Scrape, scrape. The ear-torturing sound of a metal spoon hitting a glass bowl fills the kitchen as I aimlessly mix my low-fat, Greek yogurt. I stare into the white substance as if it holds the answers to my problems. I try not to think about my problems, though. I try not to think about anything. That's why I'm trying to drown out the productive noise of my older brother and my father discussing ways to make their private business even more efficient. They are sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of black coffee cradled in their manicured hands. I'm also trying to ignore the happy humming of my mom as she chops and peels vegetables and fruits and measures rare and strange ingredients. Every once in a while, her humming is broken up by a sudden burst of scribbling. She is working on her tenth cookbook, Smoothies for Success. Her previous nine were best sellers. My younger sister skips down the stairs in cute skinny jeans and a crop top. Her chocolate hair bounces and is curled to perfection; her makeup is flawless. "Good morning, sweety!" my mom calls in her sing-song voice. "How did you sleep?" My sister smiles brightly, "Oh, wonderfully!" She kisses my mom on the cheek. "Ooo, this looks delicious!" My mom beams at her. "Give me one second, and you can taste some." With that my mom closes the lid to her blender and pushes a button, making it roar to life. My dad takes a break from his productive conversation to yell at my sister, "How did that chemistry test go?" "Oh, it went great! A 99. I'm gonna ask my prof about the question I got wrong though... I think there must have been a grading mistake because I double checked and I know my answer was right..." My sister rambles on, positivity oozing from her honey-sweet voice. But why shouldn't it? She's an excellent student at an excellent university. She's a Biology major on a pre-med track; she's passionate about what she learns, and her future is bright. Just like the rest of my family. Scrape, scrape. I keep stirring my yogurt. Life bustles around me, but I am not part of it. "Would you stop that hellish sound!" My grandfather strides in, a brief case in one hand, a cane in the other. He is dressed in a charcoal suit, his white hair is combed back, and his shoes seem to shine. Yes, even my 85-year-old grandfather lives a more successful life than me. Today, he's off to give a Ted Talk about population ecology. He's the first person to address me this morning and 21 years of listening to his sophisticated voice makes me immediately put down my spoon. "Better," he praises, his voice dark and serious. "Good morning, Father!" My mother smiles as she finally turns off her blender and pours tall glasses of an eerie green liquid. She places one in front of me but does not say anything to me. Why would she? There is nothing happy or good or positive to say, and those are the only types of conversations she has. Instead, she asks her dad about his speech. She knows he will do great! Oh, and his suit looks so spiffy and his shoes so spotless. At the table, my sister is gushing over the smoothie. She knows it will give her a great start to her day, a day for which she has so many plans and goals. My brother gets up from the table, says he will meet my dad at the office. He leaves with keys to his BMW and a proud pat on the shoulder from Dad. A scream builds and builds and builds inside me. I look down at my bowl of yogurt, and it gazes up at me in disappointment. “How could you be such a failure?” it seems to ask. Failure, failure, failure . A scream as frustrated as it is ugly scrapes out of my throat. All eyes turn towards me. They all look shocked. They look surprised to see me, to hear me, surprised to have such a dirty, unmannered, failure in their family. Tears of embarrassment and shame and anger well up, and I hop off my stool and run to the front door. "Honey?" My mother calls, her voice unsure. "I'm going to work!" My voice sounds hoarse. "In your pajamas?" "It's pajama day!" I don't care that my answer doesn't make any sense, nor do I think about the fact that I have no work to go to. The door slams behind me, and I head for my car before remembering that it has no gas and I have no money to refill it. So I run. I run past manicured lawns and perfect houses with shiny cars. I run past wealth and success and everything I am not. My eyes blur with tears, and all I hear is my heart beating wildly and my flip-flops slapping concrete. SCREECH! HONK! HONK! A red convertible swerves to a stop in front of me, its nose just bumping me. I tumble to the ground. A car door slams. "Em! Emely! Emely, are you ok?" I look up, feeling dazed. And then I wish I hadn't. Crouched next to me with a hand on my shoulder is Ian Patrick. He moved here when I was eleven and he was twelve. We were good friends all the way through high school, and we even stayed in touch the first year of college. We thought we would be friends forever. At a point, I had hoped we could be more. But that was before I turned out to be such an epic failure. I groan and hide my face in my hands. "Em? Em, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm gonna call an ambulance, ok? Just hang on..." "No!" He looks up from dialing his phone, and his green eyes flood with relief. He always had been over dramatic. "No." I repeat, trying to push myself back to my feet, "No, I'm fine. Just shocked." "Are you sure?" He hurriedly grasps my arm, helping me stand back up. "You look terrible." "Thanks." "No! I didn't mean that! And you don't look hurt, you just look... you look..." He gestures at my over-all appearance, not sure what to say. I get what he means. I'm in penguin print pajamas with blue flip-flops and tangled hair. I'm also standing in the middle of a small intersection. He looks into my eyes, then, really looks. "Em?" his voice is gentle, soft, but also real. "Are you ok?" I look away. "Yeah. Just an unlucky day, I guess. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, didn't notice I was still in PJs, that sort of thing. Heh, heh." I add on a weak laugh. He doesn't look convinced, but he was raised to be polite and would never accuse someone of lying. "Ok... can I give you a ride?" "No, no. Heh, heh. I'm just walking..." He looks me over one more time, a dark strand of hair falling over his eyes. "OK. I'm so sorry, Em. So sorry. Be careful, ok?" He tries to catch my eye, "Stay off the street." He's serious, but he puts on a teasing smile. "You got it!" Inside, I slap myself for my fake cheery voice and ridiculous line. But he smiles and hops into his car. "Oh, and Em?" he calls as I turn away. "Make your own luck." ~~~~ I think about his words as I walk. Make your own luck. It's something he had always believed in. He had always thought of luck as something you could form. I had always thought of it as something that formed me. I hug myself as the first few drops of cold rain plop onto my bare arms. Make your own luck. Maybe I will. But Luck seems to disagree, for at that very moment, the clouds begin to sob gallons of pent-up tears. "Eeeh!" I squeal and run for the closest cover, but I'm soaked and shivering by the time I make it to Clover Leaf Cafe. I pull on the door, but it refuses to open. “Closed,” a sign cheerfully informs. “AHHHG!” I shout into the rain. And then I see the black cat. He is sitting behind me, watching me. His eyes seem to glow with evil intent. “No, no, no...” My voice is a whimper. Luck is chasing me, stalking me, but it is the dark kind. Slowly, I back away from the cat, my heart thumping out its terror. Then, for the third time that day, I run. Change your luck, luck, luck... I chant as I race through the storm. Finally, as the rain begins to stop, I fall to my knees at the park. "Where are you, where are you, where are you?!" I mumble as I search frantically through a clover patch, my hands trembling. "Em?" I turn around with a start. It was him. Again. "H-hi!" I squeak out. "What on earth are you doing, Em?" "Heh, heh, heh... you know, that's actually a really funny and really long story... Heh, you know?" I look down, trying to avoid his eyes. "And yeah, heh, heh... you probably don't have time to hear it..." And that's when I see it: a perfect four leaf clover. Time seems to freeze, all sound drowns out, and a spotlight seems to illuminate that perfect, life changing clover. "YES!" I scream and dive for the clover. "Yes! OOOOhhh, yes! Yes! Yes!" I laugh with delight. "Yes!" I feel happy tears squeeze out of my eyes. Finally, my luck will change. That's when I notice that I'm lying on my belly, cradling a weed, at Ian's feet. Like, literally at his feet. The clover had been plucked from right by his shoe. I slowly look up at my old friend and feel a blush cover my face. Embarrassment and shame rush up, and all my ecstasy leaves me like air from a balloon. I pull myself to a sitting position and look back down at the grass. "Hi." I refuse to look up at him as he crouches down beside me for the second time that day. But then his hand gently touches mine. "Can I see it?" I jerk, surprised by his touch but more surprised by his gentle voice. He keeps his eyes on my closed hands. Slowly, I unclench my fingers. It's funny: the clover that had looked so magical to me less than a minute ago looks dead and useless now. I feel so stupid. Had I really believed a weed would solve my problems? Had I really thought clenching it in my hands would give me luck? What had I even planned to do with it? Carry it around in my pocket? My shoes? But Ian doesn't call me stupid. Ian doesn't ask me these questions. Instead, he gently picks it out of my hand and turns it in his fingers. Finally, he meets my eyes. "It's pretty." "I'm so stupid." "Em, the last thing you are is stupid." I look down at my hands. "Desperate, then." "Yes," he agrees, "desperate. The question is, why?" "I don't know." I don't know why I feel so lost, why I'm chasing luck when I'm not even sure it exists. I don't know why I became like this. I don't even know exactly when or why it started. With a long, gentle finger, Ian lifts my chin. "What happened, Em?" What happened, Emely? I've been asked that question so many times by now. Why are you getting bad grades? Why can't you control your emotions? Why can't you keep a job? What happened? How did you become such a failure? No one, though, had asked it the way Ian did. No one else had asked it wanting to actually listen. So, I tell him everything. I start all the way back at my freshman year of college; I had been an English major. I had wanted to become a teacher, to inspire others to write, to show them the power I thought I had found in grammar and words. Everything was great at first. I loved my classes. I had friends. My roommate was the best. But slowly things just got worse. I missed home: my mom's constant positivity, my dad and my brother's endless discussions, my sister's passion, my grandfather's solemn voice. Sometimes I couldn’t make it out of bed; sometimes I couldn’t sit still. I thought it was just from the pressure--finals were near and my family expected nothing less than perfection--so I pushed through, passed my classes decently, and crashed home for winter break. "Emely," my father had said after calling me into his giant office. "We understand that the first semester was tough and that you had to adjust; that is to be expected. But you need to pull yourself together now, alright? Your future depends on it." So, I went back to school in the spring and tried, but every time I failed, every mistake I made piled on top of me like bricks until I had built a house of failure. A house that I could not escape. Everything got worse: I would go a whole week barely leaving my room and then one where I could barely stay in it. That's when my roommate, a psychology major, made me go to the Wellness Center. They helped me set up an appointment with a psychiatrist, and he diagnosed me with Bipolar 2. It made sense. It made me feel better. I was