He opens the office door and there is silence from his brothers and sisters, all they can do is weep for the Chief of Police, because they cannot understand the pain and suffering he is going through. The Chief raises his chin and wipes the waterfall of his face and smiles to his fellow officers and nods his head, he begins to walk out and his people start to clap their hands. As the Chief exits the building he jumps into his patrol car with only one destination in place, damnation of his soul. Is doesn’t take long to get where he is headed but he is three hours away from giving the punishment, putting the hammer down for the crime he committed. The perpetrator should have known that the writing he used was the exact writing on 15 years’ worth of case files under the alias he used from a dead serial killer. The Chiefs eyes are piercing not even a molecule can pass by without being noticed, no killer has ever escaped the grasp of this man and certainly this one won’t be the first.

For the last few months, I've been working on this short story. I never have really shown anyone and was hoping for some feedback. I'm not actually sure what genre it fits in but I think science fiction may be the closest. It's broken up into two parts with several chapters in each. Each day I'll submit a new part, because the whole thing takes a while to read through. Please be as critical or as harsh as necessary! While I am happy with how it turned out, I do think it needs some changes/updates. Here is the final piece, part 8... The music and light was gone. As she opened her eyes, she could see a glowing city that seemed to pulsate a soft blue light. But directly in front of her stood two tall, angelic features. They both were dressed in flowing white robes that shined in the same way their eyes did. They spoke in tandem: ***WELCOME TRAVELER***. She offered the vase off her back, diverted her eyes downward, and asked to see the previous traveler—her love. Her words were met with silence. When she looked up, they glanced at one another and then met her gaze with apparent confusion in their eyes. ***IN THIS LAND, YOU CAN BE AND HAVE WHATEVER YOU WISH. WHY DO YOU INQUIRE ABOUT HIM?*** She responded impatiently that she did not want to be anything else and that she just wanted him. ***IS THIS YOUR PURPOSE FOR TRAVELING HERE?*** *Yes*. They spread their arms wide and the floor beneath her glowed brightly. Without even realizing what had happened, she found herself in a new location, presumably in the city that had once been in the distance. A tall, glowing figure stood in front of her with his back turned. She called the name of her love, and the figure rounded on her slowly. She gasped—it was him, but different. Tall, lean, flowing, his best features exaggerated and with none of the negative qualities remaining. They rushed toward each other, embracing for a few moments. **My love! You made it!** She buried her head into his chest, alleviated to see him but still holding back anger. She had so many questions and stumbled over her words as the man chuckled. Slowly, they began to discuss the climb and all the events that had occurred since their parting years ago. He seemed amused by his many mistakes that she had found on the climb up. They spoke for hours before conversation began to take a more serious route. He began to explain that the city was truly a place of heaven and that anyone who reached the top became gods, but only to themselves. They could create, shape, and change who they were in ways that they could only dream of before. The heaven around them was filled with anything and everything a person could want—right at the flick of the fingers. She argued that it was more satisfying to make these changes by hard work and making small improvements in their lives. **Who would want to wait for these things that will not be reached when we can get them immediately?** She knew, at that point, that her love was long gone. With her heart breaking, she spoke clearly. *We were happy once. You and I--that was all we needed. We weren’t struggling to get by, we weren’t in pain or danger. Your selfishness and failure to truly see what was around you is, and will continue to be, your downfall. You failed to realize how great our home is, just as you failed to see the right way up the climb. This place isn’t heaven. Immediate satisfaction and frequent distraction are not what’s best for you, myself, or any of our people. Hard work, dedication, integrity—these aren’t easy characteristics to follow, but they mean more than the riches you think you have here. A life like this is nothing more than selfishness and indulgence. You aren’t who I remember. I came to bring you home, but now I see there is no one to bring home.* **I AM home.** And with that, she turned away from him, wanting to be back at the entrance to the glowing orb that they had once thought was heaven. And when she opened her eyes, there she was. Ready to take the climb down.

I am sitting at the old 49 and 14 bus stop on Market and Van Ness. I’ve been watching a rat fight with a flock of pigeons for quite some time at first it was just half a squirrel carcass sitting relaxed on the middle of the dusty sidewalk across the street. Then the pigeons waddled across van ness, each of them had one stubby leg and all looked too tired or diseased to fly. once they made it to the flesh sack they buried their faces into the carcass as if it was a bed and they just arrived home from a month long cambodian get away. They didn’t talk or make eye contact they just ate. Then a foot long greyish blue rat crept around the corner sticking to the wall the whole way along the street until it was within 5 hypodermic needles from the flock. it lowered its jaw and let out a whispered “eehhhhh”. The flock then turned to it, threw the rat a confused stare then got back to the skin gravy. The rat then inched 2 needles closer and this time proclaimed to the one with the hook in its eye “remember me?” the pigeon then looked back this time with the excitement only a roller coaster enthusiast shows when he is about to go to 2nd base. ”BLUE!” the pigeon yelled still trying to swallow his gut mush. The rat then pulled out a small blade made out of a flattened leather needle and rammed it through the pigeons unhooked eye and through the back of its head. The only pigeon that was paying attention grabbed the hook from his friends eye and swung at Blues neck only to be met with a sharp “CLUTINGG!!!” of the F.L.N. it was a very popular weapon. With that, all three pigeons jumped back pulling out their needles, safety pins, and razor blades and stood there frozen. As I sit here contently watching this swashbuckling rodent exact his revenge I feel a tap on my right shoulder I chose not to look but ask “what?” John Travolta asks “You know what they call a quarter pounder with cheese in france?” I retort “ A royale with cheese” john “you kn-” I cut him off “The metric system”. The rat riddled with holes crumpled to the floor and with his last breath said nothing, sometimes its best to just say nothing.

Welcome to Ashthorpe, one of the quaintest villages you will find in the English country side. We have not always held this title. For a short period in our village history, one could believe that we lived in a police state with a strict curfew and patrolmen combing through the streets after dark. This was a result of seven villagers who disappeared over the course of two and a half years. The missing people were of both sexes, and varied in age from school children to the elderly. It seemed the only link between them was the village, and the fact that no evidence existed to suggest what happened to them. Neighboring villagers would tell their children about the Ashthorpe boogieman, who would spirit away people caught outside after sunset. My grandfather believe that the land was cursed, and when the moon was right the pagan earth would open up and feast off the blood of good Christian folks. I had recently joined the police force during those years, and spent many of my nights driving through the village and surrounding country roads. One night, I parked at St. Felix church on the outskirts of town. From this vantage point I could watch the wheat fields to see if anyone was traveling on the unmade roads between them. What a great idea I thought I had, until I started to nod off. A long two hour struggle ensued to remain awake and alert before succumbing to boredom and falling asleep. Maybe an hour passed before the sound of somebody furiously beating their hands on the windshield aroused me from my dreams. Expletives spewed from my mouth as I staggered from the vehicle, awaiting either the laughter of my coworkers or a stern reprimand from my supervisor. Nobody! I did not even find see car to verify the presence of another person. A thin, eerie layer of fog had formed while I slept. After pulling my torch from the car, I continued to search the premises. Whoever assaulted my vehicle could not have gone far without me hearing them flee. They must have been hiding. Canvassing the stone wall around the car park resulted in nothing. The doors to the church were locked and I espied little by shinning my light through the windows. While peering into the rectory, an outburst of child-like giggling erupted from behind me. I turned my body with haste to catch the prankster. Only gravestones draped in fog occupied the lot. Slowly I pressed my search among the graves, careful to search behind and between every memorial. I noticed movement in my periphery, prompting me to turn and catch the silhouette of an adolescent child disappearing behind a large monument. My eyes focused on the large gravestone, ready to trap the little joker. Only a few feet from the memorial, I sprung around the structure to find empty space. “Hide!” spoke a child’s voice, this time close enough to be whispered in my ears. Though initially startled by the banging on my windshield, I had not become nervous until now. There are many local legends concerning malevolent ghosts and other-worldly denizens of the fens and fields. Choosing to ignore the voice, I briskly started in the direction of my car on the opposite end of the property. Suddenly, a new noise overtook the silence and caused me to freeze in my tracks. It sounded like a car, however no headlights shown down the road through the fog. I wanted to walk towards the road to investigate, but the ghostly voice urgently repeated, “Hide!” Reluctantly, I used a large gravestone to shield me from sight. A car without its headlights on crept along the road, trying to navigate through the fog and darkness using the moon light. The darkness made the number plates unreadable. This road was only metalled for another quarter mile before turning into dirt and disappearing into the fields. There were no homes down this road to justify using it this late at night. My personal radio went on the fritz and only picked up static. As I should have expected from my mobile provide, I could not get a bloody signal out there. I waited until the vehicle was well out of site before returning to my patrol car to give dispatch my situation. Before reaching the vehicle, a light appeared about a hundred feet down the road where my mystery car had vanished. If it were that suspicious driver, I did not want them alerted to my presence. I concealed myself for a solid minute behind the car park’s stone wall, but the lights did not appear to get any closer. Cautiously I peered over the wall to investigate the source. There were no headlights, only a single luminous orb of wavering intensity that swayed like a balloon anchored in the breeze. It felt unnatural, at least until an elderly female’s voice spoke out of the air and filled me with calm. “Follow.” Without further thought or reason, I abandoned my patrol car and headed towards the light. No matter how quickly I walked, the light remained the same distance ahead of me. It turned down so many unmade roads that I lost myself among the fields. Fear did not fully set in until the light guided me past the fields and into the fens. I have heard the stories of ghost-lights luring people into the marshes to drown. A friend told me that they were just ignited swamp gases. Though I had never seen burning swamp gases, this was not how I imagined them to look. The fact that it first appeared to me over pavement hinted that this was an other-worldly phenomena. Luckily it did not draw me deeper in the marsh, but kept me traveling the road around its edge. The sound of flowing water emanated from over a nearby embankment. This gave me some clue to my location. This was part of the public works projects used to prevent the rivers from flooding the surrounding farmlands. At last the light seemed to stop. I approached the orb for about thirty feet before I noticed that it hovered over a postbox. Once this realisation was made, the light extinguished. With the light vanished the calm that the old woman's voice had temporarily instilled in me. Now I was alone in the dark with only my torch. The creepy lightless car was still out there, and I wished that I had the self-control to call for help rather than fall under the ghost-light’s trance. There was no going back, for I knew I would only become further lost. What would I find in the house to which the postbox belonged? I imagined various scenarios, the worst of which involved me dying at the hands of some man or monster. Whatever malevolent spirits roamed the marshes would catch me whether I walked towards the postbox or lost my way down those dark roads. That ghost-light had brought me out here for something, and I do not think rejecting my task would be an option. Most of the print had worn away from the postbox’s side, leaving enough legible bits to make out a partial name “ley Engine H--se.” This was one of the steam engine pumps use to drain excess water out of the fens. Later, I learned that this particular engine house was damaged during a severe flood in 1940, and with the Second World War in full swing, its repairs and maintenance were set aside for other priorities. I recited a short impromptu prayer for courage and followed the gravel foot path onto the lot. My mystery car was parked in the driveway. Inside its open trunk I found duct-tape and rope, both I hoped to be circumstantial. Empty lager cans and cleaning supplies littered the back seat. The engine house showed no signs of occupancy. Only darkness and uncomfortable silence came out of the broken windows. Cracks and mould riddled the building’s stone exterior. The main door creaked as it swung in the wind. After writing down the plate’s number, I made my move for the entrance. The stench of building decay greeted me once I crossed the threshold. Nothing remarkable stood out in the front office, only what you would expect from a long abandon building. Water damage, mould and cracks ran through the walls while broken furniture and other debris covered the floor. One would hardly be able to traverse the cluttered halls without making noise. Stealthfully, I managed to work my way deeper into the ground floor. At first the next room seemed as unremarkable as the main office. Just more damaged furniture and trash. The only things remotely intact were a damaged couch covered with tattered blankets, and a small wood-burning stove with a crucifix attached to the door. This must have been the quarters for the attendant responsible for stoking the furnace. Somebody had used the facility recently. Though the stove was an original item, the couch could not have been more than a decade old. Among the empty food containers on the floor were empty liqueur bottles. When running my torch over the stove, I noticed a reflection through the vents. To this day I regret inspecting the contents. Inside I found a few women’s’ necklaces, male wedding bands, and even a few children’s' toys. Next to them rested a journal which I picked up and started to read. Each page had a portrait of a different person clipped from a newspaper. Adjacent to the pictures were sketches of graves with names matching the captions below the portraits. The writing that followed was marginally legible, but the few key phrases that I could make out seemed to be from a eulogy. Each picture and name was known to me. They were the missing villagers of Ashthorpe. The deceased dates on the gravestone sketches roughly matched the dates they disappeared. Out of the damp dark hall echoed a series of bangs like something being slammed into a metal panel. After stuffing the journal loosely in my jacket, I began to search the rest of the facility. A distressed muffled voice accompanied the noise which repeated every few seconds. Its volume intensified as I approached the boiler room.

Tommy was deflated, his spirit ground to a raw nub and close to embracing failure. His prickly hubris of a minute previous was looking veneer thin, and a minute from crumpling, shivering in the corner. This was a new sensation: he was a winner, or at least, he wasn't exactly a loser. Whilst he strained, his good eye bulged and spittle escaped in gasps. His knuckles were white and somewhere in the distance he heard his mother tutting. His mind went back to the first time he'd beaten his dad at anything, just two years ago last week. He was convinced his dad lied when he said he'd let him win because it was his birthday. Fuck you dad. A hollow pop snapped Tommy out of his thoughts and he realised all the tension had been released. All of a sudden his father's face filled his vision; startled. He heard someone declare in a raspy bellow "FUCK YOU DAD, FUCK YOU! WHO OPENED THE JAR? I'M THE JAR KING!!!!" He winced as the last sentence rusted in his mouth and left an acrid taste. He silently scolded himself for such a lame term as jar-king, but a smirk crept across his face as he was sure he'd gotten his message across. His father's eyes blinked a couple of times, his face didn't betray his feelings. "Thomas, go to your room." Tommy was starving, it was 6 hours later and he'd consume that entire jar of marmalade given half the chance.

Children's Stories *Molotov Cocktail* Once we decided to build a Molotov cocktail. We went into our bathrooms and collected anything someone had told us at one time or another would go up in flames if lit. Basically, we had cologne, rubbing alcohol, bug spray. But I'm pretty sure the gasoline we filled the rest of the bottle with did the trick. We went out into the woods and threw it against a tree. The tree went up in flames and then the forest slowly followed as we all stood dumbfounded. Finally, my buddy looked at me and said "It worked." *Chips* This one time we went to camp. My buddy was really dismayed that the other campers in our cabin didn't want to get into a toilet paper war with us or something similar he had seen in early 80s movies. So, at age nine, he orchestrated a false flag attack on our neighbors. He bought a bag of chips and opened them up and dumped them on the neighbor cabin's porch. Then he put up a sign that said "Have a Chipin' Good Time - from Cabin B". Once again, it worked. *Assholes* At that same camp we quickly learned that it was a Christian camp and that you had to go and pray with everyone at night around a camp fire. So, we would just not go. Then, one day a councilor found us in the woods and called us "assholes" for not praying. It really didn't seem like a Christian thing to say. His name was "Ewok" and I'm pretty sure that's not a Christian name. But if you saw the guy - it worked. *Hugh Hefner* So, again, at that Christian camp, the councilor would talk to us about God and Jesus at night in our cabin and answer questions. My buddy just kept asking the guy about different celebrities and hell. Like "Is Hugh Hefner going to hell?" Then "Is Samantha Foxx going to hell?" He would do this all night just to annoy the guy. And it worked. *Clan of the Cave Bear* One time me and a buddy were given 20 bucks to get my Mom the book The Clan of the Cave Bear. Instead, we just tried to rip it off in order to use the money in the Food Court. So, my buddy got jumped by an elderly undercover guard ripping off Clan of the Cave Bear. True story. *20/20 Vision* This one time this one kid punched this other kid in the face and that kid started spinning around and yelling "I no longer have 20/20 vision". *Parallel Bars* This one time me and a bunch of buddies decided to reenact the scene in Revenge of the Nerds where Ogre is riding the makeshift bull and people are trying to rock him off it by getting a bigger kid to ride the bars as we shook it. We ended up ripping the bars out. *Office* After we ripped the bars out of the ground we all got sent to the office and this one buddy of mine got on the rocking horse (like for kindergartners) and started making braying noises. Then the horse broke. *More Office* So, we get into the office and the Principal asks us what we did and my buddy goes on to explain the entire plot of Revenge of the Nerds because she hadn't seen it. Then my other friend came in balling because he could no longer be class president because he ripped the parallel bars out of the ground. Then the Principal took out an index card and started reading off all my playground violations and commented on how they filled an entire side of an index card. Then my buddy told her to look on the back. *A Chat* Another time we were doing the talent show and once again wanted to pay homage to Revenge of the Nerds, so we were going to do the song that the Nerds did at the talent show at their college, Adams. Well, right before the talent show, the principal read the lyrics and forbid us from doing it. So, we were given some vaudevillian script to perform. This really ticked off my buddy, who was now in a suit and a top hat and smoking a bubble gum cigarette. He turned to the music teacher and took a drag and proclaimed "I would like to have a little chat with the principal." You probably had to be there. *A Bear Ate My One Friend* This is the only story in here that is not true. *Period Head* So, this isn't really a story, but you remember those stories about that Christian camp? Well, one guy had red hair and he was a total jerk, so we called him Period Head. It's not a story, but it's worth mentioning. *The Bird* This other time we were playing out in the street (this was before common sense) and this ice cream truck came by. It wasn't really a truck, it was like a go cart, but anyway... So, we started running toward it and the guy stopped and flipped us the bird and then kept driving with his middle finger up at us. That guy REALLY didn't want to sell ice cream that day.

The radio sputtered. “Attention: This is an official announcement notifying all residents that curfew begins in exactly one hour. Any citizen found defying the official curfew will be dispatched with lethal force. Thank you.” Father sighed. A sigh of depleted soul. “Dad, why did that voice come on the radio again?” “It’s so we don’t stay out too late, that’s all.” “Why are they telling us not to stay out late?” “Well, there’s a war going on, and you know it’s not safe to be out then.” “Shouldn't they be out at the war then and not here?” “Yes, they should. But they aren't.” “Do we have any water left?” “Yes, son. You can have some.” The boy clambered up from his cot, wiping the dust off of his jacket and letting out a desperate cough before walking towards the kitchen. His eyes explored his surroundings. He saw the pictures of his family on the wall, newly shattered. He saw the numerous holes in the yellowed wall where bullets and father’s fists had entered. The scene was desperate, yet somewhat sublime. The boy wished for nothing more than to suspend himself in time at this very moment, with no worries, no drama, no bloodshed. He entered the ration room, assessing all that was left. Canned beans, two gallons of water, a half-empty ration of milk, bread. He took hold of the gallon, heaving it up to his lips, and took a long, long drink. He heard the rumbling of tanks in the distance, the nearby shouts of his country’s soldiers commanding the restless onslaught of her attackers, the jet-fighters zooming and weaving past his very home. He wondered what must have happened to lead up to this. “What did I do?” A loud bang crashed through the air, then a rumble, and within seconds it was black. The radio sputtered. “Attention. This is a national broadcast notifying all residents of the status of our war. Today, enemy forces were completely crushed due to the justified use of a nuclear missile. The enemy’s unilateral surrender is expected within twenty-four hours.” “What great news!” exclaimed father. “Does that mean we won, dad?” “Of course, and it’s a long time coming. Did you see what some of those evil, disgusting creatures did? It’s an attack on humanity, I tell you. Why, just the other day I saw on the news that they were killing babies. Killing babies! They are clearly evil, evil beings. We did the world a favor by destroying them.” “What’s a nuclear missile?” “Well, it’s a weapon we justly used to stop their evil and save everyone.” “How many people got hurt in the war?” “Don’t concern yourself with that son.” And the wheel of life once again turned. The swine were given pearls, mendacity gave the lens a tint, and sacrifice was justified for the glorious elite.

