I never did think, despite all past events and unexpected turns, considering what I know of the world and of myself, against all odds, that I would be the last person on Earth. I have managed to keep myself grounded; my flat is more or less what is was before everything ended, but with a few minor changes. The electric hob is now a small gas camping stove (the hob and oven were hell to get out of the building), and all the useless light fittings are in a pile next to the door. Of course, all the electricity failed as soon as the power stations were abandoned, so I made do with gas lamps and candles where I could find them. It truly is surreal walking down the aisles of homeware stores pushing a trolley like normal, picking out what kind of scent I want, and then simply walking past the deserted checkout stations without a thought to any kind of payment. The candle I keep next to my bed is my favourite. I had it long before, but it has lasted me far longer than any other. Just before I go to sleep at night, I watch it flicker and sway in the dark, like a golden ballerina turning on a music box. I hardly light candles at all, such a precious commodity they are. If dusk creeps upon me, I have to break whatever journey I am on and find a home for the night. Perpetually moving is the only way to survive, for staying still would drive anyone insane. I take any route that will carry me and rejoice at every new town I meet. Perhaps ‘town’ is not the word for an empty settlement. They exist to be outdoor museums at the end of every train line, for me to explore on my own. The little ones are the nicest, those that have kept corner shops and market stalls alive, despite the irony of a much smaller population to serve them. I am making my way to London in the hopes that the resources there will have lived longer than most. Maybe I can find a working car with a little petrol left; the density of the population must mean my odds are better. If my memory serves me well, I will only need a day more walking to get to the north edge of the city. Once I arrive, I will need a better map quickly; travel time is precious, and it costs dearly to walk in the wrong direction. I must have slept well because the sun is well above the horizon by the time I wake up. My blackout blinds do their job, but with little light to go by in the late evening I have tended to go to bed much earlier than I did when the electricity was still connected. In the early days, it often surprised me how early the sun set, as if the hours of night and day weren’t mirrored either side of noon. My nine-to-five desk job regularly encouraged drinks after work, no matter what day of the week it was. I got up as late as possible every morning and blamed the buses any time I was late for work. I was secretly pleased when everyone abandoned the office to spend time with their families and I didn’t have to set an alarm clock anymore. In my flat, I put the kettle on the stove, filled up with last night’s rainwater. My mother would probably be disappointed by my choice of drink, but I know it’s safe and clean, and any you can’t taste any impurities when it’s used for coffee. Besides, there’s no one else left to judge me. I never discovered cafetieres until my shoplifting trip to the homeware store. Years spent drinking the freeze-dried stuff and I had been missing out on such a luxury. I put a spoon of coffee in, fill up the cafetiere with the now boiled rainwater, and breathe in deeply. I’ve still got coffee beans for months - an abandoned coffee shop ensured that - but the sacks will run out eventually and then I’ll be left empty hearted. That beautiful smell that lifts my spirits every morning, best thing since sliced bread. Enfield is my new favourite town. The road sign, Welcome to Enfield - Please drive carefully! , seemed like a message from God. Round just the first corner is a general store with maps of the local area, train lines, and the quickest routes into the City of London. And sat right outside, a three-year-old Ford Mondeo calls to me with its half open passenger window. I reach inside and unlock it with ease. The driver’s seat is far less dusty than the passenger’s, protected by its fully closed window and a jacket strewn across the headrest. I shove the jacket in the back and sit down. My cart full of stuff is still sat outside and I should really check the engine for any imminent danger, but I cannot help taking the moment to relive a little normalcy of the life I used to have. My first car was a ten-year-old Ford Mondeo, and I fixed it up every time it gave out. I nursed that car when it was sick, and it protected me from the elements when I slept in the back seats on an impromptu road trip. The car I sit in now has none of the quirks mine did, but it feels familiar in a nurturing sort of way. I fumble under the steering wheel for any kind of wires. To my shame, I once looked up how to jack a car and trip the engine without using the key. I was never going to do anything illegal, I simply had access to a car I could mess with and I was curious to see how they did it in the movies. That skill is now my saving grace. I smirk to myself. After a couple of minutes of grunting and fiddling, the engine mumbles and then splutters to life. I have a working car. Ever since people began rushing home to their families, I began making use of the balcony of the flat across the corridor. Every morning I take my freshly brewed rainwater black coffee and sit in my plastic chair and look out over the deserted town. It’s no buzzing metropolis but the landscape of houses and now dull apartment blocks weave a tight path to the town centre and the shops. From my fifth-floor balcony I can see the high street and the town hall, stacked up next to chain-store clothes retailers and a few different brands of bank. All empty now, and blissfully quiet. When you’re the last person, it not longer feels like stealing. Everyone else bailed, ran to their friends and family, revved their engines and drove off leaving churned up dust in their wake. Surely, they’d want me to make use of their resources, so that I might survive when they didn’t? Perhaps this is what the girl across the hall was thinking, when she packed a bag in half an hour and chucked her front door keys into my lap on her way out. We both knew we wouldn’t ever meet again so bitterness seemed a little futile in the moment; I was no perfect neighbour and she had no reason to be nice to me. I think of her from time to time, when I sit on her balcony and enjoy her view, and apologise and hope it means something. An earthly grumble startles me. The sound from the other direction and I can see no movement from the balcony. I run inside, put down my coffee cup and make for the fire exit. The lift stopped working long ago so the stairs are the only way up and down from my apartment. Jumping down two steps at a time, my brain rattles through every possible scenario: a burst sewer pipe? Gas explosion? A giant tree crashing down? The sound is so comforting that I sit frozen at the wheel unable to move. The car works: the rhythmic rumble of the engine vibrates through the seat and I feel as though I am inside a living beast. What would be laboured breaths are evidence of life to me. To my left a tower block fire exit swings open and clangs against the outside wall. The unsuspecting blank rectangle leaves a black hole in the base of the tower block. A woman runs out and stares at the car. Parked outside the old general store is a bright red Ford Mondeo. And carefully, gently, out steps a guy about my age. I stop in my tracks and just stare at the person in front of me. I know I’m the last one because there’s no one else left alive. I tried every way I could of sending a signal, a message, any kind of display that I’m still here, and if anyone else was that they should find me. But that was years ago and I accepted my life for what it was: solitary. Yet here, just a hundred meters from me, was my contradiction. I do not know what to do. Anyone can learn to jack a car, but there are no instruction for this situation. I gingerly raise my hand and wave. The woman briefly waves back. I open my mouth. I am Adam, I say. Eve, I reply.