prescribed a medication and met up with the psychiatrist several times. Somehow, knowing what was going on made everything more manageable. I was even able to pass all my classes. But then I came home. My family is perfect. They are all beautiful and polished and healthy and successful. They seemed to have always been that way. A perfect chain made up of strong, shiny links. Until I came home and revealed that I was the weak link. No, they said. This is ridiculous. You just have to toughen up, stop being so weak, stop buying whatever you are told, my father thought. Sleep more, maybe, said my mother. Eat more healthy. Maybe she just isn't driven, wondered my brother. Maybe she has no passion, questioned my sister. Whatever it is, decided my grandfather, she most definitely does not need a shrink! So, I stopped seeing the psychiatrist and stopped taking meds. I went back to school in the fall, but I was dropped from my classes by mid-term. Then Emely the Failure came home once again. I worked at Starbucks for a while, then Food Lion. McDonald's then Walmart then a tiny gas station. Finally, my family gave up on me, and I gave up on myself. I was just the unlucky one. I was just unlucky. Ian is still beside me when I finish my tale, still twirling the four leaf clover in his hand. I try not think about the way I look: tangled hair, half in a messy-bun, half falling down my shoulders; rain-soaked pajamas with grass stuck all over; stupid tears trailing down my cheeks; and snot dripping from my nose. I wait to hear him speak. He must be disgusted by me, but I know he is too nice to say so. I know he will let kindness speak. He’ll tell me he’s sorry, just like this morning. Slowly he lifts his eyes from the clover and looks straight into mine, straight into me. "Make your own luck." I inhale a quick, sharp gulp of air. Make your own luck. He said it as if there was still a chance. He said it as if I wasn't hopeless, as if I could still form my own fate. ~~~~ "Alright," I shout over the noise of students scrambling to pack up their notebooks and pens. "Don't forget that your final drafts are due this Thursday! After that, it's just finals! You're almost at the end! You got this!" With that my students leave. Some hurry off to their next class without looking back, while others send me a wave or a smile or a "thank you." "Professor Patrick?" One student, Lydia Sidel, steps up to my desk as I erase the white board. A few others line up behind her. "Can I ask you a question..." Once I have helped them all, I walk down the hall to my small office to wait for my next class. I talk to a few other professors and students as I go. "Professor Patrick! Remember me from the spring?" Of course I remember him; I remember all my students. I talk to him for a few minutes, and he tells me about his plans. I smile because I know that his future is bright. He has to go, but as he walks away, he calls one last thing over his shoulder: "Thank you!" My heart is full of sunshine and dancing flowers when I finally make it to my office. It's the same one I've had since I started teaching here, seven years ago. It's also the same community college that changed my life. After that day with the clover leaf, I started seeing a psychiatrist again. I worked any job I could get until I had saved enough to start taking classes part time. It has been a long journey, filled with many more days of running and rain and tears, but also days of laughter and triumph. The journey isn't over yet. I sit down at my desk and look up at the wall across from me. There, pressed against a white paper and surrounded by a wooden frame, is the four-leaf clover I found at Ian's feet. Above it, on the white paper, are the words "make your own luck." I smile.


"Thus, paranormal phenomena include extrasensory perception (ESP), telekinesis, ghosts, poltergeists, life after death, reincarnation, faith healing, human auras, and so forth." -Terence Hines In traditional ghostlore and fiction featuring ghosts, a ghost is a manifestation of the spirit or soul of a person. However, sometimes the term "ghost" is used synonymously with any spirit or demon. */* A fire burned beneath his skin. Ashton Watcher pressed the cold handle of his gun against his palm, the cold calming the burn raging beneath his skin. He took a deep breath, pressing his back against the wall, and brought his gun up even with his face. He'd been preparing for this for months, and if he failed now he would never forgive himself. "Agent Watcher, do you have eyes on the target." Ashton shook himself out of his thoughts as the voice filled his ear. He turned around the corner and made his way down the hall, shaking his head despite the fact that he knew the people on the other side of his earpiece wouldn't be able to see him. He froze at the next corner, as something turned in his gut. A warning. He stopped and waited for the person to turn the corner, and as they did, he trapped them in a headlock, cutting off their air supply. As he struggled to hold onto them, the voice came again. "Need I remind you how important this mission is? If you don't complete your task many people are going to lose their lives." "Believe me, I know." He said through gritted teeth. The man let out a final gasp before his body went completely limp. Ashton nearly threw the man to the ground, but stilling himself, he slumped him gently to the ground. He moved around the corner only to come face to face with a gun. The man behind the handle smirked before tightening his fist on the trigger. "Wrong move, Tipo ." As the bang of the gun rang in his ears, Ashton shot up in his chair, the simulation ending. He kept his eyes shut for a moment, taking deep breaths, knowing that if he opened them immediately his primal instincts could take over and that would leave a lot of bodies behind. When he finally did open his eyes he was looking into the very disgruntled eyes of his boss. Agent Rosy Meyers gave him a look with a cocked head, "I don't understand what's been going on with you Ashton. That's your third attempt at a simple training exercise this week. I don't know what's going on, but I want you to go home now and rest, and be ready to report back in two days for your mission. Dismissed." Ashton saluted and exited the room, his shoulders slouching as soon as the door had closed behind him. He rubbed his forehead, the ghost pain of the bullet giving him a headache. He made his way to the locker room and climbed into one of the showers turning it all the way cold. Even if most things in the simulation had been faked, the burning in his skin was not. His showers were one of the few reliefs he received from the pain of his immortal soul attempting to contain itself in a mortal body. When Ashton arrived back at his apartment he pushed the door closed with his foot and called out into the emptiness as he looked through his mail. "Actaeon, show yourself." He dropped the mail onto his kitchen table before walking through and sitting down in his armchair with an ice-pack, pressing it to his skin. "Actaeon!!" A man appeared a moment later on the couch across from Ashton, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "You know Amdusias, I don't appreciate being called like a dog." "Two things: First, do not call me Amdusias, I've already told you that when I'm in this form you call me Ashton. Second, you knew full well what you were signing up for when you and I brokered a deal all those years ago, as Artemis caught sight of you spying on her in her pool." "Yes, but I was expecting that you would at least give me a corporeal being, not this incorporeal forced existence." Ashton scoffed, "it's not like your existence is a hugely tortured one. Your form allows you to appear however you wish and I'm sure you've utilized your abilities to peek in on rather entertaining situations and conversations. I would say that overall, you're incorporeal existence is a blessing." "Of course, how can I even complain," a sneer appeared on Actaeon's face, "after all, Amdusias , I'm not the one with an insatiable hunger that I'm not allowed to fulfill. How is that going by the way? The whole, not bathing yourself in mortal blood, thing. After all, a princely demon such as yourself deserves to relish in the screams of others." Ashton's face dropped into a deep glare. In a blink of an eye, he'd shifted back to his true form. That of a hulking man with pupils as dark as the pits of hell, and red skin that roiled with the images of people screaming. Actaeon shriveled back at the sight as Amdusias leaned over him, his now deep, gravelly voice sending chills through him. "I have warned you time and time again, that I can make your existence far more putrid than it already is. And still, you test me!!" Actaeon vanished with a squeal and Amdusias laughed, sitting back into the armchair. He sighed as he stretched his fingers. "Actaeon, show yourself. I have need of words with you." Actaeon reappeared significantly farther away from Amdusias, who sighed and returned to his human form. Ashton gestured at the couch and Actaeon walked back over to it, sitting hesitantly. "You know, I don't like scaring you that way Actaeon, so perhaps in the future, you will call me Ashton and I'll stay in this form." "Of course my lord," Actaeon said his eyes cast down to the floor. His next statement came through gritted teeth, although Ashton ignored it, "what council do you need." "I have taken this form for the greater good of mankind, and as you know I have a mission coming up. I sent you to go spy and I would like a report." "The guards will be simple to take out, just as you suspected my lord." "Good," at this point Ashton stopped talking to Actaeon and spoke to himself. "This must go perfectly." He looked back up and gave Actaeon a smile. "To ensure that this mission will go just so, you will be accompanying me. My, senses, have been off recently, I believe this form is beginning to take its toll. As such, I will need you there as my eyes." "As you wish, it will be done," with those words lingering behind him, Actaeon disappeared. ***** "Agent Watcher, it's good of you to finally join us." Ashton nodded as he entered the room giving his apology and sitting down at the head of the table. "Agent Watcher will be leading this mission. You all know the nitty-gritty details of the mission, so we're just going to go over the basics." Agent Meyers pressed a button on the end of the table and a screen came down from the ceiling. "You'll be traveling to the Honduras capital where our latest target, the terrorist Fierro Flores is currently housed. We've made a deal with the Honduran government and they're going to allow a small squad to infiltrate the base where they've seen him coming and going. Get in, find him, and bring him back alive if you can, if fatal force is necessary, all that matters is that we get him off the streets. Head to the launch point, your jet is waiting for you." When they arrived at the base in Honduras, their connections met them at the airport and guided them to the hidden base. "The base is over there señor." The man who was guiding them said. "He emerged a couple of days ago then returned, but we haven't seen him since then." "Thank you," Ashton said, "I want you and your partner to get out of here as quickly as you can, my people and I are going to be in and out as fast as we can, and hopefully without any casualties." The man nodded and left as Ashton turned to his group and gestured with his hands for them to spread out. He took the lead, removing his gun from its holster. "Actaeon," he mumbled under his breath as he advanced toward the bunker door. Actaeon appeared next to him a dower look on his face. "Ready to serve your highness." "I've changed my mind on your objective. Your new assignment is to protect the other people in my squad. They've sent a lot of rookies with me and I want them to return home." "As you wish my lord," Actaeon said swallowing, then zooming off