“I. Like. Holding. Hands. But. You. Don't.” I was fifteen years old and my only idea of a girlfriend was someone to text and maybe kiss during passing period after Mr France's Chemistry class. I didn't really understand how it all worked. My face was illuminated by the blue glow of my computer monitor. I was procrastinating, avoiding homework by Googling “how to ask a girl out,” “how to talk to girls,” and “things that girls like.” I remember mostly generic, unhelpful advice like “be yourself” and “just go up and say 'hi.'” Everything in my life so far had an answer—a specific set of instructions to achieve what I wanted. I dated Carly Jacobs for about ten days, and after that whole experience of heart-fluttering wonder and frantic attempts at following Google's relationship advice, I couldn't help but feel lost while trying to follow a formula. I obsessed over every breath I took around Carly. She was really short. The top of her head barely reached my chin. She didn't party. She didn't hang out with any of my friends. She was cute, but not a blonde-haired blue-eyed cheerleader. I remember feeling like I could do better. After all, Hollywood taught me that the aforementioned portrait of a girl is something that I should be pursuing, as a football player. The day I asked her to be my girlfriend: I remember thinking about the way she would stroke her silky-smooth brown hair and look down and to the side, as if she was waiting for me to say something. I remember being hyper-aware of my own sweaty palms as I wiped them on my tattered football jersey that I wore to class on game-day. “She has really pretty green eyes,” I thought to myself, “but will she say yes?” You see, on Google, relationships seemed really simple: >Step 1: Just be yourself >Step 2: Ask her to be your girlfriend. >Step 3: Go on fun dates together and talk. It seemed so easy. But why, after all my research, couldn't I make her mine? So I did the only thing that I could think to do. I texted her. “Hey so do you want to be my girlfriend?” “Sure :)” It was that easy. I did it. I finally secured a girlfriend. What next? I felt accomplished. This was another check on my list of things that make someone have a successful high school experience. I couldn't tell my parents, though. What if they did something drastic like ask me about her? Or what if they tried to talk to her if she ever came over to hang out and watch TV? I couldn't have that. That had the potential to be embarrassing. What if she went to a family gathering with me? My relatives would poke me with questions like “So when are you two getting married?” So, like everything else I did as a teenager, I hid our relationship from my parents. Our relationship was mostly textual, not sexual. It was late-night conversations about how we didn't want to do homework. It was a series of quick glances at each other in class and a few “how-was-your-days?” and “you-smell-nices.” One day after class, I was particularly bold. I extended my hand and reached towards her hand, my arm behind hers. “You're the guy. Your arm is supposed to be in front.” “Oh, uh, right.” I fixed our configuration. She clearly Googled some things that I hadn't. My palms. They were sweaty again. She had to have felt them so I relaxed my grip so that our fingers were only lightly grasping each other. We walked about like this for about a minute, not saying a word to each other. My mind was racing the whole time. “Am I doing this right?” “What if she can feel my palms?” “Why do her hands feel so scratchy compared to mine, is that normal?” “Oh God I need to stop this.” I let go of her hand. “I totally forgot, Mrs. Robinson asked me to stop by to go over my essay that I just turned in.” It was a great lie. “Uh, okay.” She said as she extended her fingers and released them from mine. The next day was the same routine. “You look really pretty.” She grabbed my sweaty hand and we started down the hall, towards the stairwell where we knew that we would have to part towards our separate classes. I immediately let go and asked “why don't we just walk and talk without holding hands?” She reluctantly agreed as a wave of relief washed over me. She didn't say much that day when we stopped to say goodbye to each other. That night I texted her and asked if she was okay. She avoided the question with a series of responses that were short enough to convey that something was indeed “wrong” but also suggesting that I should know what I did to make her like this. I finally shot her a text that said “Look, I'm not a mind reader, so I don't know what you want me to say.” “I. Like. Holding. Hands.” I wasn't sure what to send back. I like holding hands too but, my palms! And she wasn't one of the popular girls! She was only at football games because of the Leadership club she was in. She was a geek! What would the guys on the team think if they knew I was dating someone like her? My eyes passed over the text once more, “I. Like. Holding. Hands.” My phone buzzed, “But. You. Don't.” I replied with the only thing that I thought would get me out of having to ever lock my sweaty palms in the embrace of this girl's petite hand again. “Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore.” “Just give it a chance.” “I don't know, I just don't think I can do this.” I was doing what I did best. Dodging conflict like a prize fighter and running from my problems like Speedy Gonzales. I put down my phone and our relationship ended. It was a weird two weeks for me. I think about Carly often and wonder what it would've been like if I hadn't had such sweaty palms or awareness thereof. I looked her up recently and she is absolutely stunning. She looks like the kind of girl that I'd want to hold hands with. I Google a lot less now.

"I can't kill myself (so I wrote a short story about it)" I'm an unloaded gun, Doc. You gave me the bullet. Sure, these little 5mg pills aren't exactly a bullet, but they're lethal all the same. Collectively, they are my end, my silver bullet to the bane that is this curse called life. I don't know how many I have to take, I just know my gag reflex couldn't handle all 25 of these fuckers at one time. So I sit at the dock, my chosen place of expiration, sifting through spit and vomit, reclaiming the collective bullet to my brain. This warped, rotted dock. Palisades Park, NJ, staring across Overpeck to Ridgefield Park. I'm certain I've lost more than half, yet there is no certainty if the amount I can salvage is enough firepower to blow me away. Fuck. I've got twelve, I couldn't tell you if they were the horse tranquilizers meant for sleep aids or those shitty anxiety and anti-depression pills. Pharmaceuticals, fuck'm. I refused them, but I'll use them to make poignant a wasted life. Problems: So many to count, too many to care. Dependency; I am happy with who I am. Never happy with my situation. I cling to women, I sleep with someone different most nights. A mess, that's what I'd call myself. Too reckless, careless and without any fucks left to give. It wasn't always like this. Care and compassion, that was something I once owned. I wield words and charisma to achieve satisfaction for minute minutes of happiness. I don't care, have no conscience, not anymore. The definition of a sociopath. Mental disturbed, dysfunctional and dying (hopefully). Thanks Doc, the hammer's cocked and you provided the bullet. Close my eyes, squeeze. Bang. (I am extremely depressed, I don't want feedback on my mind state. I'd rather just raw critique, constructive or otherwise, of my writing. This is how I vent, this is how I escape.

Today as the angels past overhead I held my gaze at the middle of the pack. Perhaps there were as many as fourty today doing their lap of the world before leaving forever. They always look so happy, I wonder if they see the world differently now, I wonder what else they have come to know. As I sat on the park bench eating my cooked sandwich like I do every Friday the pack soon disappeared out of site. This is usually my que to leave, but I was running slightly behind, and the weather was particularly good today so I decided to stay a little longer, and remained stairing up at the near perfect blue sky. I open my eye and feel a pain in my shoulder. The sky is no longer blue but a haze of purple and black, "how long have I been here?" I thought to myself, I can't have slept all day. I try to pull back my sleeve but my hand passes straight through it. "am I still asleep?" I try again, and again my hand passes through clear as day. In a panic I jump up from my seat and start to pat my chest, my hand passes straight through my clothes once again and stop against my stomach. Panic. I turn to face where I had just been sitting, and there I am, sitting as still as death, on the park bench, sandwich in hand. It was at this moment, gazing upon myself lifeless and pale, slumped to the side, I heard her voice for the first time. "take my hand" she said. I look around but there was no one to be seen. "reach out and take my hand" the voice said again. I look up and there she is. A whole orchestra of angels looking down on to me, all singing, all smiling, all there for me. I reach out and feel my feet lift from the floor, my clothes stay behind and my wings open. "we have been waiting for you for some time" the voice said again, and I could only smile. I have sat and watched the angels fly for as long as I can remember, but today is my turn to fly. The sky is no longer purple and black, it is bright yellow, intense like fire and as vast as the sky it's self. I look down and the ground is no longer neutral, patterns of light connect every living thing from trees to people, animals to the grass it's self. It is beautiful! The further we go the more I see, the more I see the louder the chior of angels sing. The world makes sense now, it's beauty interconnected by everything around it, an astonishing array of colour and life. I feel myself gaining altitude but I don't want to go, I have so much more to see.

“If you found this recording with my body not in sight, it means I am probably dead.” The boy spoke in the dark. Jason had a camera attached on top of his head, his hands were tied with something sticky above the camera and his friends’ cry for help from deeper part of the cave were getting lower and lower every second. “As you saw on the previous scenes in the video,” He continued, “I was trapped here by that thing. Since I hit the record button right before entering the cave with my friends, I should explain why we were here in the first place. I don’t think I have much time, so I will cut it short. Let’s start from the beginning. We should have guessed something was wrong with this place from the metallic smell, almost like blood smell coming from a gold mine. ” It was a few weeks ago, before winter break when he asked his crush for a date. Her name was Elaine. She was petite with curly and short wine red hair that was barely touching on her shoulders and she had hazel eyes. Her smile would create cute dimples on her mouth. She would always have the same green hoody on her no matter the weather. She came to their school from other side of the country like most of them did and managed to catch Jason’s eyes from the very first day. Lucky for him, she liked him back. He could still feel butterflies flying in his stomach even to this day. He was happy. They decided a “dinner after a movie” date was too classic and wanted to do something special. She was interested in his hiking and climbing hobbies, and offered to go for a hike. After some discussions, they settled on a great spot for a date; why not trespass that mine that was shut down half a year ago caused by some explosion? Her wanting to trespass a forbidden area made her even more interesting in Jason’s eyes. That sounded like a great first date to him, you know? The two would be all alone in a dark, cold cave; walking together while holding hands, maybe getting closer to each other as they get deeper. Then, his stupid ass group of friends eavesdropped on their discussion and thought it would be a great idea to tag along. He wanted to protest, but she seemed okay with them, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He was definitely going to kick some of their asses later, though. Their preparations took a little bit longer than they expected, but they were ready to go on the first day of the break. They all told their parents that they wanted to go camping in the woods, and they would leave for home later that week. That meant no one would look for them at least a day or two. They equally divided the items they were carrying so everyone would essentially have the same items in case they got lost; His bag had foods enough to keep him and Elaine alive for a few days, batteries, a flashlight, matches to create a camp fire, glow sticks that would light the way they came back at least a full day and fluorescent markers to mark where they were heading and maybe vandalise the cave. Him, who was leading the group, and Peter, who was the stoner of the group, walking behind the group had walkie-talkies on them in case they lost each other. He even memorized the emergency contact station’s frequency. Not that they would have get lost or separate, since they were all tied together from their waist by a connection of ropes. That way, everyone would be connected to someone. That plan didn't go so well when that thing caught them one by one. Peter was first to go. It came from behind and would cut their safety measure in a single claw attack. It was weird, but they found Peter’s beanie later as they explored deeper. Although the girls wanted to go back and escape, the boys thought it could be dangerous, as the monster might be still behind them. They decided to find a shelter and possibly contact outside from somewhere safer. The last door they saw was at the first few hours in to the cave and the corridors of the cave was endless and they did not see any signs of explosions or blocked passages like they heard on the news. They were already past the point where their phone signals was cut. It was hard to see it even with their flashlight on, but he hoped the camera’s night vision got a clear picture of it. Jason was a fairly tall boy for his age and that creature was almost the triple size of him. It had green eyes that glowed in the darkness. When it walked, sound of chains moving on the ground echoed along with grunting sounds. Sometimes you could hear cries in the dark similar to sounds that a bull makes when it charges. After Peter was taken away, the school’s ‘favorite couple’, Cody and Alice were next. Cody was in the football team and was the strongest in their group. He was the hardest to be pulled away from them. He tried to fight, even managed to punch the monster once, but behind him there was Alice, Elaine and Jason. They all lacked the muscle power to help Cody. Alice went with the loudest screams. They could still hear others’ cry for help, but her voice was suppressing both of them. Sometimes others would scream in pain too. One hour passed after the last attack, the two decided to stop for a little bit to rest and eat. He light a fire and the two sat around it. Jason hold on to Elaine as she was shaking back and forth really hard, looking to a blank point at the darkness. A fake smile appeared for a fraction of a second when Jason said “We are not going to another outdoor date when we get out of here. Even if we do, it will be a public place, with lots of people around.” She refused to eat, but drank a bottle of water. Meanwhile, he took out the radio and tried to contact Peter. There was nothing but parasite. When he tried the emergency station’s frequency, he could only hear that monotone and robotic woman voice that explains what the station was about, repeating between the parasitic sounds. He still tried to explain the situation by repeating his message a few times, hoping someone would understand what the hell was going on and get help. He was finishing off half of a beef sandwich he got from a deli shop when the monster showed up again. They heard that same grunting right before the monster appeared in the dark. Elaine didn’t scream, they did not had time to get up. It stopped at the point the light of camp fire and darkness connected. Jason finally had a chance to get a more visible view. A metallic grey colored armor with a symbol in the middle of was covering its muscular upper body. The symbol was shining with blood red and looked like a “C with a cross on the bottom ”. It was standing in a half-squat position on two legs that were similar to hoofs but longer, thinner and muscular than a bull. A chain that stayed in the darkness was locked on its left leg. A short skirt was covering the upper parts of its legs. Every inch of its body was covered with brown hair. It had humanoid hands with three fingers and one thumb on each hand. He was holding an axe that was as big as Jason. He had a long face like a horse and a piercing swing on its nose whenever he grunted. It had two horns on its head longer than Jason’s arm. A red mane that was slightly visible on its neck. He spoke in a deep voice that echoed all around, “Hello, human.” “What are you? What did you do to our friends?” Jason said in a half trembling voice, but also wanted to prove he wasn't afraid. The monster grunted loudly, causing a mist coming out of his nose. “Ah, another human that doesn't read his history. I am not surprised, considering your books are all full of lies.” He said, “Humans like to refer my kind ‘Minotaur’. I was prisoned to your world for a crime I did not commit and I absolutely love human meat. Why not enjoy my stay, you know?” He licked his mouth. “You don’t want to know what I did to your friends, but don’t worry. You will share the same faith as them.” Jason felt someone grabbing Elaine from behind. She was pulled away by something or someone in to the darkness. The rope got cut after a few meters he was dragged along with her. He lied on the ground, afraid to move. Something big hit his head, causing him to black out. He would wake up every now and then, unaware what was going on, but he felt the ground moving under him. No, he was the one moving. Something was carrying him from his legs, dragging. He saw his friends before passing out for the last time as he passed them. They were in a torture room, tied to the wall from their hands. Some were missing their body parts. “That’s it,” said Jason to the camera. “This must be it. I don’t know why I am in a dark room, separate from others. I doubt if they are alive and seems like I will join them shortly.” A door opened, causing the room to fill with light. The Minotaur entered the room, carrying torchlight in one hand, his axe in another. Something big was behind him. Jason could see it had an arachnid body, a large one. It had the head of Elaine, but a body of a spider. Shiny red lines were visible on her abdomen. She was, looking at Jason with crazy eyes, smiling. He stopped a few meters in front of Jason, looking directly at camera. She spoke first, “Ahhh, I never thought it would be this easy.” She laughed in a lunatic voice. “What is happening?” He asked in a confusing and desperate voice. “You know, I was thinking maybe you would refuse to come down here,” She continued as if Jason didn’t talked, “like most of my dates did, but you thought you would get lucky much easier down here, didn’t you? Ahhh, I love a man who doesn’t resist.” She licked her lips. “I came to Earth right after my Master sentenced to death. He is allowed to walk freely on Earth, but cannot leave this damned planet. I love him. I would do anything to keep him alive. That includes luring, sacrificing preys to him. We traveled all over the Earth. You see, my master can live without human meat, maybe eat sheep meat, but he loves the taste of humans. I change my appearance every time we stop at a city. First, I hypnotize people to attend schools without problem, and then I choose my preys, mostly people who have a big friend group. I try to talk about plans to go hiking next to their friends. If they are not interested, I make them come. My dates would prefer going to a diner or a house to hang out a few times before camping together, but sometimes I get lucky and find men like you.” She then jumped on to the roof and slowly descended to the ground, holding on to a web line. She stopped right in front of Jason’s face in a reversed position. Mist coming out of her mouth, mixed with Jason’s. She smelled like cinnamon. They kissed for the first time. She quickly jumped back to her original position. He spoke, “She explained to me that others can see what you lived through from this little thing. Is that correct?” “Yes.” Jason said desperately. “If you let me go, people will know who you are.” “Or, I can just kill you and leave this little thing outside for others to find.” He laughed and sliced Jason’s head in one move from his neck. Jason didn’t even had a moment to say “No!” The camera fell down with his head, rolled on the floor for a second, and showed Jason’s headless body. “Come, child.” said The Minotaur. “Let’s feast.” “Yes, Master.” Elaine said.

The fire in the clearing burned brightly, flickering gently in the wind. Above it hung the largest, most beautifully succulent roast that either Jack or his brother Grum had ever seen. Of course, having spent the last twenty years of their life locked in a dungeon and eating nothing but stale bread and half-rotted cheese, that wasn’t saying much, but their stomachs rumbled with excitement all the same. “Do you think anyone’s home?” Jack tried his best to peer around the bushes the two of them were hiding behind. “It doesn’t *look* like it...” “Maybe… maybe whoever lives here’s really nice? Maybe ‘e wouldn’t mind us having a taste?” Grum’s eyes were glued to the steaming roast. “Let’s go have a bite, yeh?” “Right,” Jack said as he hit his brother on the back of the head, “and *maybe* they’re a blood-thirsty troll. Don’t be so *stupid*, Grum.” Grum began to sniffle as he turned to face his brother. “M-mum said… mum said you’re not s’pposed to be mean to me no more!” “Oh stow it Grum, you’re a grown man now, you should be able to handle yourself a spot of insult.” At this, Grum’s face began to pucker up into the beginnings of a cry, something that was admittedly a strange site to see. Grum, as it was, did not really look very much like a man, but rather, more like a very large bear with slightly less fur and a slight capacity for human speech. Upon further inspection, one would even find that his immense muscular mass had so dominated his body, he appeared to even have an impressive amount surrounding the smallish lump that doubled as his head. Jack theorized many years ago that it was precisely because of this that Grum had such a poor tenacity at learning; the muscles would just squeeze any knowledge right out of his cranium as soon as it was put there. As Jack reflected on this, he came to the sudden realization that if he didn’t say *something* to raise his brother’s spirits right about now, the resulting wail would be loud enough to call every guard in the district straight to their location. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! Just… don’t cry. Look, you’re not stupid. You’re right, let’s… go get some food. But *first*, I’m going to sneak around to have a better look and make sure nobody is around. You stay here and keep watch, alright?” Grum wiped away some snot from under his nose. “Yeah, okay.” “And, if anything goes wrong, I’ll signal for you to come help, got it?” “I wait here until you give the signal.” “Right. Good. I’ll be right back then.” Jack gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and began to slink towards what he hoped would soon be their dinner. Unlike Grum, Jack was actually quite clever. Not only that, he was quick and agile, and even stealthy when he needed to be. Bravery, on the other hand, was not one of his strong suites. As he sneaked around the camp under the dusk sky, the thought crept into his mind of an angry troll bashing his head in as punishment for getting too near his meal. Jack tried to push the idea from his thoughts, but it had already made itself at home, hogging the good couch and generally just making a mess of the place. He was only a few steps from the fire when a voice from behind him sent a chill down his spine. “It appears I have a guest.” The source of the deep, intimidating voice grabbed Jack firmly by the shoulder and began to forcefully turn him around so that they were face to face. Jack’s fear was actually subsided a little as he saw that the voice didn’t come from a troll at all, but from just another human. Of course, that fear came right back two-fold when he realized who exactly he was looking at… “Y-you’re Harrod, the c-Crusher!” “Oh! I have a fan. How nice.” “P-please, don’t hurt me. I wasn’t gonna take nothing, I swear! I… I was just looking, see?” Harrod put a finger to his lips. “Hush now. Be calm. I’m not going to hurt you.” “Y-you’re not?” “Of course not, I could never hurt a fan.” Harrod allowed himself a smile as he grabbed Jack by the throat, lifting him with one arm. “*Your* death will be completely painless.” Jack struggled against Harrod’s grasp. Barely able to speak, he managed to shout out, “Grum!...Now!...Help!” “What? More guests? Show yourself so I can kill you as well!” Harrod said, tossing Jack aside to ready himself for a fight. It should be said here, that Harrod, the Crusher was a very large man. He spent years building his strength by beating to death any man who dared to cross his path, eventually gaining his title through his trademark of crushing his victims’ heads with his bare hands. It is important to understand this then, because, as Harrod looked to the bushes where Grum was slowly rising from his hiding place, he saw what he could swear was a medium-sized mountain, wielding what appeared to be a tree trunk bluntly sharpened into a sort of spear. In the space of a second, the mountain hurled its tree trunk so quickly and forcefully that Harrod, in shock, didn’t even have time to question it when he heard the thing bellow, “**Mum said, keep Jack safe!**” Now pinned firmly against a tree by the massive spear, the look of shock and sheer terror lingered on Harrods face for a few moments until his brain finally caught up with the action and realized that it was, in fact, already dead. “Well,” Jack said as he got up and began brushing himself off, “that could have gone a lot worse, I think.” “So… does this mean we can eat now?” Grum asked his brother, while poking the newly limp body of Harrod, the Crushed. Jack was about to answer when the sound of clanking metal came rushing towards them through the trees. Before they had a chance to question it, a figure clad in brilliantly shining white steel burst through the foliage in a single, graceful bound, striking a pose that could only be described as annoyingly heroic. “Fear not, citizens,” the glimmering knight sang, “for I am the great knight Solaire! Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Jack, dumbfounded, looked to his brother and then back to Solaire. “Well… to be honest, we’ve been away for quite some time, so I’m afraid we do-” “Alas!” Solaire interrupted, “I know you must be amazed and excited beyond words, but I’m afraid don’t have time for autographs at the moment. I’m currently on a quest, you see!” As he said this a gust of wind flowed past his head, parting his disgustingly perfect blonde hair. “So, my dear fellows, I must bid you farewell and be off, as I bravely make my way through- good god! Is that… It is! That’s Harrod the Crusher!” Solaire turned to face the two brothers. “How did this happen?” “Well,” Jack said stepping forward, preparing to lie, “my brother and I were just minding our own business here at this camp, which is definitely ours, and this brigand here came and tried to steal our food away from us by force. We’re not ones to be unhospitable, but we are very protective of each other, my brother and I, and we were forced to take rash action when it was clear this Harrod fellow had evil intentions.” “By the gods, that’s amazing!” Solaire lunged forward to vigorously shake Jack’s hand. “Harrod here has been evading capture for years! You two are truly noble warriors! A grand sight to behold! Bravo!” “Right, um, thank you,” Jack said nervously. “Say! Noble friends! Would you two care to join me on my quest? I’ve been searching for an ancient pendant said to bestow great evil power to its holder, and I think I have finally deduced its resting place!” “We actually are fairly busy folk, unless… Is there a, you know, reward?" “Absolutely! The reward is that, when we find the pendant, we can use our very hands and strength to destroy it, thereby preventing any evil to take it under their control ever again!” Jack frowned. “I mean, in the form of, well, money.” “Well, I suppose the pendant itself would be quite valuable to the right people, but nobody with a valiant heart like ourselves would ever dream of allowing that much evil to be released back into the world.” “Oh of course, valiant hearts like ours would never dream of doing such a thing,” Jack lied, now smiling broadly. “I think we can most certainly form a grand partnership. Isn’t that right, Grum?” Grum’s eyes had not left Solaire’s magnificent armor since the man appeared in the clearing. “Very shiny…” Jack winced. “Erm, that’s right, Grum, our valor will shine, indeed. An alliance then,” he said, turning back to Solaire. “Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic! We shall certainly stand unmatched! The denizens of the Temple of Death will be shaking in their boots when they see *us* at their front step!” “The… Temple of Death?” Jack gulped. “Where else would an evil pendant be kept? Onwards!” Solaire put his helmet back onto his head and began to stride out of the clearing with his sword drawn. “Well,” Jack said, turning to his brother as he tore a large piece of roast to eat on the road, “It looks like we have quite a day ahead of us.” He lifted the entire remaining roast from the fire and handed it to Grum. “Come on, big guy, let’s go catch up before our paycheck gets away.” ..

The rat is the ugliest animal of the animal kingdom. They eat trash. I mean, think of that - you're at a restaurant and some guy gets a menu and says "I'll have the rotten egg with some shit on it." That's what rats are like. They also will eat each other when they run out of trash to eat. So, it's like they are at that restaurant and they are like "What's on the menu? Oh, nothing. OK, I'm just going to eat my children." Then they make those rowwrowrow eating noises and everyone tries to ignore them, but they can't because it's horrific and then everyone leaves and it's like "OK, way to fuck up dinner, rats." Then you never go back to that restaurant and they go out of business and that's what's wrong with the economy. *The Human* The human is like a dog, but bigger. *The Goatee* The goatee is a special animal, and not to be confused with the goat. The goatee is a hairy little muskrat that will climb on your face if you play old Phish albums and stay there until you get a job. *The Goat* The goat is like a dog, but with horns. They will eat anything. This one time I fed a goat some nuclear waste and it was like "Dig in!" And it ate all the nuclear waste and became a super goat. You might wonder what a super goat does - anything. I actually got it to get me groceries and clean my yard. The super goat is totally cool. But the regular goat, like the one before the nuclear waste, they suck. Sure, they will eat anything and can clean up your lawn, but do you really have respect for that kind of animal? No, it's like the manual labor slut of the animal kingdom. I have no respect for goats. *The Pig* Often maligned, the pig is actually a pretty cool animal. They will eat almost anything. Not everything, they aren't scumbag goats. They have self-respect. Anyway, they are also cool because they will turn themselves into bacon for BLTs. But don't go asking them for mayo or lettuce or bread or tomatoes - they aren't goats. *The Horse* The horse is like a dog with really long legs and way more obedient. The dog will get your paper and stuff, but the horse will actually let you ride it around. It's all piggy back time with the horse. The horse doesn't care. Anytime - "Hey, horse, can I piggyback ride you?" And the horse is like "You bet, I'm always game to give you a piggyback ride." The horse is cool. *The Ant* The ant is this little speck of a guy that trundles to and fro all the live long day on the ground. They pick up food and are like "Hey, better get this food back home." So, then then turn around and take it back home. But they're like Communists, so they share their food with an entire hive of ants. There's like millions of them. Just hanging out and waiting for food or running out and getting food. But there's also a queen. She has wings. So, on holidays she'll fly up and get really cool food, not just stuff that other ants found on the ground. Like ripe apples and berries. But the joke's on her, the apple is way too big for the hole in the hive, and she just ends up plugging up the exit hole and all the ants die because she's stupid. Stupid queen. *The Possum* The possum is the only animal that is always dead. You would think that the definition of animal would include being alive, but not the case with the possum. Every. Single. One. Is. Dead. They are born out on the street and they are basically some fur and a bunch of guts. They just lay there and wait for hillbillies or the highway patrol to pick them up and eat them or bury them. They are the laziest animal besides the tree. *The Tree* The tree is like the laziest animal in the animal kingdom. It literally does nothing. It grows, but that's not really doing something. It can't move, unless the wind blows. And when that happens, all its leaves fall off and then it's just this naked tree in the woods and you have to shield your kid's eyes, because it's a naked tree. You're like "Hey, isn't it beautiful out here?" And your wife goes "Yes. What's that?" Then your kid goes "That tree is naked!" Then you freak and your kid is scarred for life and you burn the forest down and YOU end up in jail. Not the tree. Bunch of bullshit. I hate trees. *The Bird* The bird is like a dog with wings. They eat food and fly. That's all they do. Sometimes they air-hump and lay eggs, but that's it. They are like the most boring animal. But, they sometimes will give otters rides on their backs and then the otter is in control and he will do loop-de-loops and cool 360s and stuff. That's when the bird can be cool. Otherwise, the bird sucks. *The Dog* The dog is said to be man's best friend. But in truth, man's best friend is Jim. The dog has been a companion for man for millions of years, but Jim will let you borrow his car and sleep with his wife. Jim is THAT nice. You try asking a dog for that kinda help. *The Rhino* The rhino or rhinoceros is the last of the dinosaurs. They have been around for millions and millions of years and are still dino-looking. They are also the most dangerous animal after the hippo. But the most dangerous animal is the hippoceros. At 7'5 it has a vertical leap of 7 feet and can ruin your game. *The Tiger* The tiger is basically a lion with not as much fur. Basically, up in heaven, God was sending animals down and he was telling everyone of them "Don't forget your coat." But the tiger was like "I don't need a coat, I'm good." And God was like "But it gets cold at night, c'mon, wear a coat." And the tiger was like "No, I don't want to wear a coat; you can't make me." Then God was like "OK, have it your way." Then the tiger got down to Earth and found out that God was right - it was cold. Some of the tigers pleaded with God to give them coats, and God was nice enough to do it. And these tigers became lions. But, there were some tigers that were too proud to ask God, and they remained tigers. This made the lions proud, and that's why a group of them are called a Pride. A group of tigers is called a bunch of whiny jerks. *The Beaver* The beaver is a builder. No one is sure how the beaver learned to build, but he builds all day long. Sure, he'll stop to get a coffee and a doughnut, and later have a sandwich, but the rest of the day he's building and bitching about the union. The Beaver Union. They are a million strong and they will shut down a dam in an instant if they don't get paid. The thing is, they are paid in wood, so no one really cares and they really don't need the union. But they are proud of it. *The Lion* The kindly lion is possibly the most important animal in the jungle. This is because he is at the top of the food chain. That means the lion can eat anything. So, if you are at a restaurant, he totally doesn't care what he has. He'll just say "Whatever." Therefore, everyone wants to have dinner with him because he doesn't take nine years to order. That is why he is the most important animal.

“Help! Get me out of here!” screamed a woman’s voice from inside the boiler. Before I reached the boiler’s latch, a man burst from the darkness and tackled me to the ground. He positioned himself on top of me and pulled out my baton. The club slammed against my arms while I tried to protect my skull. “I have no choice,” he said. “F-forgive me, I have no choice” I recognized my attacker as Harold Smith, a local with a history of alcohol abuse and minor assault charges. These mostly stemmed from pub brawls after somebody would antagonize Harold about his stutter. “It will be better for you if I d-do it. You d-do not want them! You do not w-want them!” Another series of bangs and screams erupted from the boiler. Harold clinched in pain and covered his ears. I grabbed the torch I had dropped in the struggle and smashed it against his head. He fell over while I returned to my feet. As I stood, the journal dropped from my jacket. Harold made another rush, but not at me. My torch came down on his hand as he tried to grab the journal. “That is n-not yours,” Harold said as he nursed his hand. “G-give it back.” “Why are you doing this Harold?” “I do it for t-them. They demand t-tribute. I have no choice.” He stood up and screamed at me. “Give me the book!” Whoever occupied the boiler started the hitting the side again. “Why do you want this book?” “I-I do not want to d-do this; they force m-me to. I want to b-bury what is left, but they s-say no. It must go b-back in the t-tomb for the offerings to rest.” He began to weep. “It is the b-best I can do to give them a p-proper burial.” Disembodied voices spoke in broken unity, “We cannot be appeased.” Harold squealed while looking around the room. He heard them too. “You know I had no choice!” Harold screamed into the darkness. “You would have done the same!” “Harold, you need to let me take you in, we can get you help, we can protect you from whoever is making you do this.” “You cannot p-protect me,” he sobbed while starring off into the shadows. He took in a deep breath, calmed himself, and with a resigned expression surrendered to the situation. “But I do n-not care anymore.” Harold dropped my baton and offered his hands. I handcuffed his wrists behind his back, and proceed to open the boiler. Suddenly, multiple heavy thumps were heard coming from one of the floors above. “They are on t-the roof,” Harold whispered. “We are out of t-time!” Whatever it was made a horrid animal like shriek as a series of slow heavy footsteps transferred into the hall directly above us. “They are here! T-They will be angry with me. We m-must leave!” “I have to get her out here first,” I responded while pulling on the boiler’s latch. “L-leave her or we b-both will die!” We heard the footsteps moving down the spiral staircase. Harold lost his nerve and took off into the dark hallway. He could not get far handcuffed, and I had to get the boiler open. The latch would not budge, so I pounded on the boiler and told the women to remain calm. She acknowledged with a knock. My only defense was my baton, and the beating on my arms left them to weak to wield it. I posted myself in the doorway, facing the direction of a staircase engulfed in pitch blackness. The footsteps had not moved from the staircase. Though I could not see it, I felt something hiding in the shadows watching me. An unsettling sound came from the steps, something like a nail being tapped on a wooden table. The single tapping turned into multiple similar and separate taps running up the staircase, all out of sync with the each other. What I thought was one turned into many. They sensed my fear, and now they were toying with me. Without hesitation, I made my way for the front door. I turned to look and only saw skulking inhuman silhouettes move through the darkness. Rather than pursue me, they let out a frightening sequence of shrieks as they rushed into boiler room. Once outside, I took off down the dirt road until the rising sun revealed a body face down with its hands behind its back. I turned over the body of Harold Smith to find him barely alive. Blood seeped from a wound in his abdomen. Enough of it soaked his shirts and pants to know that I could not get him help in time. “I f-fell on s-something in the dark. I was so s-scared that I did not f-feel anything at first, I just got up and r-ran.” “What were those things?” I asked while covering him with my jacket. I wanted anything but to empathize with this murder, but the preceding events had rattled my world view and moral foundation. Out of cowardice, I possibly left a woman to die. How culpable does that make me in her death, though I am not the one who put her there?” “I don’t know.” His stuttering subsided as he approached death. Despite his crimes, I unlocked his handcuffs to provide some comfort in his final moments while he told me his story. Harold was out in the fens one night, and drunkenly stumbled into the water. While struggling to escape, he discovered treasure scattered beneath the sediment. There were all sorts of ancient gold jewelry, coins and idols which he collected and pawned that morning. Those things found him the next night when he returned to search for more. They demanded the return of the offerings left by their true believers. The pawn broker had already sold them and would not give Harold the names of the buyers. He tried to get the information at knife-point, but was near beaten down with a cricket bat. When told that retrieving their goods were impossible, the creatures cut Harold a fateful deal. I suspect that is what they had hoped for all along. They wanted him to replace gold with blood by bringing them people to be slaughtered. Harold had refused at first, but they threatened to kill his mother and sisters. It seems like it would be an obvious choice for most people, but that does not make the consequences easy to live with. “You have people you love. You understand.” With his last bit of energy, Harold seized my arm. “You would have done the same. Please tell me you w-would have done the same.” I did not answer. Despair filled Harold's eyes as he released his grip and died. The whole night seemed chocked with bad decisions, but in my defense the universe was not providing many good options. Since then I have tried to convince myself that I performed to the best of my abilities, despite the guilt of having left that woman to the mercy of those nightmare creatures. What could I have done? The station had not issued me any real weapons, and I surely would have died if I stood my ground. I could only find solace if the woman were still alive. I would need to go back to the engine house to obtain it. Everyone knows from childhood that monsters hate sunlight, and now the sun rose fully above the horizon. My radio had resumed normal operation. It squawked with worrisome calls from the station and reports of a missing school teacher named Martha White. I switched it off. Several times I walked around the engine house, each time getting closer while watching for the monsters. I hurled a stone through one of the few windows not already shattered. Nothing stirred within the house to investigate. Beside the front walkway, I noticed a metal spike sticking out of a debris pile. Wet blood covered its spear-like tip. This must have been where Harold impaled himself. Deciding that self absolution was worth the danger, I entered the building and headed for the boiler room. This time the boiler door swung back and forth on its hinges. Its interior was splattered with blood; much of it was fresh and loosely tossed over stains from older kills. At the boilers base laid Martha White’s corpse, mutilated beyond my capabilities to describe. Scattered around her were human bones, many appeared raked by claws and cracked open. Now I knew her fate, and would carry that image in my dreams for the rest of my life. At least now the ordeal was over, and I could radio the station. A large shadow descended from behind me. These creatures were unaffected by the sun light. I felt betrayed by my childhood bedtime stories. My body froze as the one shadow turned into many and began to bear down upon me. A faint unanswered prayer escaped my mouth as a hot deep breath blew on the back of my neck. The only noise it made was that ominous tapping, which at this distance I discerned was a slow repetitive clatter of teeth. Then it spoke. Martha White was the last villager to go missing, and eventually life went back to normal. There has not been a missing person in the village since that night. Unfortunately Martha White was not the last life required by the monsters. As the inheritor of Harold’s contract, I run a smarter operation. Now sacrifices are selected from various cities at least fifty miles away. They are mostly dregs that no one will miss, and I am thankfully that my masters are not picky about purity. Even these people do not deserve this fate, but decisions have to be made. Following Harold’s example, I continue to add a journal entry for every victim. A considerable donation was made for a priest to bless the wood-burning stove with no questions asked. The blessing along with the journal entries were meant to help the spirits rest. Ultimately the sacrament did not work, and my victims continue to haunt me whenever I enter the fields and marshes. Despite this failure, sketching graves and drafting eulogies has been therapeutic for me. This substitute burial tradition will go on and constantly be altered until the dead are appeased. After all that happened, the thing that bothers me the most is staying silent as Harold died. I do not condone murder, but I knew at the time that he was right. He died feeling damned by his confessor. When the spirits and ghost-light chose me to intercede, I am sure that this was not the justice they wanted. Sure, Harold had died, but now I committed these atrocities in his place. So many offerings have been brought here. I wish for this nightmare to end, but I have people who I love that depend on me.