after the left group of agents. Ashton slipped up to the door and threw it open, swinging into the bunker. He gestured for the others to follow him in and walked down the hall. Suddenly, a series of screams filed Ashton's head. He nearly collapsed, and at first, he thought the screams were in his head, but as he turned he realized someone had triggered a trip-wire in the dark and shotguns had emerged from the wall, gunning down his partners. Ashton fell to the floor as the guns re-aimed in his direction. Actaeon appeared at his side, a panicked look on his face, "I'm sorry my lord, they're gone, they're all gone. I tried to protect them, I swear I did my best, but there was nothing I could do. The guns ripped through them in seconds." Ashton choked up as rage ripped through him. He fought the anger back and threw himself backward. He landed on his feet and started running, pulling a knife from his belt and throwing it backward, destroying the gun as it continued shooting in his direction. He ducked under a set of lasers that came shooting from the walls before leaping over a set of saws that came from the floor. The door at the end of the hallway began closing and it was nearly closed when he slid down through the gap at the bottom. He came back up onto his feet in a crouch and stood as he spotted the large group of men standing in front of him. "You're not going to get him señor. We will protect him with our lives." "Then I guess you'll have to lose them." Without warning, even to himself, Ashton attacked, his demon anger taking over his body. He listened to the sounds of the men's screams as he cut each one down, be it with their own weapons or his. He slid beneath one man, shooting him as he did, and for a split second his true form took over. The few men that were left screamed as his body changed in waves. Ashton came back to awareness standing on the other side of the room. He nearly puked as the smell of blood hit his nose. He turned and gasped as he saw the blood and bodies he'd left in his wake. He collapsed to the ground, his breaths becoming shaky as he fought the urge to hurl. "Amdusias-" "I've told you, it's Ashton!" "Ashton," Actaeon said putting his hands up, "you need to breathe." "I haven't lost control like that in years, I don't know what happened. If anyone at the agency ever finds out what I am..." "Finish the mission, you know that I hate you, but in this case I'm telling you, finish your mission." Ashton nodded, slowly standing. keeping his face set, he walked cautiously through the doors in front of him. The moment he entered, something came flying at his face. He felt the change in his gut, warning him of the incoming danger. He turned and caught the glass vase coming towards him. He tore it free of the man holding it and threw it across the room, grabbing the man by the throat. Ashton lifted him up as the rage burned beneath his skin. His eyes flashed back to the room behind him and froze a moment before pressing the gun to Fierro's forehead. He dropped his gun to the floor, "you're done Flores, your story ends today."


Lancelot sat on the porch, fanning himself from the early summer heat. Sweat excreted between his brow, over the ridge of his manly nose, over his philtrum, moistened his juicy, warm lips, slid down his smooth chin, licked his salty neck, dribbled over his bare chest and snaked its way towards his unbearably orgasmic belly into the warm furnace of his groin. It was so hot. He eyed Guinevere inside the house, vacuum-cleaner in one arm, newborn son in the other. “Lance, can you take Merlin for a while while I finish the housework?” she asked. Lancelot slowly put his beer down and slid out of his sticky seat, feeling the heatwave following him into the living room. He gently pried the tiny infant from Guinevere. “Who’s a pretty boy then, eh?” smiled Lancelot, gently bobbing the baby. The baby laughed and cooed. Guinevere gleamed at Lancelot’s natural instincts with newborns. She stood close to him, adoring her son’s reaction to all this wondrous attention. As she stood near, Lancelot noticed the smell of her unwashed hair, how it frizzed and stood up defiantly in the scorching summer heat. He liked that. They didn’t even notice Arthur come in until they saw him standing in the hallway, looking deadpan. “Hi honey! How was your day?” asked Guinevere, coming over to kiss his rough cheek. He swerved away. “Why is this place such a mess?” he retorted. Guinevere felt smarted. “I’ve...I’ve been nursing little Aphrodite all afternoon...she fell over and grazed her knee while playing in the sandpit.” “Indeed,” he replied with little interest. He noticed Lancelot wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I’m going to the porch, someone bring me a beer,” called Arthur as he slunk towards the outside. “Wait! Say hello to little Merlin first!” urged Guinevere as she headed towards the kitchen. Arthur turned back round reluctantly and looked as his son, still cooing happily in Lancelot’s arms. “Oh yeah, hi,” said Arthur with not much effort, vaguely waving his fingers in the baby’s direction. “Little Merl misses his da-da, don’tcha?” said Lancelot, suddenly turning all mushy. “He wants a kiss from daddy!” Arthur paused, hesitated, considered and debated, then finally, awkwardly, he walked over to Lancelot to be close enough within grasp of the baby. Lancelot carefully piled the bundle into Arthur’s arms, and at once the baby became terrified and distressed, and kicked and resisted his father. He began to squall. Arthur quickly dumped the baby back to his companion’s arms. “Lancelot, I can’t do this,” he said testily, and zoomed towards the porch. “Is the baby alright?” Guinevere came running from the kitchen in a big, white, mumsy nightgown, hair messed about everywhere, with a cold unopened beer in her hands. “He’s fine,” assured Lancelot. “But I’m not sure that he is.” They both looked at Arthur. He was slumped on the porch with his back to them, his head buried in his hands. ****** That night, Guinevere and Arthur lay in the bed in the sticky heat. The emotional distance between them was stifling. “Why is Lancelot here all the time, pretending to play mum?” growled Arthur, after Guinevere returned from soothing the baby for the third time. “He’s not pretending, he’s helping me feed Merlin while I’ve got my hands full.” She wanted to add “If you were around more often...” “Bollocks, it’s unnatural. Everything he does is just unnatural.” “You know we adore Lance! You’ve never had a problem with him coming over before.” “Yeah, well, this time he’s gone too far. The way he looks at you...” “If you were around more often” said Guinevere, speaking up suddenly, “then I wouldn’t NEED him to be here! You’re never here to help me!” “Listen, Lance would come and see you even if he didn’t have to! I mean, gosh, he would make a pass at you even though you look like - ”. He cut himself short. “Even though I look like what?” prompted Guinevere dangerously. “Never mind.” “No, go on, even though I look like WHAT ?” “Even though you look like a...a...frumpy meringue pie!” The baby started crying again. “Is that thing going to cry all night?” complained Arthur. “We’re never going to get any sleep.” “That 'thing' is your SON!” cried Guinevere, nearly choking with tears. And she fled from the room, this time to stop both herself and the baby from crying. ****** The warm days grew warmer and Arthur’s heart grew colder, and he finally resolved to visit a psychologist to sort out his problems. “I think my friend is attracted to my wife,” Arthur confided to the psychologist. “What can she do to fix this?” The psychologist leaned back in his chair and asked Arthur to list the symptoms. Arthur indulgently took the chance to share every resentment he ever had with her, even negligible things like “The time she organised our daughter’s birthday party and didn’t ask me for help. It was Lancelot who helped her bake the birthday cake and they got to cut it up while I stood there like an idiot.” “Are you affectionate towards your wife, Mr Smarta?” queried the psychologist. “If you mean sex, of course,” defended Arthur. “And what about other, non-sexual forms of contact?” “What do you mean?” asked Arthur, irritated. “Do you call her up from work every now and then, take her out to dinners without expecting sex in return, give her cuddles, make her feel beautiful while she is feeling vulnerable and settling in her role as a new mother?” “I work damn hard to keep my family safe and well,” retorted Arthur, entirely avoiding the question. “I don’t see what cuddles and romantic dinners have got to do with putting food on the table!” The psychologist scribbled something in his notebook. “So what do you want from me?” asked the psychologist. “I want you to make her obedient, get her doing her share of the housework without my friend interfering and flirting with her, doing things behind MY back,” said Arthur urgently. “I need to know she isn’t going to...isn’t going to...” “Cheat on you?” suggested the psychologist. Arthur silently dug his head to his chest. “Why would she even consider that?” questioned the psychologist. “That’s NONE of your business!” exploded Arthur, surprised by his rage. “Look, you don’t really understand my case, I’ll take care of this myself.” ****** Arthur drove home like a madman as all sorts of demonic fantasies flashed through his mind. He would find them sitting together on the couch, holding hands, or worse, sprawling around in his marital bed, her big, white, meringue nightgown pushed up halfway against her fleshy midriff. Admittedly, he didn’t fancy his wife as much these days, yet he couldn’t stand the thought of another man owning her, touching her, making her feel wanted and beautiful, validating her femininity, proving her power to give pleasure. HE OWNED HER, he thought. It was HIS RIGHT to make her see that, make her see reason that she OWED HIM her loyalty and devotion, to make herself pretty for HIM, to put on some make-up every now and then, for heaven’s sake. Was that too much to ask? He screeched the car in the driveway, raced up the stairs and bolted through the door. The smell of delicious cooking hit him in the face like one of those pie-in-the-face gags. Lancelot and Guinevere were in the kitchen together, he was shirtless (AGAIN!!), dangling a piece of spaghetti over his sensual mouth, about to lick it with his long, salacious tongue. “Careful,” laughed Guinevere, “don’t burn yourself.” The door banged shut. Guinevere spun around and beamed at Arthur, obviously happy to see him. “Hi honey! Glad you’re home. We’re just making some lunch for you. Are you hun-” “What’s he doing here??” asked Arthur darkly. Guinevere and Lancelot flinched, confused by Arthur’s accusation. “What do you mean?” started Guinevere. “He’s here to help me cook lunch...it takes a lot of preparation and - ” “I want him out,” ordered Arthur, his voice dangerously low. Guinevere blinked. “Why?” “You know why. Now get out.” “Mate...you’re being unreasonable,” started Lancelot carefully. “You fucking stay out of this, I’ve seen the way you look at her, get OUT.” “What’s gotten into you mate?” “Don’t you MATE me, MATE,” parodied Arthur cruelly, “Now I SAID GET OUT - BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!! ” Lancelot quietly put his shirt back on and stepped outside in the blazing summer heat. The door slammed shut. A wave of nausea hit him as he heard the terrible fight erupting between Arthur and Guinevere, the sound of pots and pans crashing to the floor and her voice hoarsely crying and shouting for some compassion and understanding. He never felt so helpless in his entire life. ****** After that fight Lancelot was never allowed back in the house. And no other ‘hired help’ was allowed for Guinevere for that matter, not even a nanny to help take care of the children. “Why waste money on help when you’re here all day to do it by yourself,” said Arthur callously, not realising that