[Something I was writing goes here] *This is why you type outside Reddit.* *This is why YOU type outside Reddit.* *Stop forcing yourself to write. Go play a game.* *I can't fucking stop writing! This is terrible, but I have to do it. I won't want to do it later.* *You don't want to do it NOW.* *Write me a novel about it.* *Isn't that what YOU'RE trying to do?* *Hush.* *What's the matter?* *There isn't anything to write about!* *Oh, of course there is.* *Shut the hell up. No, there isn't. Maybe It's another disorder of mine. I could use another for the shelf.* *Just because you have OCD and talk-* *More like think, really.* *-to yourself doesn't mean you're crazy.* *That wasn't what I said. And for the record, being able to see something that isn't - might not - be there qualifies me.* *It's probably just a symptom.* *Of what, puberty?* *Yes.* *Doubt it. I could always see it, you should know that, seeing as how we're the same fucking person.* *Does that count? We're just you thinking, as far as I can tell.* *What he said. And you know you couldn't always see it. There was a time...* *I don't remember that far back, okay?* *What DO you remember?* *When you didn't exist.* *I think we always have...right...?* *(Murmuring)* *What are you ACTUALLY thinking when you're typing this thing, by the way?* *What I'm typing, come to think of it.* *So...is this something we would actually think.* *See for yourself.* *.....Yeah, that's pretty accurate.* *What were you saying about writing?* *You know damn well what! There isn't anything I can write. I wrote a two page apocalypse novel, once.* *It was 3/4s of a page. In 78 point font.* *Yeah, that.* *What was it called?* *Never came up with a name.* *Mr. "I can't be cheesy or stereotypical in any way whatsoever" over here is bland and unimaginative, then?* *That's very, very accurate.* *I just thought of something.* *What? That this is surprisingly easy to write and flows pretty well?* *Well, it flows pretty well for US. For them, though, they, uh...* *Yeah.* *Look, no, I meant that...fuck. I forgot.* *That's because you were revising that bit up there and you have horrible memory.* *Both valid points.* *Are we allowed to revise and edit what would in any other situation be our normal thoughts? Can we do that?* *The better question is whether these WOULD be our normal thoughts.* *I'm pretty damn confident they would be.* *That's your opinion, then.* *Everything's an opinion.* *Including that.* *Think people'll agree with us on that? We might get some death threats.* *Quiet. I'm writing.* *HOW LONG DOES THIS DAMN THING NEED TO BE?!* *I could type like this forever, you know that.* *I know a lot of things.* *You make a lot of valid points, there.* *And you say "there" after things a lot.* *You also make a valid point.* *Are we all the same person.* *I can't tell. You?* *You got me.* *No clue.* *How many of us are there?* *Don't answer that. Are we just asking those questions so whoever is reading this won't be confused?* *They're reading, I hope, a post about someone's train of thought. It's most likely already confusing.* *Maybe they can figure it out. Reddit isn't the Youtube comments section or Yahoo Answers. People are intelligent here.* *Here?* *We're on the site, aren't we?* *Anon1: I would say so.* *Anon2: Stop pretending this is 4chan.* *Anon1: It isn't? Sure looks like it.* *Just because....good, no Anon thingy. Just because it's a long string of text with each individual thought having it's own line doesn't mean it's 4chan.* *Anon4: Besides, you barely know what 4chan IS.* *Anon5: Dammit, they're back.* *Anon6: Yes, but I did look it up on Wikipedia during Journalism earlier today.* *Anon7: We know, we were there. Oh, hold on.* *Anon7: > ...because it's a long string of text with each individual thought having it's own line confirms my belief that it's 4chan. FIFY* *Anon1: Damn you.* *Anon8: I'm hungry.* *Anon7: Right on time! Pizza Guy is here!* *Anon6: Does that have to be capitalized?* *Anon4: Yes. 7, what kind is it?* *Anon7: Pepperoni.* *Anon2: Don't they have anything else?* *Anon4: Nah. It's not a chain restaurant.* *Anon6: Follow me, 4channers! Let's eat!* *Anon2: Please don't call us that.* - If you can understand this, consider it funny, or read it at all you must have the patience of a saint. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm hungry.

Just wanted to share this tidbit i wrote as an RP character background story for my application for the ArmA 3 life mod. Ive never really been big into writing or anything so when i started i thought to myself "well they want at least 200 words for a story...i can bullshit my way through that". Well 3 hours and 2200+ words later I ended up with something im pretty proud of. Had my gf read it and she apparently thinks it was a pretty well written story and im just looking to get the opinions of anyone else patient enough to read through it. Formatting could probably be better but hey, im no expert at this literary stuff. Felix Moeller is a man with a very troubled and violent past. As a child he traveled a lot with his parents who were always in search of a better way of life and better opportunities for their only son. He traveled to places such as the mountainous region of Taviana, the tropics of Lingor, the war torn island of Panthera and to the coast of Chernarus. His parents decided to finally settle down in the large city of Chernogorsk where his mother worked as a housekeeper at the famous International Hotel while his father worked in the steel factory producing vehicles for the military which he wasn't allowed to speak of to anyone. Felix was also going to be coming of age and eager to follow in his father's footsteps but things suddenly took a grim turn. There were reports of some kind of sickness that had been spreading in the Nothern regions of Chernarus and panic started to ensue. The military soon started cutting these areas off from the rest of the population and were urging the citizens to start evacuating all major cities. Felix went to the International Hotel to get his mother and bring her home to to begin packing all essential belongings and wait for his father who had phoned him and would be on his way home after he finished getting the last vehicle off the assembly line at the factory. Some time had passed and his father had yet to return home and no one was answering the telephone in the factory. After Felix and his mother finished packing their things into their UAZ they decided to head to head to the factory to try and pick up his father there. The streets were filled with people desperately trying to leave and scavenge what they could for food and supplies as well as bandits looting businesses and anything else in sight amidst the chaos. Upon reaching the factory what they found they could not have forseen. Felix's father had been killed and what looked to be an infected civilian was consuming what remained of his battered corpse. That was the last time his father was seen before he and his mother escaped and sought out pilgrimage on the island of Altis. Upon arriving in Altis, Felix and his mother had close to nothing to claim their own and once again had to start from scratch. Felix found work as a peach farmer to help supplement the income of his mother, who had become a secretary at the embassy in the city of Kavala. Months had passed and some of the locals noticed how hard of a worker Felix was just to try and make ends meet. He was approached by a gentleman named Nate and was offered an opportunity he couldn't refuse. He was to become a diamond miner and increase his income to a level he previously thought unimaginable, have so little experience in any real trades or otherwise. Of course when he had first started out he wasn't making near what Nate was making for a cut, but it was more than enough for Felix and his mother to purchase a house of their own rather than renting a decrepit shack like they had been. Things were finally starting to come together and they thought they had found the peace and prosperity they had been searching for. And then one day unrest had started to fall on the island of Altis. Rebel groups started to band together in an effort to overthrow and take control of the current government and run it in their own vision. On a quiet and ordinary day like any other the leaders of Altis had gotten together at the embassy to discuss possible strategy to combat the rebels should the need arise. Unfortunately for them, they had decided to wait to take that possibility into account for too long. The rebels had gained knowledge of this gathering taking place and decided that it was their time to strike. They stormed Kavala with Ifrits, started raining down mortars in Kavala Square and were shooting anyone who dare stand in their way in cold blood. Meanwhile at the diamond mine, Felix had no idea what was happening just a kilometer from his home. Word of the attack started to spread and Felix received a message over the CB radio in the truck from dispatch that he needed to return as soon as possible. Upon arriving at the processing plant he was met with an atmosphere that was solemn and eerie. Nate called Felix into his office and broke the news to him; his mother was not able to make it out of the embassy during the attack and was just one of many casualties that day. Distraught and alone he sank into a depression. He began missing days of work and found comfort in the bottom of bottles of moonshine. Nate knew he had to do something before Felix were to become a lost cause and just a husk of his former self. Nate talked to him and convinced him that instead of feeling sorry for himself and putting himself on a course for a fate that he would regret, he should go out and do something about it. Felix contemplated revenge himself, no doubts about it. But Nate suggested a route that Felix had not thought of; joining Altis Law Enforcement. Felix decided he would give it a shot in hopes that someday he would be able to seek revenge on those responsible for his mother's death. But once again, things didn't go entirely as planned. Felix was accepted onto the force and even went the extra mile putting forth all the effort he could to go above and beyond and in a short time was already promoted to a Patrol Officer. His superiors took notice of his achievements and determination and made a recommendation for him to join the UN. At first he was reluctant as it would set back his plans to get back at those who took everything from him, but also saw it as an excellent opportunity to advance in the ALE when he did return. He then went about the process for recruitment and received his first assignment: Takistan. Upon joining the UN he decided he was going to go the path of the pilot. It was something he'd always dreamed about doing but was not able to pursue in the past. It did not take long for him to get comfortable behind the stick and once again, his superiors took notice as he was racking up hours and successful extraction/infiltration missions. He was approached and offered the opportunity of a lifetime; the opportunity to fly the Pawnee, one of the UN's favored attack helicopters. He was steadily deployed into Southern Takistan, deep into the Takistan Liberation Army territory, to destroy high value targets both on the ground and in the air. He had destroyed dozens of enemy Tempest transport vehicles crippling their drug running income. He had destroyed countless enemy Ifrits, armed and unarmed variants, as well as successfully defeating TLA armed Orca helicopters in battle as well. He became a well decorated pilot and was a very high priority target for the TLA. One day while conducting a drug raid in Southern Takistan flying a Chinook helicopter, Felix started to get missle lock tone. The countermeasures proved not to be enough and his heli was hit. It took out both engines and the sound of them winding down was the worst realization he had ever come to. It was now time to put his training to the test and try to save the lives of as many of the helicopter as he could. He immediately lowered the collective and told everyone onboard to make their way to a seat and get strapped in. He pulled the nose back enough to slow it down quite a bit and started getting closer to the ground. He found an open area as flat as he could and told everyone to hold on. Once they were down to about 50m from the ground he pulled up on the collective like he was trying to snap the lever off. Luckily the rotors were still moving with enough speed that when he did so, he was able to create enough lift to be able to land the giant helicopter and minimize anymore damage to the heli itself, as well as everyone on board. They radioed their location for extraction and fought for 40 mins against TLA soldiers until they were able to get out of their, albeit with the help of a Ghosthawk's miniguns. Soon thereafter Felix was sent to the UN's flight school to be an instructor there for some time before his term in the UN was complete. When he got out he decided to return to Altis and begin to plot his revenge against the rebels. Instead of returning to the ALE, he instead decided to sell his home in Altis and take all the other money he had saved up and bought himself a Mohawk helicopter. He knew Nate would be willing to take him back and return to the diamond mining business but Felix had bigger plans. He started to make contacts in the rebel organization and made money by help them run cocaine in his Mohawk. But for the rebels, the money they were making just wasn't enough. They began scheming to rob the Federal Reserve Bank of Altis and Felix knew his time for revenge was nigh. The rebels of course didn't trust Felix enough to actually take part in the robbery itself, but knew he was one hell of a pilot and designated him for their extraction. When the time came, Felix flew to the island in which the federal reserve sat. The rebels were utterly confused since he was arriving before they had even finished cracking the safe. Felix waited until no one on the outside was looking and hopped out of his Mohawk while keeping the engines going. He then snuck into the fed and drew his silenced 9mm Sting from his backpack and initiated his own plan. Making his way through the building he started executing rebels trying to be as quiet as possible, like something he'd read in a Tom Clancy book when he was younger. He finally reached the safe room where the rebel leader was working on getting the safe open, put the Sting to the back of his head and said "I've been waiting a long time for this." The rebel leader turned and looked at him with the utmost confusion. "The day your soldiers stormed the city of Kavala was the day you took everything from me. Now I'm here to take your life in return." The rebel leader began to plead and try and bargain, offering Felix a majority of the money for the heist in exchange for his life. Felix had no intention of that happening but he also didn't get the satisfaction he had been seeking for so long. Across the bridge on the coast of Pyrgos, the ALE had set up on several vantage points and were awaiting the rebels getaway. But one sniper saw an opportunity and took advantage of it, shooting the rebel leader straight through his skull with a MK18 from 600m out. Felix hit the floor as fast as he could feeling confused and enraged. The rebel leader lay dead next to him but not by his hand and the thought of all that time and planning wasted without the satisfaction of being the one to pull the trigger made his blood boil. But he knew he had more important things to worry about since the ALE was about to storm the island any second. He made a mad dash down the stairs shooting it out with other rebels along the way. He hopped into his Mohawk and lifted it off as fast as he could. But the ALE had prepared for that and Felix soon had a Ghosthawk on his tail. He knew he had to lose them, but how? He decided to take advantage of the darkness of night and headed on a very low flight path. The ALE maintained their altitude assuming easy shots to the main rotor and engines of the Mohawk since they had an advantage in altitude. What they didn't realize is where they were and why exactly Felix had started flying as low as he did. By the time either pilot of the Ghosthawk could do anything to stop it, they flew straight into high-rise power lines that cross the countryside. Felix decided to gather his things and to start a new life. He went to Nate's to gather his belongings and his old friend tosses him a velvet bag with a few diamonds inside. Nate said to him "That should be enough to get you started. I hear Lakeside Valley is a city of great opportunity. Might be a good place to lay low for a while." Taking that advice to mind, Felix cashed in his diamonds and used his money for a fake passport and fuel for his helicopter to make it to his next destination; Lakeside Valley.

An Unexpected Friend "Time seems to be standing still. I don't know if it's been minutes or hours; for all I know it could have been a day since I awoke from my nap only minutes ago." - Blair said to himself, as there was no one and nothing to talk to in this eminence maze he calls home base. "They still haven't returned with the supplies; my stomach aches with hunger. The Protectors say the land beyond the boundaries is a frightening place. That when it gets dark, it gets real dark and only the moon to see. I may be young, but I can only imagine the terrifying creatures that lurk behind the shadows at night. I hear the cries as they feist at night. At first they scared me but the protectors taught me that letting them know our position was a very mischievous thing to do; disobedient was their words." - Blair took what they said to heart though as he found much of their advice to be useful, even lifesaving at times. When they said stay indoors and be good, he listened. Blair was pacing around now switching between hunger and thirst. These were becoming desperate times; rations were scarce, and no water in his canteen; he had to resort to the forbidden fountain. He tippy toed over to the room where the fountain was located as if The Protectors were still home. Ever so gently opening the door he heard a creek, then a squeak. He realized how he could have mistaken those sounds from coming from the door or more creepily inside His hearing was so adapt that he can distinguish sounds from coming either inside or out. Those sounds were loud, close and there wasn't much time! "Code Blue! Code Blue!" - Blair yelled as loud as possible while he ran frantically through the house, leaping over ever obstacle that sprang up. Code Blue was used when an approaching unidentified object is within the boundaries of the base. Protocol was to scout the intruder, identify weakness and take no prisoners, but he was never trusted to handle this operation. Especially initial contact at the front door. In but moments he will know who the target was... As Caroline Ericsson was beginning to unload her brand new Toyota PI314. The very same PI314 Caroline bought 14 years ago when it was brand new and only 15km on the odometer (she was treated to a full tank of gas). She passed the bags of groceries to Tim, her son. "Go on ahead and start unpacking and feed your dog, I'm sure that's what he's yammering about.

Strange Encounters "It's weird officer, real weird." Mark Henderson was at the local police station in Alberton, Ontario on 4: 36am August 8th, 1951. Strangely enough, a building he's never seen, in a town he's never been to before, yet familiar. "All right smooth talker, let's take it from the top once more. I know there's not much to it as you've continued to repeat but let's see if anything else pops out at you and then we will pay for your gas home." Officer Dan Richardson was becoming more and more tired with the story was hearing. There just can't be anyway. Dan thought becoming more and more enraged within. The moment he walks out of here I'm just going to throw this case out. Hocus pocus my ass, what does he take me for, an idiot?! At best this is the best damn way to get free gas. "Well like I said before, I had just filled up at half past 10pm, so I could drive out and get to the place that sells tobacco by the pound still..." Yes, yes we all go out to New Market for cheaper cigarettes, not relevant. "...and I was driving out to Bakersfield like I said," He didn't refer to it as Bakersfield before? The puzzled Officer thought. "...on the way there I had to swerved out of the way of a truck with these god forsaken bright lights. I guess I was a bit sleepy Officer and woke up in the nick of time but after that I found myself just driving around an unfamiliar road. I was having awful headaches, for a bit around that time too. Images that started accompanying them are hard to distinguish but almost always included me in a white setting... I don't know it sounds crazy now. Anyways, I pulled over till they subsided and drove straight here in hopes that you could help me figure out where I am so I can get home, but I still can't remember where that was again. Some rest will cure this forgetfulness. I feel like I've been up all night." Mark felt like that was all the information that he could give, he couldn't remember what town he lived in nor his wife or his phone number. He kind of felt a helpless feeling fall over him. "We'll now that you've told us where you were driving to we can call that regions station and see if there is a match to your name anywhere close to there. It should only take a few hours." Not long after that another Office came into the room and asked if Officer Dan could speak with him for a moment. What did the results turn up Frank? "He wasn't lying when he said things were weird. It turns out that there isn't even a Bakersfeild anywhere near here. In fact, you have to drive 14 hours north to get to a small town called Bakersfeild." Officer Frank said as he started to debrief. "...here's where things get truly disturbing. When we searched his name through the local police department Mark has a missing person out because his wife...." "Wow, his wife sure gets worried quickly. Seems a bit much don't you think he's only been gone for half a day at most. Can't remember his name or town he lives in, probably doesn't remember setting out on a road trip. Likely to get away from her if she's that crazy." Office Dan remarked crudely as if this was all an elaborate funny joke. "If you'd let me finish, his wife reported him missing August 8th, 1950, sir. This was reported after she spent a full day returning home from a place that was 8 hours away from their town. She reported being in the passenger seat of a driverless car after being at a gas station for an unknown reason. All she could remember before waking up was that there was a blinding white light that she couldn't help but look at. It actually says 'forced' in the report." Frank said growing more and grimmer as he read from the file between his trembling hands. Officer Dan, started to sit in the closest seat he could find. He couldn't believe that Mark was 14 hours away from home. That would make his whole time scale false. Not to mention the fact that he has been missing for a full year, a full year exactly he would later realize. He began to think about the crazy aspects of them all, his wife's story at the time; driverless cars, being at a gas station for no reason, it all makes sense now, only after hearing Marks story. "Sir there is one more thing in the reports." Frank said with a grave look in his eyes. "What more could it be?" "The wife had three cuts into her skin going the length of her back; she said that's the first appearance of them in her life. It was like they were skillfully cut as the doctors said there was no way any doctor could stitch a cut that clean without some kind of pain. She reported none." "All right Frank thanks for all the intel." Dan has a hard enough time giving gratitude in the first place and was finding it particularly challenging to give it with what he just learned. The door opens to the interrogation; with it brought an energy that mimetic death. Officer Dan began relaying the frightening news to Mark, which still hasn't sunk in, himself. "One last thing before we send you on your way home to your wife, if you will Mark. Your wife reported three cuts on her back that she had never seen before that night. Could you remove your shirt and pants please, I just want to know if we should have medical look at you first." Officer Dan asked Mark in the most genuine and sincere way he could. "No problem Sir, it was starting to itch a bit anyways. It'll be nice to readjust it." Mark said in a cheerful way. For he sees this all as a blessing. Finally, he can see his wife and start the laughing process. As Office Dan brought his coffee cup down from a big deep, delicious gulp, the liquid left his mouth as fast as it came in. in one fellow motion Office Dan vomited, dropped his cup, and tripped on his own two feet. With his eyes wide open from shock; he gazed at a man whose skin, from head to toe, was scalped. Only his muscles were visible. Each and every muscle strand picked clean of its protective layer of skin. No blood was seeping through, it was as if there was its own invisible skin that covered him. Which is likely why he hasn't miraculously died. As Mark turned around to confront a mirror, the last thing to pass through his mind was his beautiful wife; he pictured the way her soft cherry red hair flowed over her shoulders like a creek over an edge. Her rosy cheeks gently glowing in the sun. It was comforting to his mind to have such a lovely mental image cross it because once his eyes focused on the mirror, his hideously deformed body sent his body into a trauma that it couldn't handle and at 10:29PM August 8th Mark Henderson collapsed dead. As for Dan Richardson, well he wishes that the story ended there.

I'm reading some essays by Chuck Palahniuk, and it said to try to write about an embarrassing story to try to gain authority over the readers (i.e. grip the audience's attention, I guess?). So I decided to try it out. Here it is: We sat in my friend's car. Alone. In the backseat, the two of us – as far away from each other as possible. She leaned hard into the door, letting as little space as possible to be near me. She wouldn't look at me. Anything I asked her was met with short, one-word replies. Every apology was met with a lie: “I'm not even mad.” I kept looking at her, but also not at her. I didn't know where to look. The silence in the car ate at me. It was one o'clock in the evening in the middle of a parking lot. For some reason, we were parked in a handicapped spot. The one dude who could drive chose to park here. I inspected any car that drove by, on the look out for cops. Parking here without a permit was illegal, wasn't it? Our friends, four or five of them, ditched us. They saw how we acted around each other. Longing glances, inside jokes, slight touches. They wanted to give a little push. A little alone time for the couple on the fringe, they probably thought. They'll be together by the end of tonight. No, this was the worst night to be alone with her. I pushed her a little too far tonight. Maybe it was how much I made fun of her in that one picture. Or maybe it was the fat jokes. I don't know. Whatever it was, she had enough. On the way here, she was completely detached. I guess I was the only one who noticed it. No one saw how she stopped making eye-contact during dinner, or how her responses shortened little by little. Or how she tried to talk to everyone except me. But I could read her the best, after all. I picked up on her cues more than anyone else. The car was off. My back started to get stuck with a thousand needles, the way it always did when it started getting a little too hot. Coupled with the awkward silence, I couldn't find a good position to sit in. My butt was beginning to fall asleep. “Hey, do you wanna just walk around?” She replied, but still didn't look at me. “Sure, but don't follow me.” I followed her anyway. I walked next to her, looking to the right. She stared at the ground to her left. I tried another apology. “I'm really sorry.” “I'm not mad.” Only our footsteps made any sound. We just walked – on the sidewalk, up some stairs, over a tiny bridge that hung over some display fountain. Eventually, we ran into our friends. They had Starbucks in their hands. “Hey, guys, what's up?” one of them dared to ask. “Just take us home,” she said. Before I knew it, we were back in the car, but in different positions. I sat shotgun this time, and she sat diagonal to me, behind the driver's seat. The driver and one other friend rode with us, and they didn't speak. Probably because of the tension in the air. I had the reins on the auxiliary cable, so I just blasted music. Anything to keep my mind off the situation. But I could feel her behind me. I wanted to meet her eyes just once, see some semblance of forgiveness. Or maybe even see her lips curl just a little bit. I always liked how her mouth moved. In fear, I couldn't look back. I could only look down at my shoes, rest my head against my hand, and whisper along to the lyrics of whatever song played. The drive to her house was only around ten minutes long. But it felt longer than that. It was like I was on some time-distorting drugs. The road in front of me seemed to stretch forever, with no sign of ending. I couldn't stop squirming in my seat. I brainstormed ways of apologizing. Somehow, I ended up thinking of stupid romantic comedy movies. For the climax, those always had fights, and usually, a kiss fixed everything. You know what I mean? Some fight would happen, and the couple would spend some time away from each other. Each passing moment, the only thought they always reach is the other person. And by the end, usually in the rain, they meet up, and the guy goes for it, some passionate kiss. That's what would fix this. It was not what would fix this. When we were dropping her off, I helped her carry her stuff out. And outside the car, alone, the other two still inside the car, I went for it. “What the heck?” She pushed me away. And we looked at each other. At least we finally made eye-contact. But it wasn't forgiveness that I saw in her eyes – not even anger, actually. It was more like there was nothing there: her eyes were burned out. I couldn't see what enchanted me in the first place. Things were over between us. So I went back into the car, dejected. I reclined my seat and covered my eyes with my arm. Even worse, I had to see her tomorrow.

It all started with Grace. My daughter. My beautiful baby girl… “Don’t! Move!” I scream. My hand is trembling. The gun I am holding seems to weigh more than it should. I point the weapon shakily at the teller. A woman is crouched on the floor, cradling her son in her arms, sobbing. Her back is facing me. The boy is whimpering. An old man is sitting on a chair, his hands in the air. He has cannulas in his nose. I fight a wave of nausea. The teller is a short, chubby woman. Her face is a mask of fear. She hastily opens the register in front of her, and begins stacking money on the counter. I tell her to hurry up. She squeaks in terror. Tears begin to roll down her cheeks. I regret saying it. The gun is loaded. I did not come to the bank unarmed. I do not intend to use it. The handle of the gun is now slick with sweat. The balaclava I am wearing is making my head hot. The woman is still crying. The old man glares at me. He somehow knows that I don’t want to kill anyone. Please…don’t try to be a hero…please…I plead in my head. I then realize he is in poor shape to try and lunge at me. I return my attention to the teller. I have been here for a couple minutes now. If they contacted the police, they should be here soon. “Come on!” I yell. My voice is shaky. The woman on the ground turns her head to look at me, terrified. Her eyes are red from crying. I stare back at her, briefly. But that is soon interrupted by the distant sirens of police cars. I growl a curse. The teller has finished putting the money on the counter and has fled into an adjoining room in the bank. I quickly dump the stacks of bills into a bag I was carrying with my other hand. With one last look at my hostages, I run out of the building. The wails of the sirens are getting closer. Across the street is a restaurant, and behind the restaurant is a wooded area. It is beginning to getting dark. I dash across the street. Strangely, it is empty. No cars. I don’t pay any mind to it. I keep running. I can now see the red and blue flashes of the police lights to my right as I reach the sidewalk on the other end of the street. I tear through the restaurant parking lot, jumping over one of the hoods of the cars. As I’m running, I look into the place’s windows. There is no one inside. Plates of food, untouched, are sitting on the tables. The hair on my arms stand up. Something isn’t right. What happened while I was in the bank? My heart is now pounding inside of my chest. The sun is setting as I cut through the woods. I have barely gone twenty feet through them when the car pulls up to the edge of the trees. A police officer, a woman, gets out. I hear a faint cry of “Stop!” while I run. I don’t look back. I bolt through bushes and vegetation, the gun tucked in the waistband of my jeans, the bag of money held firmly in my hand. I hear the sounds of pursuit behind me. I run faster. I risk a look behind me. The woman is giving chase, and she is faster than me. She has blonde hair, put in a pony tail. When I turn my head back around, the last thing I see before darkness is a thick branch right in front of me. ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬ I wake up in pain. I touch my forehead with my fingers, my hands cuffed in front of me. It is bandaged. I am inside of the police car, in the backseat. It is now dusk. I look around, observing my surroundings. A thick glass window separates the space between the head cushions of the driver and passenger seat. The car seems new. I look out the window for the police officer. I don’t see her. The bag and gun are gone. I sigh, the reality of what just happened setting in. I just robbed a bank and got arrested. And I’m going to go to jail for a very long time. Suddenly, I hear the woman growl a curse and slam a part of the car. The hood, I assume. I can’t see that well yet, as my head is swimming in pain. She opens up the driver door, and throws in what looks like a radio onto the passenger seat. She climbs in and slams the door shut. She grips the steering wheel tightly, letting out a heavy sigh. After several awkward moments of silence, she turns around to face me. She is beautiful. Her golden hair seems to shine in the semi-darkness. She has large, green eyes, and practically flawless facial features. Her skin is pale. She has a scar running down the side of her right cheek. “Listen to me,” she says, firmly. “I-” I begin to say. “Shut up and listen.” she commands. I remain quiet. “My station isn’t responding. I don’t know why. I’ve radioed in three times now. All I’ve gotten is static.” She pauses. A look of worry flashes across her face, briefly. She continues. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. But I am driving back to the station. And you don’t really have any other choice but to come with me.” “I…” “Why did you rob that bank?” “I don’t-” “What is your name?” “Adam!” I yell. She studies me. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, either. I didn’t have any other choice. I had no money. My wife left me and…and my daughter, Gr-” A shrill scream cuts me off. I jump in my seat. The woman, whose last name I have learned is Parker, on her nametag, jumps as well. She turns so half her face is facing me. Her scar is a faded red. “Stay. Here.” She orders. Her right hand goes to her holster while her left hand goes to the door handle. She shuts the door and turns on her flashlight. Another scream. Parker walks briskly towards the source of the noise, the beam of her flashlight bobbing up and down. I am alone, handcuffed in a police car at night, and someone near me sounds like she is getting murdered. I begin to sweat. I cannot see Parker anymore. She has crossed the street, and ventured behind the bank. The screaming has stopped. An agonizing minute goes by. Suddenly, I hear a gun shot. Then two. Two more after that. I feel a chill go down my spine. I hear Parker yell in the distance. She is now sprinting towards the car, her police hat gone. She has a wild look in her eyes. “What is going on?!” I ask as she scrambles into the car. Her holster is empty. “Oh my God…Oh my God…” she says, a murmur at first but rising in volume until she is almost yelling it. Her hands fumble with the ignition. The car roars to life. “Hello? What just happened?!” I demand. She is taking short, rapid breaths. Her eyes are wide. She is paler than before. “We need to get out of here…get out…” she pants. My mouth is agape at what is happening as she turns out of the parking lot and barrels onto the road. I look towards the bank. In the darkness, I see a dull pool of crimson behind the building. A shadowed figure stands near it. It does not look human.

Back in the early 80's my friends and I did a lot of backpacking around northeast Iowa. Not that camping was actually allowed in these places, but we were young and definitely had a healthy disregard for laws and authority. Especially if it was inconvenient to us. One such trip found us in a wooded area near Luxemburg, Iowa. My girlfriend Lori (who we never called Lori – always Frog) along with our two friends David and Eddie hiked to one of our favorite spots. There was a sort of bluff overlooking confluence of two streams. Though it was a steep hike to the top, it was a great place to watch the wildlife below. It was also a great place to party and see if any DNR folks were headed your way long before they noticed you. Late in the afternoon Frog and I decided we wanted to move down next to the stream and set up our tent. The sound of the water would lull us to sleep and we both looked forward to sleeping with the music of the creek in our ears. We probably wanted just a bit of privacy as well. As darkness fell, I noticed there seemed to be some dark clouds moving in. If I only I had paused to think what that might mean. It did not become important until later that night. In the middle of the night I was jarred awake by the sound of thunder and, heavy rain pounding the tent and more ominously, the sound of raging water. I knew we were in trouble. I grabbed my flashlight and looked out towards the creek. The water, which should have been about 20 feet from me, had almost reached the tent! Frog was now awake as well. She asked “What's going on?” “Out of the tent, we gotta move!” I yelled. Luckily we had a free-standing dome tent and had been using our packs as pillows of a sort. I grabbed the edges of the tent and pulled it back up into the trees to higher ground with all our gear inside it. We were soaked to the skin, so we got back into our tent and changed into dry clothes. We spent the rest of the night sticking our heads out the door with our flashlights to keep an eye on the water level. The rushing water was very loud. It was an angry sound. Nothing like it's usual ankle-deep bubbling and gurgling self. The creek had become, at least for now, a raging river. That coupled with the thunder and lightning as well as the torrential downpour resulted in a pretty miserable night. I must have dozed off at some point. I slowly became aware of a voice over the sound of the water. I realized it was David screaming at the top of his lungs over and over “No! No!, No!” In my groggy state I thought maybe he and Eddie were fighting or something. As I came out of our hiding place in the trees I saw them standing a bit above me on the opposite bank. The water was still running through what to them, was where Frog and I were supposed to be. I suddenly understood. They thought we were dead. I didn't know what to do. They were both just standing there, Eddie's hand on David's shoulder, staring at the water. I was almost embarrassed in a way, that we were ok. David looked like he might have been crying. Eddie just had a very stern look of concentration on his face. Almost as if he thought if he just wished hard enough and long enough everything would be ok again. I started walking towards the water, still saying nothing. Eddie saw me first. I can still remember very vividly how his face lit up. His shit eating grin, almost as if to say “I wished it to be ok and it worked!” I saw his hand tighten on David's shoulder and when he had David's attention, Eddie slowly pointed towards me. As my eyes locked with David's I sensed mostly disbelief. As if he wasn't trusting what he saw because it just could not be so. It was all rather surreal actually because the sound of the water rushing by was so loud. Like watching a silent movie. None of us had said a word so far. Frog came up beside me, and put her arm around me. We all just stood there looking at each other. Finally David screamed above the roar of the water “Are you real? Please tell me this is real!” I saw Eddies look of concern. Again, he tightened his grip on David's shoulder. I honestly didn't know how to answer that question. Eddie shook David a little. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw his lips form the words. “It's real, man.” Finally, David smiled. He believed. The years passed and as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Though our friendship had sustained us all through many difficult years, we inevitably moved on as our lives grew apart. Lori (no longer Frog) married the bother of a mutual friend. David joined the military and eventually moved to Michigan, working two jobs to make ends meet. I lost track of Eddie. I hope he is ok out there in the big wide world. David died early one morning, after working late as a bartender. It was a car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel. I couldn't believe he was gone. It is to David, my friend, that I dedicate this story. Just a tiny slice of our lives as a tribute to the life he lived. I think of him often.

It was a hot summers days in the late 1980s somewhere in the south and Melissa was sitting in her back yard throwing stones at the neighbours cats, one of her favourite ways to pass the time. Her face was red and the marks of dried tears were still visible in the bright afternoon sun. She had sat there all day, as she did most days, just to get some peace and quiet from the chaos. Although this day was going to be a little different, a day that would change her life forever. As she sat there she saw something move in the bushes at the end of the garden "damn cat" she muttered to herself and readied her biggest sharpest stone. The bushes rustled again and just as she was about to throw her projectile, she heard a voice: "whoa, hold it there sweet cheeks" said the out of place new york accent. "I aint gonna cause you harm" said the voice. she looked puzzled "who are you" she said back. As she said this the bushes parted and out walked a small monkey. A very smartly dressed monkey at that, with a small bowler hat and carrying a varnished cane. "let me introduce myself, I am Horace and ive been watching you for a while now Miss" said the dapper fellow as he strolled towards her. "how come you can talked?" squeaked back Melissa "well, thats a long story, but the short version, I am magic" said horace "and Im here to give you a hand as you look like you need one" he continued. "I dont, Im fine, go away you stinky flea bitten cat in a costume" Melissa yelled back defiantly. "oh my Miss, a cat! I cant stand those pesky things. I knew you were okay when I first saw you hit that next door ginger tom square in the head with a rock. I assure you, our hatred of cats is a shared trait. So I stuck around and watched you for a while. I saw you the steal the car and watched you poop of a bridge. I also saw other stuff and, well I aint made of stone, I kinda felt for ya. So put it here Miss, I think we could be good friends" Horace put out his tiny monkey hand and Melissa reached out with her tiny chubby human hand. The bond had been forged, a smile went over Melissas face, the first in a long time. "see, im not no ordinary Monkey Miss. I got kinda powers. I can look after you, as others should have. You got a lovely round little head, ideal for me to jump up and sit there with you" Said Horace "what, all the time? Why would I want that, and how could I take you to school, people would take you away" Missy replied "ah no, watch" said horace as he jumped up on her back and instantly disappeared. "where you go?? I can still kinda feel you there but im looking and I cant see you in the reflection" she said "there more to it" said horace "go inside and pick a fight with someone and watch what happens" That wasn't hard for Melissa, the three people in the house weren't her favourite people, to put it mildly. So as soon as he walked inside she was met with aggression and anger from one of the broken adults inside. She felt the tears well up and the hurt built, wondering why the crazy monkey vision had led her back inside to deal with more crap. "okay, I am going to do my thing" Horace whispered in her ear. "You wont have to deal with this crap any longer, as soon as I tap your head with my cane, this hurt will be gone" he continued. She felt him climb up on her head but still saw nothing in the reflection in the window, but she could feel him there. Then, as he said, she felt a tap on her head with the cane and instantly, woosh, all the horrible feelings went. Nothing, no pain, no hurt, no tears, nothing. She liked the feeling, she didnt care what the broken adults had said, it no longer had any affect. After all these months of crying and hurt, the feeling of nothing was a relief. She looked at the broken adult and smiled, knowing their powers were no longer there over her, she was free. She skipped back out the garden humming to herself. as soon as she sat down Horace climbed down of her head and sat next to her. "kinda neat huh!" he said, "you needed that" "yeah, it felt nice, I dont want to feel sad anymore" Melissa replied "well if you agree, I can sit on your head forever if you want. I like your head, its round, and your face is little like a cat, which oddly is a good thing. and you smell nice" Horace chirped "so whats in it for you?" said Melissa, knowing you get nothing for nothing in this world, even at her young age. "oh well, just now and then bring me a pesky cat to eat. Thats all I need, you wont even know im here till an asshole tries to upset you, then ill pop back out and do my thing." horace replied "Deal!!" said Melissa quickly in case he changed his mind.