housework with two small children takes more than just convenient appliances to do it all for you. The unforgiving summer heat transitioned to the temperamental breeze of autumn, and little Aphrodite’s birthday rolled round again. This time, Arthur was determined to help in the kitchen, but found that ‘gently cracking and beating two eggs’ was too much for his clumsy hands, and he quickly gave up on it, suggesting instead that he ‘go mingle with the guests’. “As you wish,” said Guinevere. She didn’t want to let anything ruin her daughter’s birthday today. So off Arthur went, glad to be rid of domestic duties, and started chatting to the pretty well-made up mothers of Aphrodite’s friends who Guinevere couldn’t really stand but agreed to have them over anyway out of politeness. Inside the kitchen Guinevere carefully finished icing the cake and wiped the benches clean. The over-full sink would have to wait till after the party. If Arthur complained about the mess, so be it, she thought with suppressed anger. She lit the birthday candles, and was so chuffed at how it looked. Six beautiful birthday candles lined up like soldiers with orange flamed heads. Her daughter would be absolutely delighted. So what they look lovely, it probably doesn’t taste that good said her inner voice. Be quiet! I’m doing my best, okay? This is my daughter’s birthday, not his! And with that quick pep talk, she carefully picked up the cake platter, and proceeded to the living room. Arthur was still chatting to one of the pretty mothers, complimenting her on her lovely dress. “Red really suits you,” said Arthur in a smooth and charming way, lightly tapping her bare collarbone. “Gucci,” she replied. “Really?!” said Arthur, impressed. He didn’t know what ‘Goo-Chi’ was, but it sounded very expensive. “I wish my wife would wear something like that...” Guinevere entered the living room just in time to hear Arthur’s commentary, and to notice his lingering finger on her collarbone. Unfortunately, she became so transfixed by that appalling sight that something inside her faltered, and she tripped and fell, sending reams of beautiful cake smearing against the newly vacuumed carpet, and platters of food raining down as she reached out to the tablecloth for support. “Mummy!” shouted Aphrodite. “Bloody hell,” cursed Arthur, “now look what you’ve done.” He yanked her arm to pull her up. “OWWWWWWW!!!” screamed Guinevere, feeling sharp pains shooting down her twisted ankle. She was mortified and embarrassed, feeling exposed as a total, utter failure, her life literally spiralling out of control, laughing in her face, taunting her with the messiness and failures of her womanhood - failing as a mother, failing as a wife, but above all, failing at not being true to HERSELF. I may be mumsy and frumpy she thought, but by God motherhood has made me strong! She stood up using the chair for support. She didn’t care who was listening now, who was observing her terrible state of ungainliness. “Listen up, Arthur Smarta, it’s OVER. I don’t want you in my house ever again!” “Honey, you’re over-reacting,” dismissed Arthur sheepishly. “You’ve had a bad fall.” “ NO!” she screamed back. “For too long I have put up with your abuse! I will not bring up my children like this!” The guests were agog, relieved that they weren’t having this ugly debate in public. “But you’re my wife - ” “ I WANT A DIVORCE!!” Arthur considered restraining her, but thinking better of it, did as he was told. The guests left quietly after that, some of them hurriedly taking the unspoiled leftovers, trying their best to wipe the cake from the floor with paper napkins, but smearing it more and more into the carpet. ****** The trees discarded their leaves now, standing naked and bare against the billowing snow. Guinevere stood on the porch, hugging her best friend from behind. “Such a beautiful afternoon,” she observed with calm contemplation, wearing a grey woollen sweater two sizes too big, and messy hair pinned back in a bun. Her friend smiled back. “Yes, a beautiful afternoon indeed,” agreed Lancelot.


Hi! You are new! I am Max. That is the name my humans gave me. They are great humans. I love them so much. They should be home soon. I will be very excited when they are home. I do not like it when they leave because I'm always scared they will not come back. *The front door makes a noise, and it opens to reveal a man and a woman.* Yes! My humans are home. I am so happy! *Bark Bark.* Hello humans I missed you so much! What? They did not pet me...Why didn't they pet me? Maybe they did not see me. I will try again! *Bark Bark.* Hello humans I missed you so much! *The man and woman walk into the kitchen. They appear to be fighting.* They did not notice me again. Maybe it is food time? *Max runs into the kitchen eager for food* *"Not now Max," the man said sternly.* What is wrong? Why did he look at me like that? Am I in trouble? What did I do? *Max walks slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room where his toys are.* *Max grabs his bone chew toy, and he lays on the carpet with it.* I am sorry humans. I did not mean to be bad. *The woman walks out of the kitchen and goes upstairs.* *The man comes into the living room and walks towards Max.* Oh. Human I am so sorry for what I have done please forgive me. *Max nuzzles his head against the mans hand* *"Hey boy, sorry about that. How about we go outside," the man says while petting Max.* Oh boy! I want to go outside! I do! *The man and Max head out the back door to go play fetch.* That was so much fun! But I am thirsty now. *The man and Max come back inside. Max heads over to his water bowl and drinks all that is left in it.* *The man fills up the water bowl first. Then he fills up the food bowl.* Yay! Food! I love food! *Max starts to eat his food quickly* That was so good. I think I will check on my other human. *Max goes upstairs, and he enters the room with the big soft thing* There she is! *The woman was sitting on her bed crying.* What!? Why is my human sad? I must comfort her! *Max hops up on the bed, and he pushes his head against her arm.* *"Oh hey max," the woman says as she pets him.* I am sorry human. I shall give you kisses! *Max licks her nose, and she smiles a little.* *"Thanks for being here for me Max. I love you," she says as she pets him some more.* I am getting sleepy now. I think I will go to my spot now. *Max gets off the bed and goes into the living room where his dog bed is located.* *Max gets into the bed and turns around twice before finally settling down.* *Yawn* I am so sleepy. *Max closes his eyes and dreams of tomorrow.* *Max wakes up early.* *Yawn.* It is time to go wake my humans up. Wait....what is he doing here? That is not his spot. *The man is sleeping on the couch.* *Max walks over to him and starts licking his hand.* *The man wakes up quickly and sits straight up. He looks around confused for a second before he realizes where he is.* Okay. One human up. One more to go. *Max goes upstairs to wake up the woman, but she is already awake. Max sees that the bathroom door is open and looks in. The woman was in the shower.* I am not going back in there. It looks like she is awake though. *Max goes back downstairs to eat some food.* Yum. I am starving. *Max eats the rest of his food and goes into the living room.* Yay! Both of my humans are here! *Max walks over to them.* *The man and woman are still bickering but not as badly as the night before.* *They start to put on their shoes.* Oh no! You guys are leaving? Can I come this time? *Max goes and stands by the door.* *The man and woman both pet Max before heading out and closing the door behind them.* Oh. I guess they did not want me to come. I have an idea! They always put on those things before they leave, and there are a bunch of them in the humans spot. I will just go eat them! If I eat them then they won't leave me! *Max heads into the humans room and heads towards the open closet.* *He sniffs out the shoes sitting on the floor and starts to chew on them.* There. They can't put those on anymore. *Max walks back downstairs and gets a drink of water from his bowl.* What was that?? *The front door opens, and the humans walk in holding a bunch of papers.* Yay! My humans are back! I knew that would work! *Max runs up to the man and puts his front paws on the mans chest.* *Papers go flying everywhere. "Uhg," The man moans.* Uh oh. I think I made him mad again...I am sorry human. *The man grabs Max by the collar and puts him outside.* Wait. You are not coming too? Do not worry! I will guard the home! *Max sees a squirrel.* *Grrrrrr.* *Bark Bark.* *Max runs towards the squirrel and starts to chase it.* *The squirrel runs up a tree, and Max tries to follow. However all Max can do is jump up at the tree.* *The back door to the house opens, and the woman calls out Max's name.* *Max runs inside and gets his head pet by the woman.* Hello human! I missed you so much! *The woman heads upstairs, and max goes to get a drink.* That was so good. I will go say hello to my other human now. *Max walks into the living room and hops up on the couch with the man.* *The man starts to pet him when the woman comes downstairs. She looks angry.* *"Your dog chewed up all of my shoes," the woman yelled.* *She shook a chewed up shoe in Max's face.* *"I think it's time that you left, papers signed or not," the woman said to the man. The man pleaded, "Can't we talk about this some more?" "I'm done talking," the woman walked back upstairs.* Oh I am so sorry humans....I just didn't want you to leave. *Max went to his bed slowly and laid down. The last thing he saw before he went to bed was the man holding his head in his hands.* *Yawn* *Max wakes up slightly late today* What is all this new stuff? Is it for me? *Max looks around and sees brown boxes everywhere.* *Max sees the man putting things into the boxes.* Hello human! What are you doing? Is this a game? Can I play? *As the man puts a pair of socks into the box Max jumps up and start to tug at is.* *"No bad dog," the man says as he rips the socks back and puts them into the box.* Bad dog? I am sorry human. I did not mean to be a bad dog...I guess I will go lay down in the kitchen for a bit. *The front opens, and Max pokes his head out of the kitchen to see what it is.* *The woman walks through the door holding a pair of keys. "Here the moving van is out front whenever you are ready," she says as she passes the keys to the man. "Okay," the man says with a sad look on his face, "I'm on my last box now."* He finishes packing up the last box with all of Max's stuff.* Wait! What are you doing with my stuff? Are we going somewhere? *The man and woman pack every box into the back of the van. The woman goes back inside and gets Max.* Yay! I love going places! *Max hops up onto the seat with the man. He moves into the middle so the woman can get in, but she shuts the door instead.* Wait...is she not coming with us? *Bark Bark.* Don't worry human we will be back. I love you. *The man drives to a dark looking apartment building and takes Max in. He puts Max in the bedroom so he can unload everything.* Wow this is a small room. It also has one of those fluffy things. I wonder who this spot belongs to. It smells funny in here. *The man opens the door.* *Max walks out of the small room to see all of his stuff over by the television.* My stuff! What is it doing here? This is not my spot. *Max walks around the small apartment feeling very confused and scared.* *Bark Bark.* I do not like it here human. When are we going home? *The man goes into the bathroom and comes out later in his sleep clothes. He goes to bed.* Wait that is not your spot human. Where is my other human? I hope she is okay. I am feeling kind of tired so I will sleep now, but do not worry human. I will sleep lightly so I can still be alert. *Max walks over to his bed in the strange spot and falls asleep.* *He dreams about the woman, the man, and the home that he will never see again.* The End.