I never really knew what the point of a yo-yo was. You throw it down, then it comes back up. Throw it down, and it comes back up. Some people can do tricks with yo-yos, making all kinds of formations and whatnot. I just throw, and catch. Throw and catch. There wasn't any point to it but it was addictive. Just like throwing pebbles into the lake. There was no point to it, other than to see the little ripples it causes. At least I thought there was no point. What I didn't realize, was that at that moment there was a very special creature living in the lake. It only ate pebbles thrown into the lake, and nothing else. It couldn't eat the pebbles in the lake already, because they had been wet too long and that ruins them. But it couldn't go to the surface to get the pebbles because if it touched air for more than one second it turned into wood. So it waited, for months sometimes, just waiting until someone threw a pebble in the lake to satisfy it's hunger. One day I was walking home from the grocery store, bag of groceries in one hand, yo-yo in the other. I walked past the lake. I decided to take a break from walking to throw pebbes in the lake, as I was known to do. So I found a comfortable flat rock to sit on, and I threw a pebble into the lake. I watched the little ripples circle away from where it landed. It made me happy. The tiny splash got the creature's attention immediately, and it swam as quick as possible if not quicker. It grabbed the pebble just before the pebble touched the lake bottom, and swallowed it. That was better, no more hunger. Another pebble plunked down. Yum! This time it caught the pebble in it's mouth. It swam up just under the surface to see who was throwing them. Just then, something else splashed in, but it wasn't a pebble. It was a large rock. The rock plunged down through a few inches of water and clobbered the lake thingy on the head. It fainted. Meanwhile, I saw what I did. I saw the lake monster just as i had let go of the big rock. I had just wanted to see a bigger ripple. But now I was a murderer. So I ripped off all clothing except my socks, Jumped into the lake headfirst, and swam as quick as possible if not quicker. I grabbed the lake monster's sinking body and dragged it up to the surface. Little did I know that it couldn't leave the water. So I pulled it on shore and it turned into wood. I gave it CPR. Then, I watched in awe as it transformed before my very eyes. No longer was it a hideous, deformed, lump of wood, but now it was a human. He had dark hair and was nude. The human coughed and opened his eyes. "You saved me from the lake!" "Yes. It's my fault though, I hit you with the rock. I'm sorry." "It's okay. You freed me from the lake which I've been trapped in since 1921." "Why were you trapped there?" "I threw my yo-yo into the lake to see a ripple, but it got caught in seaweed and pulled me in. I've been stuck there ever since." I now saw the broken yo-yo string dangling from his finger. "You're welcome for saving your life," I said heroically. I gave him all of my clothing except for my socks, and we walked home together into the sunset.

Mate, I said stop that. >Sorry, I promised I would x You did, you’re incorrigible >Well if you’re going to encourage (ha ha) me, then I might give in and make you a ‘mate with benefits’ lol Hmmmmmm >When you say Hmmmm, I’m not sure if that is “Hmmm I’m not sure whether I like you saying that” or Hmmmmmmm “that’s nice” lol. I’ll take a risk on the later. I’m trying not to fall for this again. >Again, lol. Well how can I help it if I when I close my eyes I can smell your perfume, feel your breathe on my cheek, taste the saltiness of your skin... it’s so vivid it’s tangible. I wish. Are you saying that I’m sweaty? Lol >You will be, he he. If I have my way. No really, I would be soo gentle with you, taking all the time that you would allow me. Do you know what? I do feel really close to you! But not as close as the taxi I have sent to you and is waiting outside now. Go on, throw caution to the wind, jump in for the ride of your life!!! Well a short drive to my hotel anyway. And don’t worry, I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I have everything here that you might need. Just do it, open your door, get in the cab and come to me. OMG, you said, you promised you would never turn up. >I haven’t, my driver has. :-) See you soon?? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm - OK xx >Boing ….. xxx Mike paced the room over and over again checking that he had covered for every eventuality. “What if Sharon does just want to just have a quick drink and a chat”, he thought. “that’s fine, that’s what I promised her anyway, after all, we are trying to be mates, huh, friends, Mike said to himself, whilst all along knowing, hoping, that when they got together the chemistry he so clearly felt, the likeminded flirty thoughts they enjoyed sharing during their text messaging, would bubble up and become a physical reality. The 8 minutes 30 seconds that it took for Sharon to be driven to the hotel seemed like an eternity. The sudden knock at the door made him jump and made his heart race. Oh god, he thought, is this a good idea? She might take one look at me and realise that fantasy is one thing, reality is another? Calm down, calm down, deep breathes, he told himself out load. Taking a final look around the room to make sure that it was not overly romantic or too presumptuous in its setting, Mike walked to the door and peeped through the spyhole. Oh god, there she is, even more gorgeous in the flesh than he had remembered. With his knees like jelly, his head spinning and his insides all gooey :-), Mike opened the door. Hi, said Sharon, her face warming to a soft crimson colour. This only served to enhance her beauty, drawing Mikes gaze to her bright, deep and smiling eyes. Trying to say hello back, Mike, stammered and in turn felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Come in, I’m really glad you were brave enough to accept my invitation” he eventually managed say. Attempting a polite air kiss to the side of Sharon’s cheek, Mike tripped on her foot and clumsily stumbled forward pressing her against the corridor wall. For the briefest of moments the friends looked deep into each other’s eyes, allowed a small sigh, of what could have been pleasure, to escape them, before bursting into a fit of laughter and giggles. To be continued….

You might think this is a normal day with a normal routine, but I can't stop thinking about last night. She was amazing. It took me back a bit thinking about the smell of her hair as it wafted through the room, and the sound of her laugh as she giggled at my terrible jokes. I feigned disinterest as to not appear desperate, but I thought she was perfect. I don't know why I can't get her off my mind today. My breakfast was rather uneventful as I walked into Mary's Dine & Dash and sat down at my usual spot with my usual fixings waiting for me. Jenna knew I was always in exactly at 8:25AM on the dot and she knew how to keep a customer happy. I didn't see her in the diner today which struck me as a bit odd. I figured she must have gotten busy and had to step out for a few minutes and that I would wait for her to get back so we could have are usual discussion about how I should be watching this new amazing show that I had never heard of because of this that or the other spoiler that she felt like dropping in my lap that morning. No one seemed to take notice of me at the counter to clear my plate away after I finished. I chalked it up to the busier than normal morning and sat for a few more minutes waiting on Jenna. The time was approaching 8:50 so I had to be on my way unfortunately missing Jenna this morning. I left a larger than normal tip hoping that if she was having a difficult morning that a little extra cash may irk out a smile on her face and put her back in a lovely mood. Her father had been recently moved into a retirement community so I felt that she must still be stressed about finances. I yelled back to Laurence, "Tell Jenna I said I missed her this morning and I was sorry I had to head out before she got back". No reply back from Ren as I walked out the door. I couldn't help but shake the strange feeling lingering about in my mind as I slipped back into thinking about last night. Her red lingerie and ruby lipstick were such perfect accents to her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair. I can't help but feel that I should text her, but what would I even say to her? "Sorry, I was trying to act uninterested to stop myself from groping you until the sun rose" I chuckled to myself slightly as I remembered my friends advice about inappropriate comments. Laura was an absolute bombshell babe and I still can't believe that she even gave me the time of day at the bar. I sure was one lucky guy last night. "Jake you're five minutes late. Get your ass in here already." Yelled my boss. Sure glad he didn't see me sneak in behind Jake. I wasn't in the mindset to get yelled at by anyone. No one could disrupt this feeling of pure bliss surrounding me today. I must have been in a heavenly daze for most of the morning because no one stopped by for their report deadlines or time sheets. At least I hope they didn't stop by and ignore me due to my glazed over eyes and grin on my face. I really do have a problem today. Taking a walk down stairs to grab a cup of coffee should help bring me back into the moment. Lunch was what I'd come to expect from the cafeteria. No one talked and all the motions were very automated. "Next please" repeated over and over while people shuffled through the line. It was almost melodic with the various noises of everyone's shoes smacking the linoleum floor. Unfortunately nothing looked appetizing today as I strolled through the sandwich section. Normally I pick up a chicken salad sandwich with a grape cup side, but today nothing looked all that appealing. I guess I'm still full from breakfast. I walked around the lobby for a little bit admiring the plastic assortment of potted plants and overly shiny plaques with minor accomplishments listed for the employees to pass the time. An idea popped into my head walking around. I have to call Laura even if I come off as desperate, because lets face it, I am. I sent her a text after she didn't pick up asking if she would be available to meet me at my house later to grab some coffee. The rest of the day flew by with little effort on my part. I am going to be incredibly busy tomorrow trying to catch up with everything I missed today. I should be fine as long as no one pulls up a report from last Friday. One slacker day shouldn't be an issue I thought. The end of the work day arrived and I still had not heard back from her breaking my confidence a bit. I knew I shouldn't have contacted her so soon is the only thing that crossed my mind as I walked home. I saw a couple of my neighbors on the way home leaving our apartment building. They seemed very busy because neither even looked up at me as I walked past them into the entry way. They didn't seem nearly as happy as they normally are which I found a little weird. I hope nothing happened to them. My neighbors are such great people generally, but today they just seemed a little to dreary. I proceeded up the stair well into my hall way to be abruptly met by yellow police tape and 4 officers talking to my neighbors. I scream, "holy fuck what happened!" No one even flinched at me yelling down the hallway. Needless to say I am rather frantic at this point that I can't imagine what was stolen from me while I was at work. I get closer to the cops and try to interject, "What happened" to no reply. I throw my arms up in disgust as I walk into my apartment. Everything looks to be in order. My television is on from last night which I swore I turned off, but I guess it completely slipped my mind. Kenny Wilson was discussing the top headlines and briefly showed pictures of a "Murder that rocked the block" when I noticed that they have pictures of what appears to be my room with a blue body bag on the floor. The only thing that crossed my mind in that moment was that I didn't kill her. My heart sank and I realized I didn't have an alibi for where I was last nigh. I walked into my room to see if this is all a bad dream. There's the blood all over the sheets. There are the little yellow evidence markers everywhere. My life is over. No jury is ever going to believe that I didn't kill Laura. She was too beautiful, and I am far to average. Who am I kidding I am below average on a good day. I collapsed on my bed and began to cry uncontrollably at the tragic loss of Laura and the inevitable incarceration of myself became a reality. I heard footsteps leading back to my room so I tried to compose myself a little bit and get myself ready for the harsh reality of prison. "This is where you found the body?" the police officer said. I couldn't see who the officer was talking to, but whoever it was must be rather petite. "Yes" and then loud sobbing began to emanate from around the corner. "Clara is that you?" I asked. There was no response again from the officer or the person crying. "I just saw him yesterday at our parents house, and everything was fine" said a young woman. That's definitely Clara and I can't take the suspense anymore. "Nothing has changed since yesterday Clara. Everything is still fine". Still they are completely ignoring me like I am the scum of the Earth for killing Laura. I would be scum if I committed such a horrible crime. I don't blame them for ignoring me. I hear my parent's voices crack through the house as they yell out to Clara in the hallway. In unison all three begin crying. I feel like shit at this point because they all know exactly what this looks like. I killed a beautiful young woman in some fit of psycho rage or whatever the lawyers will say as they hang me in front of a jury. I am about to ruin my parents lives and my sisters life all because I have no alibi. Mom let out a whimper I could barely hear, "He was too young to die". Too young? He? This doesn't make sense there wasn't a guy who died in here. I am not gay no matter how much Matt wishes I was. I really wish he'd stop telling my parents he'd drag me out of his closet. That's beside the point here. Who died in my room then? This isn't making sense anymore. "I'm going to miss Justin to much" said Clara. "I know sweety, he was a good brother to you" whimpered my mom. This is just too weird. "Hey mom, dad, Clara I am right here. What kind of sick joke are you playing on me?" Again no response. I go for a Wet Willy on Clara. As soon as my hand reaches her ear it poofs into some sort of smoke. I pull back my hand instantly to have it immediately reform. I attempt to ruffle my sisters frizzy hair. Again my hand fizzles out and reappears as I move it away. This is getting a little too weird for me. After listening to their conversation a little longer the harsh realization that they are talking about me finally sets in. With a forceful harrumph, "I'm dead aren't I". A voice from behind me said, "Yes darling, you are." I went to turn around and no one was there. "You can hear me? What happened?" I said with a bit of panic in my voice. "You're dead silly, your body broke when a knife went through your skull.", said the disembodied voice. "That's really unfortunate for me I guess. At least I don't have to worry about that whole prison thing anymore". "You're right about that." , said the voice as a dark shadow began to appear in front of me. "What's next?" I asked unabashedly. "Jump" was the last word I heard from the strange voice before I was enveloped by the darkness. I don't know where I am, and I don't really know what I am now. The one thing that I do know is that someone sure does need to turn on the lights. Just as I thought about lights a small pin point of light flows through an opening on a wall. I turned around to see a projection of what appeared to be my birth on the wall. My parents look and sound so happy to have me. The exact opposite of the moment I just experienced before the shadow. "Enjoy the show" echoed through the room as a highlight real of my life began playing before me.

Life is one road block after another. The trick is to maneuver around them. When all else fails, just drive over them. Sure, most of them you can't drive over, but continue smashing your life against them until the engine explodes and you are expelled in pieces all over the road. That way, you can say you made a statement about life. Also, when someone has to come and pick up your guts and excrement off the road, you can think from beyond the grave "Ha Ha! I did that! Sucker! Boooooo." And then you can drive off in your cloud car. *Risk* You will never achieve anything unless you take risks. That doesn't mean you will achieve great things, it just means you will be kinda bored without risks. For instance, if you jump on a landmine to save a bunch of your friends, you are risking death, but if the landmine doesn't explode, you will survive and be a hero. And for what? Because of a technical error that some terrorist made. You didn't really do anything but take a risk. Then you get home from the war and everyone applauds you and you feel great. But then your cable goes out because of another technical error and you think "Oh, the irony." But it's not really ironic and you're just sitting there calling Comcast and bitching, then someone throws a grenade at you and you die. And for what? *Birthdays* Birthdays only come once a year, and that's good. If they came more than that there'd be some people that could drink at like nine years old and that would be bad. Or, like some people could get sent off to war at age six. There'd be this drunk nine year old on the battlefield just because he had three birthdays a year. And then that kid gets shot to death and everyone decides to dumb down the birthdays. The President proclaims "No more multiple birthdays - not on my watch!" And everyone cheers and the President is like better than Abraham Lincoln for all the children he saved. Then he goes home and cracks a beer and feels a little empty about life. So, then he runs naked on the White House lawn and everyone thinks he's crazy. Then another President comes along and reinstates multiple birthdays and everyone is happy all over again. That's how the world works. Seriously. It's stupid. The world is stupid. Plus birthdays. *Cell Phones* It's weird how everyone talks on cell phones now. And a lot of the time they will use Bluetooth and it will look like they are talking to themselves. Then you start thinking they are crazy. But then you realize they are on Bluetooth: they are just talking to their friend. But then you think about all the homeless people you saw before Bluetooth and how you thought they were crazy and it turns out they were just innovators and had Bluetooth before anyone. Then you think about why homeless people would have Bluetooth before anyone when they have no money. Then you get a wise idea and quit your job thinking you will acquire future technology somehow by being homeless. But you don't. And you say all of this out loud and people think you're crazy, but then you tap your ear and say Bluetooth. That's probably the cleverest thing you have ever done. Be proud. *Sorrow* Losing someone is very painful. A good thing to do is dress up in clown makeup for a good month. People will let it go, because you lost someone special. They will think that you are having a hard time and are trying to cope. But in truth, you are having the time of your life and learning new card tricks. Then start stealing from people. You can get away with this for a good month. Ride it. *Asia* Asia is like a major big deal. It's a continent, but it's like really big. I think it's the biggest one. But then I think that I'm wrong and that it's one of those tricks where someone pulls down their pants and exposes themselves to you and says "No, Antarctica is the biggest continent." And then you feel stupid. And violated. And lied to. Turns out Asia is the biggest continent and you just got flashed - now you really feel bad. Anyway, Asian people come from Asia. And I think panda bears live there. Vietnam might be there. Yep. It is. That's Asia, baby. *Computers* Back in the olden days people thought that computers would like take over the world. Like they would be in front of everyone and just kinda brainwash them into reading stupid things all day and dressing stupid and caring about stupid things and then becoming totally stupid and worthless. I guess we showed them! *Love* Love is a tricky emotion. It can get you into a lot of hot water. Like when you love someone and they don't love you back and you get all mad and dress a bunch of squirrels up in rat costumes and let them lose in their house and then when they get mad, you pull off the costumes and show them that they are really just adorable squirrels, but then the squirrel bites you and you involuntarily fling the squirrel against the wall and break its head open and then you have these charges against you that make it sound like you enjoy crushing dead squirrels against walls as some message to an ex girlfriend about how you are going to get her, Judge. *Boredom* Boredom can get the best of us. You're just sitting around watching TV and it dawns on you that you are bored. You think about all the things you can do and none of them sound appealing. So you kinda just move into a different position on the couch and that quells your boredom for a second, but then it comes back. You think about getting up and going for a jog and this makes you laugh because you are 394 pounds and can barely get up, but you made yourself laugh so now you are not bored. But then you get over the joke that is your awful body and you are bored again. So, you reach behind the couch and grab one of the hoagie sandwiches you keep back there and you start eating it. But you eat too fast and you are bored again. So, then you get drunk and that fixes it until after you wake up and you're bored again. Boredom is a vicious cycle is what I'm saying. *Garage Sales* If you ever throw a garage sale, check to make sure you aren't selling gold for super cheap. Like you might think that that nine ounce ball of gold is useless, but it's not - it's gold. It's worth a lot of money. You can sell it for more than the nickle you are asking for. But, if I come by, you can sell it to me for a nickle. Just joking. I wouldn't do that to you. I would tell you it was gold. But then I'd kinda expect that you'd sell it and give me some of the money because that's prospecting on my part. *Divorce* There is nothing more unnatural and unholy than divorce. If you get a divorce you have failed at love. You should feel bad about divorce, you love murderer. *Winning* Winning is not everything. There are other things besides winning. Like scabies, grass, furniture, etc. I could go on all day. *Hatred* Hatred is actually a very maligned feeling. It can be a good thing. You can really get your energy up by hating people and then go for a good long hate jog. Or, eat a really big hoagie sandwich with all your hate fueling your jaws. But you should never take your hate out on other people. That is hateful. You don't want to be hateful, you want to be hatefueled. *Jealousy* An important thing to think about the next time you are jealous of someone is that whatever they have someone else has more of and the only person with everything is God. Can you be jealous of God? Sure you can. And God is way easier to attack, so you can just go out and start kicking trees and stepping on worms and know that you are hurting God and that hurt will trickle down to whomever you are jealous of. It might take awhile, though, so pack a lunch.