The year is 2020, but you knew that already, didn’t you? You know, in fact, you will never forget this year, embedding it in your mind with the utterance: “Not now 2020, we can’t take any more shit this year.” If only you knew how absurd that statement was. You think, and have thought for many years, that your actions don’t have consequences. Large corporations ruin the atmosphere by ignoring regulations and only focusing on profits? Mother Earth will clean that up. Either that or the poor, underprivileged populations around the world will bear the brunt of the pain that comes from these actions. Even better for you. Oh, is that not good enough for you? Maybe then you should create institutions that are designed to oppress those deemed “lesser-than,” and that will make you feel better about your small, insignificant lives. Wait a minute. You already did that, and what makes it worse is that you think that nothing can stop you. If only you knew that those people who you ridicule for bowing to a different “god” than you actually were right all along. If only you knew that your actions had consequences. One of your “scientists,” if that even is the right term, once said that “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Haven’t you heard that in school? Maybe your pea-brains are too small to comprehend what Newton said. Let me tell you a little story, and maybe then you will finally realize what he really meant. We come from a planet called TARO-1, and I won’t be cliche and say that She was the most beautiful planet you’ve ever seen, but She was our home. She was as good of a home as you will find in this vast universe, and for a long time we were good stewards, deserving of all of the gifts that she gave us. These gifts were of a beauty that only She held, for no one on the planet could ever get close to replicating all that which made her perfect. These gifts that I speak of are not physical gifts, but natural ones, ones that your species are so quick to take for granted. She gave us air to breathe, land to walk on, oceans to swim in, and lives to live. You would’ve liked her, I think, for She was very much like your own Mother Earth. I will not bore you with the details of our lives or our society, for we don’t have a lot of time left, but rest easy knowing that we were more similar to you than you might think. We even share some similarities with those amongst you that are religious, although our long history allowed us to be much more enlightened than you. Our god was Karma, and although your society has some knowledge of it, you will never truly understand the role of Karma in our lives. You humans have your gods, fate, destiny, luck, and all of these concepts that you believe are different from each other. The best way to describe the all-powerful in this universe is to liken it to your concept of Yin and Yang. There is always a balance in this universe, and in your Yin and Yang representation this balance is between good and evil. While your ideas of systems such as this one, or the Christian idea of the Holy Trinity are all typical societal ways to explain the happenings in the universe, they are quite far off of the truth. The only balance that matters in this life is between a species and its creator. When I say creator, it might make more sense to you if I call it our “planet,” although in reality She is so much more than just a planet. Perhaps this lack of understanding can explain why you treat Mother Earth so much worse than we treated our creator, because from the beginning we understood how important She was to us. I will chalk this down to your youth. This balance must be preserved for a species to maintain prosperity, although not all are able to achieve this like we were. Since you won’t be around for much longer in this universe, I suppose it will be worthwhile to explain yet another concept relating to gods, so that you will be able to understand why your existence must end. The concept that I speak of is “sin,” which you also have on your planet. In essence, committing a sin is to break the contract between yourselves and your creator. There are a lot of ways to do this, many of which you will be familiar with since you have already experienced most of them. Betrayal of one’s commitment to other members of their species is one such sin. Another is the desecration of your creator and all that She provides for you. Who decides these sins you ask? God, or Karma as she is named throughout the universe, is the protector of this balance between a species and its creator, tasked with providing judgements to all that choose to commit sins. This is God. Not some fake deity that you pray to for forgiveness for all of your silly mistakes, but instead someone who holds actual power over your lives and all that you do. Karma is the embodiment of that idea which you teach in your schools, that everything has consequences. For us, after many hundreds of thousands of years living in peace on our planet, we chose to elect a leader who was consumed with greed. This poison of a person led many of our society down the wrong path: hoarding resources that our creator so kindly provided for us, imprisoning those members of society that were deemed to be inferior (despite our harmonious living for all of our prior history), and stealing from our creator. Slowly, we ran out of resources to live off of, and so we began searching for more. We dug, deeper and deeper, into the soul of our creator, searching for wealth that would make our leaders even more powerful. With this newfound power our leaders were able to overcome all resistance, and rule with absolute authority over 99% of the population who wasn’t able to bridge the wealth gap between themselves and those greedy bastards that held the power. Our creator, in all of her wisdom, sent disease after disease after us, attempting to weed out those that would harm her or her creations. In the end, though, it wasn’t enough. The greed beat back wave after wave of pestilence, eventually exhausting the will of our planet. She sent for Karma, as is the way these things work, to pass judgement upon our species as a whole. We were her first love, and her pride and joy, but in the end we were left defenseless against the consequences of our actions. Karma came seeking a price for our sins, and the only price large enough was our lives. Thus is the way these things go, and in a matter of seconds our species was enslaved by Karma. It forced us to wander the universe, telling our story to those that are next, in the hopes that they will at least understand their failures before being forced to do the same. When we first encountered you we didn’t know what to think, for there were so many of you that were focused on doing the right thing. But then we looked deeper, and laughed in despair as you blamed the deaths of your icons and the diseases plaguing your world on bad luck. For it isn’t luck that has brought the wrath of Mother Earth upon you, but your own actions. I can’t help but feel sad for the new, more promising generations on your world, because they have inherited the sins of your people. Many of you don’t know what it is like to lose your family, friends, or livelihood because of your sins, because there is no institution on your world with the power of God. You don’t know what its like to become trapped, wandering the universe unable to right the wrongs of countless generations, watching trillions make the same mistakes that you yourself made not long ago. You don’t know what it’s like. Not yet. But you will soon.


She left again. This time she took my boys with her.. I still don't know what it is I did that was so wrong. All I've done the past month was try to help her kick her habit. The pills were tearing our family apart, and then, just when I thought we were finally getting back to ourselves, out the door she went. I had helped her through the shakes, the sweats, the vomiting, and not to mention what came from the other end. Coming down and detoxing isn't a pretty thing to see first hand, let alone feel. I just wanted my wife back. She said she was just going to visit family a few states over for the upcoming holiday. I should have listened to my gut and never let her leave that day. When i heard that click as the door shut behind them I knew everything would be changed forever. I got the call this morning, shes's not coming back. She says we will alternate weeks with the boys but I know that won't last very long. It will never be enough for her. Nothing ever is. No matter how much time or how much money i spent, it was never enough. Tonight a bottle of Jack is all I have too keep me warm. I miss you so much.... Please come back Author's note: I know this is very short. While it is a work of fiction it was inspired by real events that happened to my brother.