Like a thousand muffled gunshots, thick drops of summer rain pelted the rusting corrugated roof of Lee's garage. It sat twenty yards from the main house and within it's walls' embrace, he sat alone, in his favorite chair, holding a nearly empty glass of scotch in his hand, the slowly fading agony of another day his only company for the evening. He pondered his place amidst the black. Innumerable suns across an endless expanse of space and and he imagined his mind and soul adrift amongst them. He reveled in their luminescence, his disembodied spirit as far apart from the world in which he reluctantly resided as they themselves were from each other. He felt the truth of their divinity as he imagined their radiant heat slowly reaching out to kiss his cheek and cradle him as if he was their newborn. In this moment this was his truth. He was a product of eternal supernovae. He traveled to the furthest reaches of time and space. The end of everything echoed its birth and fed into itself as the ouroboros feeds upon its own tail. The ecstatic splendor of release washed over his soul as he witnessed a billion billion candles extinguished by the breath of the infinite. Conception is the catalyst of decay and the degradation of the quantum is the conception of the successor. It was not big. There was no bang. An emphatic bursting wave of particles reaching for its mother's arms set the stage for the universe's newest performance. Floods of radiation made their way from end to end and creation is forced to breathe the next first breath. He continued on his journey through the heavens, apart from all earthly bounds. Time, he now realized, was a mere figment of constrained human perception, and with his physical being light years away, he began to see the scope of his transcendence through the eyes of God. In his image we were formed, or so it was said, and the connection between birth and death as represented by the cosmic cycles proved this true. This grand scale of structure, this repeating pattern of nebulous design evolving into shape and purpose, this...this was the true face of God. From the death of the behemoth to the scattering elements discharged by it's demise, we arose. No eyes could perceive the revelation Lee was inheriting. His sight was beyond his eyes and for the first time, he was alive without any attempt to justify or describe. The words were far away. Perhaps they still resided with his brain which mirrored the great cosmic web. Each exploding star alike as anything to the firing of a neuron carrying information from one place to another, a new idea springing to life at it's arrival. This was grace. This was creation. This was God. His essence brimmed with certainty and his soul recharged, his pilgrimage was nearing it's end. With new life's origins observed, the weightlessness of the sentient affirmed, and his mortal pain aquiescing to the divine, he moved forward through the deep, transversing the ramparts that divided the alpha and omega, and as the threshold was crossed, he found himself back at the start of everything. It was not big. There was no bang. The outward expansion propelled him forward into the quickly filling void, toward his sun, toward his world, and returned him in gentle grace to his physicality, which remained safe and unoccupied in the comfort of his favorite chair. As the body and soul reunited, the newly imparted purpose permeated his slowly returning senses. His eyes remained closed and his hearing faded in. He experienced the same plummeting rain drops upon his roof, but to his surprise, each chaotically positioned hit spoke to him deeply. Something so small and expected, something so well known and remembered, something so mundane, he realized was at the heart of everything. Every atom in all the heavens shared something huge. They were all born from a single point, they lived in harmony and purpose amongst each other, and they would all end in the same point of energy from which they sprang. He opened his eyes and saw the world for the first time.

She had always thought that stars were, in reality, huge balls of fire that only appeared sweet and twinkly due to their immense distance. Perhaps she was right. Being at the top of her class, she probably knew. But these little orbs of light, flitting around her ankles and through her fingertips, were right here, flying with her. She couldn’t help but smile. They guided her in flight, making sure she was light as a feather, as a fairy even. Down below, the city was a maze of buildings with small, yellow orbs of their own peeking through the windows. Looking about her, she realized she could stay here forever. If she closed her eyes, she could concentrate on the soft tickle of her stars on her face like freckles and the cool breeze combing through her hair. Was there more free a place than this? Suddenly there was a slight change in atmosphere, something she couldn’t quite remember after it had happened, but a change nevertheless. She opened her eyes. Below, the city had been replaced with breathtakingly beautiful mountains that scooped down into a golden sandy beach with a jungle in between and a crystal clear lagoon to the side. The sky began to dance in between colors, blue and pink, purple and orange, as the sun slowly climbed the mountains. She heard a crow from somewhere below. And she knew Peter was waiting for her. That was the farthest she had ever gone before waking up.

Kavan Rhodes sat slumped awkwardly in the pendulous base of The SunMachine, swaddled in cloth and spongey protection foams. Outside the rays of the dying star had faded and the chattering things that had clustered about the hull, unseen, had fallen silent, or so it seemed. A warning light clicked and pleaded for his attention competing with the storage chest which nuzzled up against his plump thigh, purring. In spite of the attention he was receiving from the various appliances and servitor droids, and the flashy warning bulbs that blinked with ever more urgency, Kavan ignored them content as he was to play with the tiny, fairie like things that had decided to make their home just a few feet away from his eyes, and which, no matter where he drifted, accompanied him with little musical odes and ditties. He tried to proclaim that the larger of the 2 resembled his wife, the one with the antennae and the particularly bulbous head. But his tongue had long since disolved and his mouth opened and closed like a fishy gaping for air. And as the last vestiges of the light disappeared over the horizon Kavan was finally joined by Jonty, (his Golden Retriever who existed only in his mind but who hopefully would exist in the future), Dorothy (his mother), Sammut (his close friend who had died recently in a reactor fire) and Moetep (An ancient demon who also acted as the Avatar of the late George Bernard Shaw) and they strummed and played mysterious instruments as the air ran out.

“Five” I look down. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Blankness. Darkness. You might as well have replaced everything below me by a black hole and I wouldn’t have noticed a thing. I look back up. I squint my eyes and put my hands up to try and cover my face. It doesn’t work. There’s not much you can see, with all the brightness surrounding you, like a million blazing lights have been shifted towards you. “Four” Mostly, it’s because that’s precisely what has happened. My mind running in a throusand different directions, I control myself and bring myself to the current. This moment. This is what matters, especially if I want to stay alive for more than three and a half seconds now. I refocus myself, and try to pull up every last piece of memory that could prove beneficial here. “Three” It isn’t working fast enough. I keep trying to speed myself up, but there’s little you can do without infinite time. Even me. I drudge on. There’s a certain methodicalness to this; one that I haven’t known since fifth grade. You pick up information, you store in in your brain like it’s the most important thing in the world, and then you try to retrieve it when you need it. Its a lot like arranging your room. “Two” Except, I never got around to arranging mine. It’s chaos all over, turning over clothes to find what you need, and ransacking the place upside down just for that one crucial object. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the room has been already robbed. But now that I do, it’s just the natural state of things at work. A chaotic swirl of things and you at the middle of everything, trying to get a heading of where to go. “One” Time is running short, and I really need to get going. Well, only if I want to see the light of the next day. Or meet him again. It’s been a while since the two of us had one of those nice long chats where we’d plan to revolutionize the world within a week. Well, at least, I planned while he chatted on. A knowing smirk at the folly of yesteryears crosses my face. I can’t help but think of how mad I was. How mad I still am. Everyday when... I find the memory that I need. No time to think. I take in a deep breath... “Zero” .. and jump.

Very first story, give me any feedback and be brutally honest if necessary. Enjoy! It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine in just a little while, just wait. I sit here in bed, in my room. My dark, quiet, still room. Nothing can be heard in this tiny room. I sit up on my bed and realize that I can’t see a single thing in front of me. It’s like I’m not here. I reach my hand out and drift it from side to side, hoping maybe it would bump into something, feel anything. Nothing. I’m starting to feel dizzy. As far as I know there are two things left in this room, my phone and this bottle. Both lying in my lap. I pick up my phone and turn it on. The screen light bursts into the room, ricocheting off of every wall revealing a shadowy silhouette of everything in my room. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the light. I squint and see that the number is still dialed. I know who waits on the other side. The only person left that would hear me, the only person I know that would drop the world for me is just waiting on the other side of one button. I could call, I could talk and talk, and maybe they would come visit me. They would come in, sweep me off my feet and drive me away to a better place. A place with smiling faces in every room. Everybody there will be dressed in white and everyone will want to know how my day was, how I’m feeling. I’ll be do distracted by my new friends that I’ll never be here again. I sit and stare into the darkness, smiling at my fantasies. But that’s all they are, fantasies. Maybe, on another night they could become my reality, but it’s far too late tonight. I put down my phone, the light goes off, and I’m swallowed up by the darkness of my room. I pick up my bottle. Contents half gone, the dizziness is really kicking in now. I knew it would be okay. Just a little while longer now, and it’ll be even better. I look at my bottle, and consider finishing it off. I twist the cap off just as a slight tingling zips through my entire body, even dizzier now. I decide against it and put the bottle back on the bed in front of me, next to my phone. My eyes have readjusted to the darkness, I stare into the darkness and see nothing. It’s as if I’m already asleep, but I can still hear myself think. I lay down and wait for my eyes to close, but my thoughts have me wired, wide-eyed, wide awake. My mind starts to race and my head starts spinning. Is this what I wanted? I want to fall asleep, but it’s not coming fast enough and the pain becomes too much bare, excruciating. I start to kick and twist in my bed. I hear myself whimpering into the empty room. I roll off the bed and am followed by my phone and still open bottle. I hit the ground with a thump, and I hear the pills from the bottle scattering all over the floor. “GOD!” I shriek aloud. My voice echoes around the room and falls flat after a moment. The pain subsides, and euphoria sets in. It’s quiet again. God, a fantasy I haven’t believed in for a while now. Heaven too. Where are God and Heaven at a time like this? I don’t need to find Jesus. That’s what everyone thought I needed, Jesus. I don’t have time for someone who isn’t here. I needed someone real, I need someone now. The euphoric feeling overwhelms my entire body. I can’t feel a thing anymore. I can’t feel my head spinning, my heart pounding or my limbs aching. I can only see and hear, and I see and hear nothing, still. It’s quiet and dark. Serenity like I’ve never experienced. I can't tell if its fantasy or reality. Finally, I’m going to fall asleep. My eyelids start to drop, but a light bursts into the room, ricocheting off the ceiling and dimly exposing the floor where I lay. I see my phone lying face up on the floor by my feet. I muster up any strength left in my deadened arms and drag my body around to see who is calling. I swirl my head around to where my feet were and gaze through hazy eyes at the screen. I can barely make it out on my phone screen: “CALLING". Below that: “911”. I can barely hear the ringing on the other side of the line, where that one person left in the world will be waiting for my response when they pick up, my plea for help. My vision and hearing start to fade to black and nothingness, and I fall asleep. I open my eyes and I see a bright light. A shadowy silhouette stands in a background of white, but I can’t hear what he or she is saying. Everything is hazy, almost misty, and I squint to make out what is before me, but to no avail. I can’t tell who this person is, but at least there’s someone here with me.

"It can't be done without a dragonist!" an angry voice says. "It can't be done!" Well, it seems like that was the end of my well-earned nap. The tent walls are thin, so I can hear the field commander outside, pleading to my CO, begging for permission to use my... services. My boss is not giving in. "A dragonist is a terrible weapon, comrade," he says. "I would rather win this battle without using that... thing than with it." My boss knows full well that I can hear him, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't care. He didn't get his job because of his fantastic people skills. Neither did I, come to think of it. "As you say, sir. Though as it stands, we are not going to win at all. The Ootumlians have better plasma rifles, and more men to carry them." I can practically hear my chief thinking, then nodding, on the other side of the rough cotton, followed by the sound of heavy boots. A gust of warm autumn wind enters my tent. "Comrade Equ. Field commander Dobrov here has a job for you." He doesn't sound as if I have much to say in the matter. If Dobrov had only been a little more clear about exactly where this job was to take place. He hadn't been. Apparently, our ground forces are now fighting in the easternmost district of town, while the base camp is in the west. It's a four mile trek, over nice boulevards and through tiny little parks where the leaves have just started to turn exactly the right shade of yellow. On a nice day, the stroll would have been just marvelous. With my heavy dragonist backpack on, it's absolute torture. When we reach our destination, Dobrov finally speaks up. "Here's the problem. Ootumlian forces have taken the old fortress. You know, the one our king used to live in before the war." He looks up for a moment, stares at me and seems to interpret my well-rehearsed stoic grimace as a look of confusion. "The one up on the hill over there?" At this point, Dobrov actually starts pointing. By Jove, the field commander really is an imbecile. Our country only has one fortress, and it's the highest part of the city. I struggle to keep the grimace on my face. The poor fool soldiers on. "Anyway... according to our intel, there are about fifty tangos in there. We want you to take care of them." Ah, and there it is. That's what I'm here for, apparently. A well-defended thirteenth-century castle I'm supposed to clean out entirely. On my own, too, by the sound of it. To be fair, that's usually how it works with dragonists, but it's always a bit strange to waltz up to an enemy encampment with absolutely no backup. Oh well, can't be helped. Dobrov seems to prefer I went right away. I put on my decisive, ready-for-anything face. It's pretty much the same as my stoic grimace, which conveniently halves the time I need to practice in the mirror. The youngest of Dobrov's men have pure, unadulterated admiration written in their faces. The older comrades look suspicious or even hostile. Some are apparently feeling a strange sort of pity for me. The irony of all this is, of course, that none of these men quite know what I do. The Dragon Tactic is one of our military's best-guarded secrets, while at the same time, hearing about it strikes fear into even the bravest men, friend or foe. The Propaganda Bureau really did a great job. The whole country is in awe of a Dragonist's Handbook that only twelve men on this planet have even read. Marvelous. My equipment is still as dreadfully heavy as it was yesterday. I pull on the straps that secure it to my back and start the slow ascent. There has obviously been some fighting going on. Small craters - grenades, I reckon - can be seen all around the foot of the hill. Higher up, the most visible damage the battle has done is the appalling state of the fortifications. The ones still standing are riddled with bullet holes. The fortress at the top of the hill looks pristine. Apparently the Ootumlians realized our forces would be reluctant to shoot up his majesty's favorite vacation home, making it immune to enemy fire as long as it was unharmed. Clever move. I'm halfway up the hill when I put down my backpack. I press my thumb against the biometric lock and open her up. It's kind of weird that this, the mobile EMP, a dragonist's most important weapon, is not a weapon at all. It's more of a shield, turning any plasma rifle in the vicinity into an expensive toy, every vehicle into a modern art display - at least, until the battery runs out. Luckily, I remembered to charge it last night. I flip the switch and carry on. The best bit is always the look on their faces. These are the mighty Ootumlia's finest soldiers, armed to the teeth and even better-trained. On a good day, one of their plasma snipers can hit a moving target from a mile away - while eating a sandwich with the other hand. Sadly for the castle's new inhabitants, though, today is not a good day, at least not if you're an Ootumlian. I see a shimmer in one of the many windows, but no shot follows. I imagine the sniper cursing at his weapon and can't suppress a smirk. By the time I reach the castle's front gates, I see more faces. The man behind the obviously locked gate points his gun at me - probably hoping I'm not aware it's about as dangerous as a wooden stick, thanks to my backpack. He wants to know why I'm here. I smile my sweetest smile (I practiced that one as well) and say that I'm just here to talk. It's not even a lie. Not really. "Gentlemen," I say to my audience. Fifty men in all, every one of them scared or confused, or both. Good. I'll take scared and confused over determined every day of the week. "Before we begin, I would like to confess that I have never been to Ootumlia. I only know about your country's beautiful forests from pictures on postcards. Your immense and wealthy cities I have only seen on the news. I managed to deduce from a map that you must have terrific mountain ranges - stunningly pretty, I'm sure." A few nods from the crowd. "Which leads me to wonder. Why are you here?" "You might have joined the army because you didn't know anything better. Your teachers, parents, friends, neighbours... they have, without a doubt, told you how good, how sweet and fitting it is to pick up a plasma rifle. In the end, you had a choice: follow the path of least resistance, or resist them. You had the freedom, the possibility, to take a real job. You chose to become killers instead. Is that truly honorable?" "Maybe you actually joined to make this world a better place. I ask of you: are you doing that now? My country is in a worse shape then when you arrived here. Your republic has immense riches and countless palaces - our kingdom has one fortress, and you are standing in it right now. Any riches we might have had were taken from us. Your country is like a dragon, hoarding gold, turning poor countries like ours into barren nothingness in its wake. I ask again. Is that honorable?" "When you get home, you will be awarded medals. Speeches will be held in your honor. You will feel like heroes - for a while. Until the day you realize that you burned, pillaged and utterly destroyed our little country for all the wrong reasons, and got awarded much too little in return. You are dragons, or worse, the lackeys of the dragon. You are not heroes." "Tomorrow, one of my comrades will lead a charge for this castle. If you win, you will have won over a gaggle of underfed, badly armed and untrained teenagers. If you lose, you will have lost to the same. I am offering you the only honorable way out, and I suggest you take it. All of you." On the way down I pick up my backpack. It feels lighter going downhill, although that could also be the rush of a job well done. By tomorrow morning, Dobrov's bravest men will probably check out the castle. They will find the bodies, all dead, all poisoned, but no killer, no sign of a struggle, and no weapon - perpetuating, of course, the myth of the dragonists. Their air samples will come back clean, and the Geiger counters will stay silent. I chuckle when I realize they'll probably trudge up the hill in full hazmat gear for no reason at all. Brilliant. I'm Equ Arma, and I'm a dragonist. This story was inspired by . I hope that you enjoyed reading it, and feedback is more than welcome.

first time writing creatively, constructive criticism is welcome! The Magus Vanguard sent us here on a suicide mission almost half a year ago. We weren’t supposed to make it back, and me and the other cadre mages knew that. We could’ve just left this planet and the Vanguard would’ve just assumed we died, but that was no longer an option. There is a blatant aura of death and hopelessness here, it’s entirely inescapable. I sit here at this campfire near the mouth of a cave so deep, our Cartographer couldn’t find its bottom after him being in a trance for almost a full day. I look at Jack, our last Elementalist, and am about to speak as we all hear the loudest, most terrifying shriek I’ve ever come across in my existence. Gerhardt, our Illusionist, instinctively creates a field of mass invisibility and we all ready ourselves. Silence. After some of the tensest moments we’ve had since arriving on Arcturus IV, Gerhardt dropped the illusion and we all let out a sigh of relief. “Their rituals are becoming stronger.”, said Lance, after reciting a silent prayer in a language none of us could comprehend. He was High Priest once, but power does things to people, and now the Vanguard sent him with us as “penance”, but he knew it would be his last chance to reconcile anything. Of course by “their” he was referring to the Necromancer cult located here. Necromancy was outlawed under the Magician’s Code, but if there’s a rule, there’s someone to break it. These weren’t just some people who experimented with reviving their dead dogs, these people had found ways to bring hellish creatures from the corners of some forsaken dimension into our plane, and even control them at that. The Vanguard had sent us here originally on a reconnaissance mission, simply survey the planet and see if we could ascertain the main area of Necromancer activity. But then we actually arrived. Since space travel was deemed inefficient centuries ago, we now use a form of teleportation, which requires several high-level mages to perform. This isn’t just moving us from one place to another, these mages have to be Time Mages, as well as having a specialization in dimensional manipulation. Essentially, they shrink the space between us and our destination, and then we appear where we wanted to go. That itself went perfectly fine when we went to Arcturus, but it’s what happened after that that got us stuck here. The arrival couldn’t have been a worse catastrophe. We’d been on the ground for barely fifteen minutes, and then the Necromancers appeared. Of course, the people themselves were no issue, it was their grotesque monstrosities. We were fifty mages strong, give or take a few support units. This should’ve just been an unwelcome surprise, we’d deal with it and be on our way. These… things don’t have an end, once a portal to their realm is opened, it takes an obscene amount of energy to close it. Of course, we didn’t know these little intricacies at the time. To us, these were just some generic hellspawn that we’d read about in our books. Our first line of Elementalists created jagged rock formations to slow the beasts, while those behind them readied their flame barrages. As the horde neared us, I heard what I thought was the crash of thunder above us, but I was dreadfully mistaken. Another portal, just like the one at the crest of the hill some meters ahead of us, opened in the sky almost exactly over our division. Tendrils the size of tree trunks shot down at us, and the front line we had hoped to maintain was broken. Chaos ensued. As our Psychic, part of my job was to keep soldier morale up, whether it should be or not. I cast a blanket spell of bloodlust over the remaining soldiers. “Fight on, men! Show them what the Seventh Division is made of!”, I barked as the soldiers’ screams of fury intensified. It wasn’t enough. Mages were falling left and right, and I knew that we could no longer put up a legitimate fight. I had our remaining several elementalists ignite the field we were, barely giving us enough time to run into the low foothills behind us and hopefully find somewhere to hide. Now it’s just about six months later, and I’ve only received one message from the Vanguard since we arrived. Something about accepting death with honor, and how they refuse to retrieve us due to the volatile nature of the Necromancers and their beasts. I’ve accepted that there’s next to no chance of return, but what really strikes fear into me is that I don’t know how long we can survive.

Joel raised his hand and pointed at his glass until the bartender walked over. Joel lowered his hand and muttered, “another,” drunkenly. The bartender let out a long sigh as he turned around to pour him another glass of whiskey. Joel was sitting at the end of a long empty wooden bar burying himself in sorrow. The bar was an old dive bar that had seen better days. This was his seventh glass and it didn't seem like he was ready to stop anytime soon. Joel gazed at his empty glass blankly while the chatter of the few people in the booths behind him droned on outside of his bubble. The bartender turned back around and planted Joel’s drink in front of him while simultaneously taking his empty glass away. Joel kept blankly staring at the same spot on his new glass of whiskey like he didn't even notice the other glass was gone. The bartender ran some water into the glass he picked up as he turned his head to look Joel. “Rough night?” asked the bartender with a bit of a New York accent. “Long story,” replied Joel. He kept blankly staring at his glass. “You've been sittin’ here all night drinkin’ the same shitty whiskey.” Joel looked up at him. The bartender was an older man in his sixties. “So?” “I’m no expert but that sounds like a cry for help,” replied the bartender. “Why do you care?” Joel replied a little irritated. “Because bartenders are like low grade therapists”. The bartender chuckled as Joel went back to staring at his drink. “C’mon you can vent at me, I promise you I've heard it all before. Plus it’s pretty dead in here so I got time to listen,” said the bartender. Joel managed to quietly slur something out while still staring at his drink, “My friend committed suicide.” “Wow that’s rough”, replied the bartender, “My uncle committed suicide as well a little while back and I didn't know how to deal with it either”. Joel grabbed his glass and threw down the entire drink spilling a little bit on his shirt and jeans. As the whiskey flowed over the many bumps and ridges of his mouth, Joel couldn’t help but think about the lake that his family and his friend, Aaron’s family, would visit every weekend back when they were younger. It was the same routine every time: shove all of the towels, beach balls, umbrellas, sunscreen, and coolers filled with beer and water in the car for a 45 minute drive to meet each other at a lake in the middle of the woods. While their parents saw it as a time to relax, Joel and Aaron saw it as a time for adventure. They always ended up exploring the same areas like they had never been there before whether it was in the thick woods surrounding the lake or the white rapids near the edge of the lake with the beautiful two story lake houses looking upon it. As the last bit of whiskey washed its way to the back of Joel’s mouth, memories of him and Aaron riding the rapids till they were in calmer waters rushed into his mind. It might be the whiskey, but Joel could only think about the last time they were in the rapids when Aaron hit the side of his head on a rock and almost drowned. Joel, sobbing, had to carry him back to his parents while Aaron’s head leaked blood all over Joel like a faucet that wasn't fully turned off. He was covered in his friend’s blood and didn't know what to do but cry. Joel started feeling like he was back at the edge of the lake with his first and second family. The overwhelming worry and anxiety washed over him with a cold shiver. The only thing he could hear was the screaming voice in his head blaming him for what happened. A lump of guilt sat in the background behind his other emotions growing bigger and bigger edging on the voice in his head. After that, he felt more responsible and protective of Aaron like he was his own brother. Joel’s focus was interrupted by the bartender trying to pry a story out of him. “Another”, Joel said barely acknowledging what the bartender said. The bartender let out another sigh as he grabbed Joel’s glass and turned around to pour him a fresh one. Joel went back to gazing at the empty space where his glass used to be. A few seconds later one of the guys from the booths behind him sat down next to him. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend”, said the guy. Joel sat quietly still fixated on the bar. “I’m sorry to interrupt you but my name is Trey and I work at a drug company that is currently working on a new antidepressant pill”. “Good for you”, slurred Joel. “Well I was wondering if maybe you might be interested in joining our drug trial. We finally got cleared to do human testing and you sound like the perfect person to join”. The bartender put Joel’s drink down in front of him. “Well if you feel like joining, take this.” He placed a white capsule down on the bar next to Joel. “And give me a call in the morning,” he said, placing a white card with his name and phone number on it next to the capsule. Joel sat quietly. Trey got up to leave. “I hope your night gets better,” he said while turning around to leave. Joel looked up at Trey leaving, then at the bartender cleaning empty glasses, then at the capsule and the card. He slowly turned his head back to his drink and let out a long sigh. He grabbed his drink and downed the entire thing. Then everything went black. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * As the blinds cracked open and the white light intensified so did the stinging pain in the back of his head. A slight ringing sound slowly filled his head as he woke up more and more. Joel let out a muffled groan as he clenched his eyes shut as tight as he could; the light was too much for him at the moment. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly as he cracked his eyes open just a little bit to let them adjust as the ringing grew louder little by little. He groaned again. The pain in his head felt like a tiny needle poking at the back of his brain and it was steadily getting worse. While his eyes were adjusting he tried to sit up using his arm as a prop. An intense grogginess smacked him in the face when he sat up fully. The ringing wasn't helping at all. He glanced around the room he was in to make sure he was home in his own room. He was safely at home in his own bed; he sighed with relief. The ringing in his head started to fade away. After a second or two he had a puzzling feeling that something was off about the way his room looked. He took one more glance around to make sure everything was where he had left it, and paused when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung on his closet door on the other side of the room. He stared at himself from his bed trying to figure out what was wrong with the way his reflection looked. The ringing in his head slowly faded away. He pulled the covers off of him, planted his feet on the floor, and tried to push himself up. He sat there on the side of his bed still in his shirt and jeans from last night trying to find the energy to get up. He made it halfway and then fell back onto his bed. A rush of dizziness filled his head and he felt sick. He shook his head and tried again. As he hoisted himself off of his bed the pain in his head got worse and worse the more he moved. Joel stumbled forward a little as he tried to steady himself to move towards his mirror. His eyes were still fixed on his reflection as he shuffled his feet along the floor to the mirror. He stretched his hand out to the wall next to the mirror to help him steady himself as he tried to assess what was wrong with his reflection. The closer he got to the mirror the clearer he could see what was wrong; everything in the reflection was full of vibrant colors, from the clothes on the floor to the blue bed sheets that draped off of his bed. He turned around and realized that every color in the room was actually muted and had a dark gray tint to it, even his white walls looked gray. He turned around to look back at the cascade of colors that emanated from the reflection. He was confused but his head was hurting too much to figure out what was wrong so he shuffled his way towards his bedroom door to see what awaited him in his living room. He opened his bedroom door that creaked something awful. Every creak felt like a splinter jabbing into his brain; he shoved the door open as fast as he could to avoid any more. He scanned his living room and found nothing out of place but it was also covered in colors of black, gray, and leather brown. He pushed himself off of the door frame and face planted on his couch. He let out another groan. Joel tried to sit up; he couldn't remember anything from last night except for walking into a bar. He finally got himself to sit up properly and then leaned back in pain. He took a deep breath and leaned forward slowly with his eyes clenched shut while massaging his temples. He sat there for a few seconds enjoying the tiny bits of release from his headache. Joel opened his eyes to something he knew he didn't have in his apartment anymore. A framed photo of his friend Aaron stared back at him from the coffee table in front of him. Joel froze and stared back at it confused and a bit frightened. A chill ran down his spine; he remembered putting that same picture in his grave at his funeral a couple of weeks ago. He rubbed his eyes for a few seconds hoping it would disappear. He opened his eyes and his heart jumped. The picture was still there staring back at him with ashes all around it and a hole clear through where his friends head would have been. Joel was frozen; he could feel his heart racing in his chest. He swiftly pushed the picture to the floor behind the coffee table and breathed heavily staring at the empty spot where the picture used to be. The ash floated and fluttered around the now empty space. Joel was breathless. He stared at the emptiness where the picture was and mustered up a whisper, “I’m sorry…” Joel shook his head and broke his trance, took a deep breath, stood up and leaned over the coffee table to see if the picture was still there. It had vanished. He plopped back down on the couch and saw that the ashes were gone as well. His headache receded behind the adrenaline. He thought he was going crazy and needed to take his mind off of things for a while. He grabbed the remote that sat next to him on the couch and flipped on the TV behind the coffee table. The noise of static filled the room. He changed the channel as static blared out again. He changed the channel again and again, static static static. The channel changed one more time and C-SPAN, the most boring station of all time, came up. Joel stared at the TV befuddled. The camera zoomed into to a bunch of monkeys screaming at each other. Joel quickly turned the TV off not knowing exactly what he just witnessed. He stood up and walked toward his front door, grabbed his jacket that was on the floor, laced up his shoes, and walked out. He needed some air. He pushed open the front door to his apartment building and felt the cool breeze hit his face. He looked up at the stormy gray clouds that swallowed the sky as they swooped and morphed back and forth. Joel walked down the block hoping nothing out of the ordinary would happen. As he walked he couldn't help but notice that the buildings around him looked dilapidated, dirty, and rotting. Each building looked just as worn down as the others. He glanced around confused and scared. The throngs of people passing by him were wearing black, white, and various shades of gray with their heads down as they plotted on. The colors on Joel’s jacket and blue jeans stood out even to him. He kept on walking. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see objects, buildings, and people appear then disappear. The city was almost silent except for the cars passing by. Joel glanced at his office building that was on the other side of the street. It was a tall black building on the corner of an intersection with what looked like tinted windows going all the way up from bottom to top. Several buildings around it looked almost identical. He bumped shoulders with someone else who was walking by and it broke his focus on the building. He stopped to turn back to apologize but all he saw was a blur of gray, black, and white moving directly at him. He turned back to look at his office building, it was gone. A whole skyscraper had just vanished in a millisecond. All that was left was an empty lot filled with dirt and grass. Joel turned around in the flood of people to look at the building behind him. There was a giant billboard on the front that was white except for a spray painted “R3” in red in the middle. He frantically turned back around to where his office building had been but instead there was what looked like a two story home that had taken its place. Joel was terrified; his heart was pounding to the beat of the racing thoughts that circled his head. In the blink of an eye the skyscraper next to it vanished and a big statue of a crying man took its big empty place. Joel felt a tap on his right shoulder and turned his head. He saw the outline of a fist that was inches away from his face, and what looked like a guy with a hood over his head behind it. He felt the force of the fist as it burrowed into him. Darkness washed over him as he fell to the ground.

Personally, I don't think this is the best example of my writing. But my teacher liked it, and I felt like posting something on here. So here we go. - I sat across from the swingset. There’s a boy there. He’s laughing. He’s playing. He’s happy. He ran to the slide. His friends called him. They’re playing Tag. Hide and Seek. Cops and Robbers. They ran to the merry-go-round. They’re playing Spaceman now. He’s blasting off. Snowballs are being thrown, with snow forts as cover. Impenetrable castles, strongholds, citadels to young, effervescent minds. He’s smiling. Laughing. Living. His shaggy brown hair hangs over his blue eyes. His friends tug on the dark strands. Wrestling. Their mothers are talking. His calls for him. It’s time to go. I sat across from the swingset. There’s a boy there. His mother is beside him. “Be careful,” she says. He nods. He looks sad, but the friends call again. He smiles and runs over. The mother walks to the other parents, through a path of budding flowers, green capsules ready to burst from the life inside. The other parents try for conversation, but the boy’s mother is quiet. The boy is laughing. He’s slower. Less energy. The friends notice. So does his mother. She calls for him. It’s time to go. I sat across from the swingset. The boy is there. His mother is beside him. She adjusts his woolen cap and frowns. “Don’t you want to go play?” He shakes his head. His feet dig ditches in the woodchips. She walks back to the other parents, through the now-bloomed wildflowers. Anger flashes through her mind at the thought of something so insignificant living so beautifully. The other parents say nothing to her. Her hair is frizzy. Disheveled. It sticks out here and there. She’s worn out. Exhausted. So is he. His eyelids droop over tired, grey orbs. They’re empty, a thin layer of cloudiness covering them. Haggard. He watches his friends. They don’t notice, or pretend not to. He sighs. His mother comes over and takes his hand. It’s time to go. The other parents begin talking. I sat across from the swingset. My eyes scan the ditches in the woodchips. A quilt of colored leaves lay flattened by young feet, browns and yellows and reds. The friends are there. They’re laughing. They’re playing. They’re happy. The parents are talking. Everyone is smiling. Laughing. Living. The friends are playing Tag. Hide and Seek. Cops and Robbers. They run to the merry-go-round. They’re playing Spaceman. He isn’t.

First i want to say that I'm not a native English speaker so pardon me if I make a few grammar mistakes. Deep inside the woods, lives an old couple in a small house. The old man would go to the town to sell whatever he finds in the woods, he barely make just enough to cover his necessities. One night there was a knock on the door. With his frail hand he unlock the door, there stand a man with a brown coat and holding a black hand bag. "Good evening." Says the man. "who are you might be?" ask the old man in frail voice, he squint his old eyes trying to get a better look at his face. "I am a doctor and I have received your distress letter so I came here as fast as I could." Reply the man. "ahh.. yes yes, please come in, make yourself at home." The old man assist the man to remove his coat then hang it to the coat hanger beside the door. The old man looks worried, he seems focused on something. "My wife, she has been sick for years and I already called a lot of doctors, but none able to cure her illness-" The old man stop, he clench his palm in front of his chest, his eyes become teary. "But you!" The old man continues. "You are the best doctor ever lived! you should know how to cure my wife, please doctor you are my last hope!" plead the old man "I've been a doctor for a long time, and i just happen to be good at it. I'm glad if I can be somehow of a help." "Oh thank you, thank you so much." Says the old man in a higher voice, his eye widen as if he sees a strand of hope. "then I shall prepare the room, please make your self comfortable." The old man then goes to further back side of the room, disappear into darkness. The man take a look at the room, he notice there are a lot of pictures atop of the fireplace, he take a look on them. Inside the picture stand a beautiful lady in parasol then followed by a young man not far behind her. As he look further he noticed that the girl is almost inside of every pictures. "Quite a beauty, isn't she?" says the old man "Yes, she is indeed beautiful." "Too bad she got sick not long after that picture is taken." The old man point to the furthest back of the room, there is a photo of the woman in a wheelchair. "now, the room is ready, please come with me to the bedroom." They went to the back room. Inside lies a motionless figure on the bed, the doctor stand beside the old man. "Oh you poor thing, Doctor look at her she is so sick that she cant even lift a finger. Her body become so thin that she seems nothing but bones!" The old man then kneel to his wife, whispering to her in a frail little voice. "Dear, the doctor I've been telling you about has arrived. This time for sure he will able to cure your illness, then we can go to that flower field you always dreamed on!" The old man grab her hand, but she didn't even notice him. Her eyes are hollow as if light of life nowhere to be found. Her hair is white as milk and spread thin on her head. The doctor exhales, he put his hand on the old man's shoulder. "My father was a doctor, everyday he talk to me how valuable a doctor is he has an interesting philosophy about being a doctor. Most of my knowledge I learned it from him, and I'm proud in following his footsteps." The man stop, he put his hand away and the old man still motionless staring at her bed ridden wife. "My father always told me, that becoming a doctor are not just curing a person's disease. You also cure the anxiety of the family and the loved one of the sick person. Restoring their life, their smiles and bring an end to their worry." "But, there is one disease that is no human could cure, a disease that everyone will get when the times come." The old man start to weep, the doctor inhale and he continues "for that disease is called death.

Picture for a moment, if you will, someone you love. Picture that person, really focus on them. What would you be willing to do for that person? Is there a limit to what you would do for them? I'll bet there is. Would you kill for them? And I don't mean kill in defense, I mean murder. Would you slaughter innocent lives for that person? Would you transcend into a place of pure evil? Would you become, for all intensive purposes, a monster? Most of you probably wouldn't. But I did. We all have regrets. Things that we wish we could go back and change. I have only recently learned what it means to truly regret something. Meeting her was the turning point in my life. The day our eyes met was the day I began my descent into darkness, I just didn't know it yet. Her name was Emarosa, and she was my goddess. I can see her so vividly, like she's right in front of me. Pale skin that seemed to glow under the moon. Her hair was the midnight sky and her eyes were the brightest of all the stars. She was like a mirror that reflected back everything good in the world. It was almost 3 years ago when I asked her to marry me, and half that long since she did. I remember it clearly. As I saw her walk down the aisle my heart exploded and filled my body with warmth from head to toe. This is it I thought, this is joy in the purest and most primitive sense. Nothing else mattered, I was on top of the world. Months prior we had agreed that we didn't need an extravagant honeymoon. No paradise could compare to just spending a week in the country away from the world in each other's arms. And that's what we did. That's when I lost her. We were driving down an unlit back road to our cabin. It was almost three in the morning and she was sleeping in the passenger seat. I glanced over at her to admire how peaceful she looked. That's when it happened. I didn't see the road turn. What happened after played in slow motion. The vehicle collided with a tree like a wave breaking against a cliff as one lone branch reached out through the shattered windshield and tore right through her heart. All at once her eyes snapped open, as she gasped for air. She brought her gaze upon me one last time before her frail form went limp. I watched what remained of her life drain from her eyes through the hole in her chest. Her white gown now stained in the most violent shade of red. I spent the next few days in a trance. I can hardly remember anything from the ambulance ride back to civilization to the last shovelful of dirt my trembling hands cast upon her casket. For the first time in my life I felt lost, like an untrained sailor out at sea with no idea of what direction to go next. The following months led me to a very dark place. I lost my job, and my mind fell into disarray. The last bit of light in my eyes was snuffed out like a candle that day, and I had no desire to keep on living. Alone in the dark I groped through the unruly stack of past due bills, and eviction notices for the gun I left sitting there. The cold barrel against my temple was the first real thing I had felt since Emarosa died. My thumb searched for the hammer, and pulled it back. The click echoed and reverberated off of the collection of empty bottles littered across the floor. I took a deep breath, and eased my finger into the trigger housing. Just as I began to squeeze a cold hand grabbed my wrist, and eased my arm back down. "There’s really no need for that." a strangely soothing voice whispered in my ear.