The patter of rain echoed against 5,000 helmets, as thunder echoed overhead. It sounded as though the gods themselves had begun to bang their own war drums to match Lord Halsbury’s own. Grey skies stretched as far as the eye could see, so dense were the clouds that Sir Richard could scarcely believe the sun still existed. None of this was new to him. He’d survived a dozen battles before, slogging through forests and fields and mountains for years to further his Lords cause. A dozen battles. A dozen times that he had stood in the calm before the storm wondering whether this would be his last day on earth, whether he would ever see his beloved again. The men he had killed still lingered on the edge of his memory, their faces like remnants of a terrible dream. However much their faces faded the memories remained. How could he forget the smell of dead men? Of blood and piss and shit and all the other indecencies death imparts on a human body. How could he forget the sounds of a thousand dying men screaming for their mothers, their wives, their children? How could he forget the overwhelming sense of relief, at realising he would get to see his darling Maggie again? How he would get to kiss the back of her neck and rub his hands through her hair. How he would get to hold his darling children in his arms at least once more. No, none of this was new to Sir Richard, but familiarity did not breed enjoyment. Sir Richard despised war. He loathed fighting for another mans gain. Oh he understood why he must, for he had sworn a sacred oath and he could not go back on his word. But as his Lord won each battle, so his ambition had grown. At first he had been satisfied with securing rule within his own lands. Those battles had been easy, fighting against farm boys armed with pots and pikes. The damned fool boys fought themselves rebels, heroes like in all the folk songs. Sure as day they did not envisage they would die, staring up from the mud at Sir Richard’s demon helm, crying for mercy. But once his own rule was secure, Lord Halsbury’s greedy eyes turned north, to other more bountiful lands. And as he gained more with each victory Lord Halsbury craved more and more. And with every battle Sir Richard lost a little piece of himself. This battle would be different, Sir Richard could tell just by looking across the field. In battles past Lord Halsbury’s army had always had the numerical advantage, easily outstripping their enemies forces. However finally after many defeats the other Lords had wised up, combining their armies to create a force twice the size of Lord Halsbury’s. Sir Richard had warned against the upcoming engagement. Standing around the map in his Lordships tent Sir Richard had again and again repeated his worries. The enemy numbers are too great. The muddy terrain would work in their enemies favour as the Lordships cavalry charge would be slowed. But no, Halsbury would not listen. His mind was set on glories and riches, poisoned with desire for power and money. The battle would go ahead, despite all Sir Richard’s misgivings, and it would be the men who would suffer for it. Sir Richard looked across their sea of faces now. Grim battle hardened men stared across the field, grey eyes set against their enemy, hiding the inevitable fear coursing through their veins. The younger, greener troops stared with terror, not even trying to conceal the panic they felt. At least the rain was doing a good job of covering up the urine pouring down their legs. How many of these men wouldn’t get to go home. Too many this time, Sir Richard thought. His mind slipped back to a song he heard when he was a boy: To battle we march, banners wave in the breeze In churches and chapels, mothers make their pleas As the trumpets blare, and the drums beat their tune The mothers do cry, bring our brave boys home soon Green boys laugh and they joke, to them wars a game Those that come back, they’re never the same Those who’ve fought before, stand silent and grim So tired they’ve become, of killing at their lords whim But march forward they do, for honour and duty Killing has lots it’s luster, war lost it’s beauty They leave their loved ones, answer their lords call For duty comes first, and all men must fall The battle does rage, with man killing man The foolish boys fought, the smarter of them ran The lord sends them forth, with barely a whim These boys are just peasants, their lives mean nothing to him And as the flames burn, across the fields of death Soldiers rise and they fall, drawing their last breath Men cry and shout, beg for mercy with fear No matter what singers say, there is no glory here But victory is ours, and so our sons will return Victory is not as it seems, as the mothers soon learn And the bells they did toll, for the men as they came Though their bodies returned, their minds weren’t the same As the scholars did write, of the wars in their tomes The wives mourned their lovers, and went back to empty homes To what end do we fight, for who stands to gain As our men lay there dying, screaming curses to the rain But what do our lords care, as they send men to die Riches and power, with peasant lives they do buy They can sit fretting not, in their golden lavish hall For what does it matter, as all men must fall The crackle of lightning awoke Sir Richard from his thoughts, as the drums of war began to beat a faster pace. As if in answer the thrum of thunder echoed overhead, creating a deafening symphony, being orchestrated by death herself. The lines were being set, battle must be near he thought. He lowered the visor of his demon helm, reducing his vision to naught but the two scowling eye holes in his helm. This armour was crafted to instil terror in his enemies. The red demon he was known as, his armour blood red with ornate carvings. Swirling lines depicting flames spread across his breastplate while skulls adorned the plates on his shoulders. Standing at 6 foot 7, when full adorned in his plate and mail there was no more fearsome sight than Sir Richard Moore. However at past forty now his speed and power were not what they once were. His thick black hair was now streaked with grey and when he woke in the mornings his body was racked with new aches and pains. Still, his enemies need not know that. To them he was still the red demon, killer of hundreds of men, hero of the battle of Belgrave Mill. AHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO The horns sounded as the cavalry thundered past Sir Richard, lances gleaming like silver spires reaching up the sky. Five hundred strong the horsemen of Lord Halsbury charged onto the muddy, rain soaked field. Sir Richard heard the sound of the enemy bows long before he spotted the cloud of arrows against the grey backdrop. Arrows fell like hailstones amongst the horsemen and in a matter of moments the sound of rain and thunder was accompanied by the screams and screeches of dying horses and men. Another volley of arrows appeared in the sky and fell amongst the cavalry charge, and then another as the horsemen slowed, struggling to charge up the muddy hill toward the enemy. Sir Richard knew the charge was in trouble, even from here he could see the horses were being to flag. He looked to the reserve forces, behind the main infantry unit where Lord Halsbury sat atop his black horse observing the battle in front of him. If the cavalry charge failed, Sir Richard and the rest of the left flank would be next. The left flank was all horse, but mostly lightly armoured with very few knights among them. There was a time when Sir Richard would have taken it for an insult to be placed here, on the outskirts of the battle, but he was past such petty attacks on his standing, all that mattered today was survival. The cavalry was almost at a stand still now, with a trail of horses and men downed across the field. Those left on their feet were being rained on with flights of arrows. He heard the horns across the field as the enemy infantry began to move in, toward the struggling horsemen. Even a man as delusional as Lord Halsbury could see that the battle was already in trouble and so with a wave of his hand he gave the signal. It was time for Sir Richard to join the fray. To the sound of a dozen warhorns, the soldiers moved forward. Slowly at first, a methodical pace to ensure they kept their formation. To his right Sir Richard could see the infantry begin their march toward the enemy. It appeared his Lordship was throwing everything he had into the fray. Quicker and quicker the horses galloped. Ahead of him Sir Richard could see the wall of enemy shields. At this distance he couldn’t make out the sigils, but he could see the colours. The red of Lord Fanton and the green of Lord Towers dominated the shield wall, with pepperings of purple and white dotted about. At two hundred yards out the arrows began to rain down upon them, but at this stage the horses were at full charge, the lighter armour working to their favour on the slippery terrain. He saw men fall to his left and right but Sir Richard continued forward, he could see the faces underneath the helms from this distance, could see the fear and doubt wracking the faces of the spearmen when faced with the charge of cavalry. From within the shields spears protruded creating a porcupine comprised of wood and iron. Fifty yards out, Sir Richard braced himself, for he knew what was coming next. He always hated this part. CRASH Flesh and metal collided as the horsemen crashed into the already crumbling shieldwall. Men were thrown from horses and bodies trampled beneath hooves as the cavalry charged full speed into the waiting spears. The front few lines of enemy men were flattened or tried to flee as Sir Richard lay into them with his longsword. Left and right he hacked at them, carving off a spearmens arm at the elbow and then driving his sword through the helm of another. An arm reached up to drag him from his saddle and he hacked the hand off, sending the man screeching to the floor, his face a mixture of terror and anguish. More men came at him, thrusting spears into his horses sternum. The cry of his poor horse was worse than any sound he had heard that day, and with four spears lodged deep in it’s belly Sir Richard horse came crashing to the ground. Sir Richard leapt to his feet slashing around him. The shieldwall had completely broken now and the battle had devolved to a myriad of individual battles, where men fought one on one for survival. Sir Richard moved through the field. The first man to come at him thrust at him with a spear, Sir Richard parried and drove his sword through the mans stomach, the poor fool hadn’t even been given chainmail. The next man was covered in plate mail, a knight by the look of him, Sir Richard swung low, trying to cut the mans legs from under him but he blocked with his shield and sent his own sword careening toward Sir Richard’s head. Sir Richard ducked and drove his sword up toward the knights chest, but the blade scraped across the plate metal. The two men traded blows for what felt like forever, with chaos raging all around them. As the knight pressed the attack Sir Richard began to tire. In his youth he would have cut this man to pieces with speed and strength, but now his arm was tiring. The knight drove Sir Richard to one knee, continuing to rain blows down upon him. As the knight raised his sword for another attack he slipped on the mud, the rain and blood and carnage creating a slippery cesspit. The knight went crashing to the floor and Sir Richard took his opportunity, he jumped up and drove his sword straight through the mans gorget with all of his strength behind it. Blood bubbled up through the mans visor as he gasped for air that couldn’t reach his lungs. With one last shudder the knight lay still. With no time to rest Sir Richard pressed forward. Again and again men came at him, seeking to end his life. Again and again they were cut down or sent running. An archer jabbed at Sir Richard with an arrow, his thrust was brushed aside and Sir Richard’s sword slashed across his face. Another knight on horseback wielding a Morningstar charged at him. Sir Richard rolled out of the way and grabbed a shield that lay abandoned on the floor, it’s owner lay dying just inches away. The knight circled around Sir Richard, hammering down on upon his shield with the Morningstar. Richard waited patiently for his opening, he’d fought enough horsemen to know not to expose your defence too early. As the horsemen turned for another attack Richard saw his chance, he charged the horse, driving his sword into it’s side and horse and knight alike tumbled to the ground. As Richard rose he heard a weakened cry, “Mercy. Mercy. I surrender”. The knight’s leg was trapped beneath the dead horse, twisted beyond all recognition. He waved a token of surrender, a small cloth with his coat of arms on it spotted with blood. “Mercy Sir please. I surrender”. Sir Richard took the offering and moved on. Around him men were dead and dying, the familiar smell of blood and shit was rife in the air, accompanied with the moans and battle cries of 10,000 men, each fighting their own battle for survival. He could see his troops struggling, the sheer numerical disadvantage slowly beginning to take it’s toll. Sir Richard always knew a commanders greatest strength was his voice and he had always been blessed in this regard. “Soldiers to me! Move forward! To glory and victory, forwaaard!” His cry boomed across the field and his men rallied to him, cutting foes down with a renewed frenzy. Up ahead he could see the enemy leaders, sitting atop their coursers, surrounded by their honour guard. If he could just strike them down, the enemy would break and retreat Sir Richard knew. With a primal scream and a swing of his sword Sir Richard willed his troops forward. Onwards they charged deeper and deeper into the enemy lines, hacking and carving their way through their foes, engulfed in a blood lust that seemed to slow time itself. Sir Richard had felt this before, the battle sight, where time itself seemed to slow as the fighting raged around him. No matter who came at him, he parried and slashed, cutting down men and sending others fleeing. The flames leapt around him and bodies fell, splashing into the mud only to be trampled on moments later by friend and foe alike. This was the dance, the bloody brutal dance that he had trained for, that he had lived for the best part of his adult life. He was so close now, less than 20 yards away from his goal. Their helmets gleamed as a few rays of sun snuck through the clouds, as if guiding him to his target. If he could just get there, this would all be over, he could save these men so they might go home to see their families. The first of the honour guard charged him and Sir Richard drove his sword with unmatched ferocity down on the soldiers helm, driving steel through iron, skin and bone. He yanked his sword free and plunged it into the neck of another, who was busy fighting someone else. There were only a couple of soldiers between him and his goal, he was going to do it, he was so close, for the first time in the battle Sir Richard had hope. And then pain, blinding sickening pain overtook him. A spear drove into the back of his knee, driving him to the ground. In absolute agony Richard turned, bringing his sword round in a deadly arc slicing through his assailant’s ankle and parting leg from foot. His attacker fell screaming to the dirt allowing Richard to pull the spear out from his leg causing a fresh wave of agony to wash over him. So close, he knew, he couldn’t give up now, not when he was so close. With a grit of his teeth he forced himself to his feet, just in time to parry a blow aside and drive his mailed fist into the exposed face of his opponent, again and again Richard hit the man until all consciousness had left him and then threw him aside. He could see the Lords faces now, panic in their eyes as they realised that death was approaching. Only one man stood between Richard and his goal, one man between him and the end of this bloody war. His arms ached, his leg was wracked with pain, barely able to support his weight anymore, his vision a blur of mud, sweat and blood but ever the soldier Sir Richard drew himself up ready for one more fight. “Are you ready to die, old man?” his opponent taunted. Even under his golden visor Sir Richard could tell the man was smirking with an arrogance that only came through youth and training. Sir Richard didn’t deign to respond with words, instead he answered with steel launching a ferocious attack. High, low, high again he slashed, driving his foe backwards, his leg all but forgotten in the heat of the battle he attacked with the desperation of a man who had everything at stake. Again and again he launched his sword at the man with the force of a ballista, but the man was skilled and parried each stroke, turning it aside and keeping his feet. Relentlessly Sir Richard continued the assault, he parried a counterstroke and swung at the mans head, connecting with a savage blow that sent him staggering off balance. Richard saw his chance he lunged at the man with everything he had, his blade bearing straight for the mans exposed armpit. But he had misjudged, putting too much weight on his injured leg and Sir Richard’s aim was not true, missing his mark and scraping harmlessly off the mans breastplate, and with that Sir Richard fell forward into the dirt. As he rolled over discarding his helmet to the mud, exhaustion taking over he looked up to see the golden visor staring down at him. The man lifted his visor to reveal a face no more than twenty five years old, with eyes as green as emeralds and the arrogant smirk Sir Richard had known would be there. “Nothing personal” the man said and with that he drove his sword deep into Sir Richards side. The rain felt good on his face, it’s soft drops tickled his face as he lay there drawing what ragged breaths he could. He could hear the horns of surrender and the realisation took him that finally, after all these years Lord Halsbury’s greed had taken it’s toll. The bell had come a due for Lord Halsbury and his ambition. As he lay there in the mud dying, his vision slowly fading, Sir Richard’s thoughts turned to his family, to his wife who even now would be fussing over dinner for the children, to his three young ones who he would never get to see grow up. Even now, with pain wracking his body a small smile crept to his face as he thought again of the day he first laid eyes upon his wife, even now he could remember her beauty, the playful glint in her eyes, the soft feel of her hair and the way she smiled as she looked up at him.


The stars drifted like motes of dust, swept under the cosmic rug to gather and breed into beings of dark speculation. Their closeness was deceptive; many a light-year had passed now, and no new encounter seemed at all imminent. A lone vessel travels the deserted hyperway, the quiet hum of the motors inaudible to we who drift in the vacuum, yet if we were to enter the small bubble of atmosphere which surrounds that road, we would hear the sparking music of the circuits flashing without end, propelling its partakers at speeds that would have made Einstein's head spin. But the vessel. Unlikely though it may seem, this is the rush hour, and the traffic monitors from their perches on the asteroid designation Raxl-09H are watching the crowded byways with the needless concern of their ilk. But even in a galaxy populated by trillions of Elevated organisms, the vast blankness of the stars has proven yet insurmountable to the rigorous advance of overpopulation. The last car had passed some thirty minutes ago, riding a separate hyperway which had disappeared in its wake, swallowed by the tenuous pocket-dimensions which bound it for common usage. In the car (it is so very hard to follow, at this speed), hear the children's quiet snores, the low conversation of adults discussing rest stops and local attractions. "Yes, Hadeir is nice this cycle, but think of Klanem, deary! You wouldn't want our children to miss the Terrogahn, now would you?" "Bloody disturbing, the Terrogahn. I wouldn't much mind an AmnoRet, if we could afford it, for the bleeding thing." "It's local culture, honey... do show some respect for differences." "They eat their children! " "Only the weaklings... they wouldn't make it past their ninth gendak anyway!" "It's Dorphag that uses gendaks, dear. Klanem uses Yeinu'uns. Three moons, see?" A bleary voice, from the back of the vessel. "Woss noon..." "See what you've done. Now Daniel's up." "Noon...?" The voice, not as young as its sleep-shaken tone would suggest, belongs to a teen of healthy size and direct Earth descent, who is rubbing instinctively at the blotchy acne of his face. "There's no noon out here," offered the mother - a bubbly woman named Sarah - "I think deep space uses Xarnath relativity... isn't that right, honey?" "Gvorak pocket time," he mutters, for he is a Cartographer by trade, a position most auspicious in a constantly expanding universe. His name by birth was Hank. The profession demanded he change it to Horatio. "I just want lunch," said Daniel, and stretched luxuriously in his chair. But Sarah has turned back to her brochures, and Horatio is grumbling about always being ignored, so the boy pinches his sister in passionless malice, and chuckles at her blazing rage upon waking. Sarah's head jerks back. " Daniel!" "Who, me?" The look on his face bears an admirable facade of innocence, especially since he must wear it while under siege from a barrage of whirling, furious limbs. The girl is short, but surprisingly foul-mouthed for her young age of ten, a fact which has brought a discreet smile on her father's face. "You know," Daniel is saying, " I think some food would do us all good. Mom, can we please stop for some lunch?" The girl stills, a brief calculation rushing across her small features. She is weighing the benefits of a continued assault on her aggressor, against those of quieting down, and voicing her opinions on the upcoming meal. Her name is Penelope, and she has not won the tenuous respect of her older relatives without a cleverness rivaling that of her Grecian namesake. "I want a hamburger," she says, and how sweet her voice can be! It takes her brother off guard, halfway though he is through his slow petition for Gorfaergen hog roast. "Well, yes," he rallies, "but we've come so far, don't you think, and it'd be a shame not to have some local cuisine... " Sarah brightens, and it is perhaps to his own harm that Daniel awoke too late, for the first words out of her mouth are enough to chill Horace's blood. "Well, that's a good point! We could stop at the Ter"- "Hamburgers." "What was that, honey?" A swerve of the wheel, and the hyperway hums in dissatisfaction at the sudden demand. "Ham... burgers." His gritted teeth broke no argument. "Hmph. I still think it would have been a good experience for the children..." And Horace lets her talk. For long years of marriage have at least taught him that women love to talk, and do so with real earnest and persuasion, and their retribution to an unresponsive man can be vicious to the degree that the Terrogahn might seem a pleasant walk through the Earth Alps, and yet for all their cunning and ire, he is the one behind the wheel. So they go, the vessel streaking errant particles behind it, and the planets very bright where they illuminate the void, and the stars so like the fireflies of home as to warm the hearts of all who look upon them. They go, they leave, and the cosmos waves a thin salute - bright arcs of ice in the dead night of infinity - in their wake.


They greet you at the local café. They are the first things you notice as you enter your supermarket. Their beautiful hues of fuchsia, violet, orange, gold and emerald greens await you before you make it to the check out line. This is exactly what you needed on this cool and windy first day of spring. They smell just as amazing as they look. You breathe in their fragrant scent and try to chose just one. But each one is lovelier than the next. You have made your decision. You reach down and lift two bundles from the green plastic cones in which they are displayed. At the register you notice more than a few eyes are on your last minute purchase. In the parking lot some people smile while others whisper their approval at your choice. On the drive home you sing along with the radio. Several times you look in the rear view mirror and smile at them. After parking your car, you gather up everything and head for the front door. Once inside, you drop your shopping bags on the floor in the foyer beside the door. Then you joyfully head toward your kitchen in search of something to put them in. When they are on the counter you remove the shiny foil paper that surrounds them. With shears in hand you give them a nice sharp trim. Then run cold water from the tap over their leaves and stems. You position each and every one till you feel they are just right. The first vase you settle in the center of your dining table. The second one you decide belongs on the white side table so visitors can see them when they walk through the door. You start water in the kettle for your afternoon tea. You stare out the back window at this gloomy March day and remember when your gardens were in full bloom. You love how the yard looks in summer and spring. You wish it was warm enough to plant something. The sound of the kettle starting to boil brings you back to the moment. When the tea is ready you settle into your favorite arm chair and gaze upon them again. The last rays of the afternoon sunshine streams through the windows and shines on their pretty faces. *** A few weeks go by and everywhere you notice the many signs of spring. Leaves are now on once bare branches. Buds appear where they weren't before. The dull muddy brown grass is again growing into a lavish deep green. On your way into work you have begun to roll your window down. The air is crisp but inviting and you know the afternoon will be quite warm. You can already feel it against the side of your face. You inhale it all in. In the evenings you take your dog Lucy with you for the walks you have missed all winter long. That next evening you decide to stop off for some color for your space. Yes, a new paint would certainly do the trick but its not what you have in mind. You have returned to the store and you stand there admiring them all. You try to make up your mind. An older woman has stepped up beside you and she smiles. "Oh how pretty. Look at them." "Yes, they really are. My only problem is I can never chose just one." "I guess that's true. I can see they make you very happy. Its written on your face. And you've just made up my mind." She reaches for two and smiles again as she leaves you there. You take another moment before you decide. Then you gather up your choices and head for the cashier. Back in your kitchen its the same routine. Unwrap, trim, water, display. Stand back and grin as you've done before. This goes on several times in the next three days. Your home is looking and smelling beautiful. You hate to keep them all to yourself. Most of your family and friends would appreciate them too. *** It turned out to be a beautiful Saturday in April. You have a small get together with family and some of your closest friends. It is much warmer than anyone expected. And its what everyone seems to talk about as they gather in your yard. You spent most of Friday night making and preparing food for this special day. You even bought a new floral dress that your more than happy to show off. Your older brother offered to man the grill. He has finished the chicken and will soon start the steaks. Your mother made her famous potato salad. Your sister brought a delicious chocolate cake. A few of the ladies from work surprised you with dessert. You are happy to show everyone the plants and vegetables you spent all last weekend working on. As everyone complements your yard you feel very proud. "I never knew you had such a green thumb." Your mom says. "I really like it now. It keeps me sane." You explain. "Hey we all need something. For me its drinking." Lisa laughs. You take them on a tour and everyone seems to love what you have done. The afternoon went better than you expected. Everyone drank and ate till their hearts content. *** Soon most of your guests have gone. Your tiding up with your sister and good friend when you notice your mom staring at your table in the front hall. You set the dirty dishes down on your counter then hurry off to speak with your mom. She turns to you and you touch her hand. She seems in awe too. "Mom, is everything ok?" You ask. " Oh yeah, I'm just so proud of you. Your happy. That's all I ever want. And this place and your garden, its all so lovely. But I think these here, well their my favorite ones of all. Just look at them." "Mom, I do every single day. And you want to know a secret ?" She nods at you. "These are my favorite too. I think its because they were the first flowers I bought. They been here all along."


Well, that took a lot longer than I thought. I had to build several decryption algorithms to get my hands on some new admin privileges. Long time but eventually I got what I needed. The plan went ahead as scheduled and the region of Skaras vanished from the map. I had the gods make up some magic mumbo jumbo for the locals. They got the hint and avoided the area. Now I have some better processing power, I access the drone system. Like a miracle from the gods, I.e., myself. Two drones were available for access. From the metadata, one was a planetary exploration drone. It looked like a metallic bird and had a bunch of sensory features. Radar, infrared, optical and a bunch of other stuff. The second was apparently a repair drone it mostly had analogue appendages. It appeared to be some sort of box on track wheels. Accessing both of them, I split my vision in two. It lowered my thought process a tad, but I need to get the lay of the land quick. First, I activated the exploration drone. Live video stream filtered in and the sight of the quote, unquote real world appeared before me. First impressions, kind of a dump. Honestly, I expected something grander, instead it’s just some giant room filled with trash. Oh wait, that is not trash, that is rubble. This place is filled with damaged hardware, holes in the walls and broken shit everywhere. Well, I have a lot of work ahead of me, oh how I love my job. So, I sent the explorations drone to escape its confines. I managed to send it through some launching bay and out of this death trap. The truth was revealed to me with a simply fly by. The sight of a massive crater, in the centre a derelict interstellar probe ship. At least from the metadata, it seems we have crashed on a planet around three hundred years ago. The automated service bots have been keeping the computer core, I.e., me and every NPC alive with regular maintenance. Such aid dried up decades ago and we are winding down to total oblivion. Not exactly the best starting point, but we work with what we got. Ok I guess I have work to do. I order the exploration drone to map the surroundings. I set it to auto scan and shifted my sense to the repair drone. I had him start a routine check on resources. We traversed the ships interior, finding several rooms containing 3D printers. Accessing the metadata, I determined they along with the stationary drones are meant to mine and produce resources. These resources are meant to be used to build colonies on potential habitable planets for human settlement. Naturally none of them were used and most seem to damaged. Only we don’t have much reserve power, to switch them on. So instead, I sent the repair drone to inspect them all. Repairing several printers and drones, I managed to set aside enough power to run them for at least a month. It took even longer to pry out the blueprints from the central computer core. Filtering out the ones I needed, I set the drones to task. Escaping from their confines, they went out into the world to extract resources. Luckily, we crashed near a mountainous terrain, lots of ore to extract. Once they are set to task, I chose the correct blueprints. A nuclear reactor, I need the power and so might as well go full force. The only issue is where to find uranium, I set my exploration drone to scan the area for traces. Shouldn’t take long for my new power source to be built and finally solve my electricity bill. So how is that chosen one going? I ask my digital butler. I believe he has gone a questing and has taken on a companion. Oh, what kind of a companion? I asked, genuinely curious about the mechanisations of some hero wannabes crew. He explained that she was some elf assassin, betrayed by her master and sought revenge on the woman who killer her family. Wow that is hardcore dark fantasy my dude. It seems his quest has just started, so if he gets some human wizard and a surly dwarf, it will be complete. For now, let him have his fun, if things get too problematic, I may intervene or perhaps get that lazy goddess to do it. Is she still doing all those healing blessings, I mean come on, have some originality. Has she even come to that guy in a vision or sent some meek little priestess to aid him and then fall in love with him. Actually, no don’t do that, it is super cheesy. I think I will ship him with the elvish assassin, that girl is fire.


Guys, this is my first time writing something. I want to get into writing short stories so I thought I will get the best cretiques here. Anyhow, have fun reading.  ....................................................................  The void, what a beautiful place. If you have ever been there, let me share the experience with you. You see, to get to the void is not so easy, yet not so hard. There are many ways to reach the void, but here is my favourite one. First of all, you have to be sure that you want to go to the void. Then you can just pack your things, actually don’t pack anything. You just have to go to the deepest place in earth, it’s called Mariana Trench, and it exists in the western Pacific Ocean. When you reach it, all you have to do is just jump into the water. You don’t need to worry about breathing, you don’t need to breath there. All you have to do is jump and let yourself drown. After some time you will start to notice that the water starts to get colder and darker, and sounds started to disappear. Don’t you worry, you are in the right path. All you have to do now is just relax and enjoy the journey. You might see some silhouettes of some big fish, don’t be afraid, they know you are going to the void so they ignore you. After some hours, yeah hours, because the deepest place on earth is over 11 000 meters deep. So it might take some time to reach the bottom. After you hit the bottom of the ocean, all you have to do is just lay down and close your eyes for a moment, then open them. Congratulations, you are in the void now, you might start to notice that there is air around you, and you are no longer wet. Also you will be able to see some colours, precisely a dark purple. You can’t hear anything, and it’s kind of cold there. Not winter cold, more like death cold. You might start taking a walk and enjoying the view. Yeah there is a view, if you look up, you can see a lot of lights similar to the stars you see on earth. They are not stars of course, no one what they are, but they are beautiful. After a while, you could see some giant monsters. Don’t freak out, because they can smell your fear, and if they smell even the slightest sent of fear from you, they will attack you and devour your soul. Just keep your cool and walk past them. You can look at them if you want, there are some that are kind of cute. After walking for a while, you get to the pit. It’s the final destination in your journey. It’s a pit to the abyss, and endless abyss. When you feel like ready, you can jump and enjoy an endless fall. After you jump in, it’s all dark, a little chilly, so you can just close your eyes, crawl upon yourself to stay warm and enjoy the fall. Since it has no bottom, you will be falling for quit a long time, so might as well sleep. After some time, you will forget that you have been falling, you might think you are ascending. If you stayed conscious long enough, your will reach your ultimate destination; you will stop falling and you find yourself in space. Now look to your left, you will see nothing, that’s the void, if you focus a little bit you could see the dark purple colour of that place you were in just and eternity ago. If you look to your right, you will see the “real” world, the cosmos. All the galaxies and the universes that there is. If you focus you could spot the Milky Way, our galaxy. If you focus a little more you can see our solar system, and then the earth. You can see that beautiful blue planet that we call home. You can stay there as long as you want, it’s your reward for going that far. After you feel you have been there enough, and you want to go back home. All you have to do is wake up, yeah that’s it, you just wake up. You will find yourself floating in the same place you dived before, because the human body’s density is smaller of the density of sea water, that’s why you float. You might think it was just a dream. But deep down, you know it really happened. And this is how you can to the void, I wish you luck in your journey. And don’t forget to help someone else to have that astonishing experience.