When my mother called me last night, I never thought that the news would be so heart wrenching, but I guess finding out your dad has passed away kinda does that to a person. Me and my dad were never close. He liked books, I liked sports, he hated snakes, and I practically adored them. These were some of the reasons I would use to explain our distance from each other, but I never knew how stupid they all were until I went back home for his funeral. As soon as I walked out of the airport the hot Florida sun shone brightly in my eyes, making me sneeze so much, you would have thought I was one of Snow Whites dwarfs. But I persisted and kept walking towards my mom’s ugly new red car. Once I got to the car I stepped in, and as soon as I did my mom asked, “Are you ok?”. She tried looking sad, but I could always see through her lies. I knew she was relieved that he was gone, because once the child support money stopped coming my mother was done with my dad. “I’m ok mom. Can you please just take me to the hotel.” I said in my annoyed voice. “Okay sweetie.” She tried looking in my eyes after she said this, but I turned my head. The car ride wasn’t that interesting. We just sat in the car as my old Emo playlist blasted in the car, because that was way better than silence. Once we made it to the hotel I walked straight to my room, completely ignoring my mom. Then for some strange reason as soon as I stepped in the room I burst into tears. I started to realize that every on I loved was dead. My nana, my dad, my grandparents. And even though we weren’t super close, I still chose to stay with my dad over my mom. I just couldn’t process anything, so I left. I checked straight out of the hotel called an Uber and went to the one place I have always felt safe...my best friend’s house. She was so welcoming, and the best part is she didn’t ask about my dad. We were having such a great time hanging out and catching up on the last 5 years, until she asked THE question. “This is fun and all, but what are you doing here? You need to be at the wake”. Her eyes were so gentle yet bright when she said this, and even though I was mad I couldn’t help but hug her. She is the only person who has ever understood me and I couldn’t bare to loose that. So I agreed to let her take me, to see my dad. After a big argument over what I should wear, I was eventually pushed out of the house in a nice black suit. ... When we got to the wake everyone was soaked in their tears, well, everyone except my mother. She was faking it as best as she could, but it was still extremely easy to see through. Even her dog was disgusted by her lame attempt at sadness. But like the strong woman I am I walked past her with out saying anything and went right inside the house. It was my childhood home. It triggered me, and all of a sudden when I looked around I realized that none of the people there cared about him. They were just unknown colleagues from work. Once I realized that, I lost it. I couldn’t help but scream as anxiety and memories rushed through my head. I started to throw glasses and flowers until I collapsed onto the floor in complete and utter sadness. I couldn’t hear anything outside my own thoughts, and all I kept thinking was how I wasted time. All I did was let the differences between me and my dad emotionally separate us. I just kept... keep wishing I spent more time with him figuring out what we had in common. I have always said not to look back and that’s what I did for a while, but now I can’t help it. I keep looking back at the wake and everything before it, and I regret everything. Well at least I know now that I have to soak up every moment I have with a person before they are gone. And that is why I am moving back to Florida, so I can patch up all my broken family relationships before it’s too late.


The heat escalated between them and shirts flew off. Jenny lay back on the bed while Hugo leaned over her, their lips locked and tongues intertwined. The wet smooches of their passion mixed with the sound of their delightful sighs and the soft rustling of bedsheets. Then, the sound of a zipper cut in, loud and sharp. Hugo’s pants fell. Jenny looked him in the eyes with naughty playfulness, and he stared at her with a poker face. She frowned. “What?” “What if I can’t get it up?” he whispered. Jenny rolled her eyes. “Now’s not the time to worry about that.” “Now’s the perfect time to worry about that,” he said. “When, if not now?” “Just... don’t think too much, okay? Relax, it’s gonna be fine...” She reached up and kissed his lips. He kissed her back and the heat was back on. Their hands started going towards the hot zones and as Jenny’s hand began reaching under Hugo’s boxers, he pulled out of the kiss. “I don’t want you to think that you’re not attractive,” he said, explaining it like a professor. Jenny blew air. “God, chill. Why are you thinking so much? Just let go.” “I’m very aroused by you, you’re very hot,” he said, making it sound like an excuse. “It’s just... It’s my first time...” She gave him a smile, hoping it would be enough to comfort him, but no. He kept staring at her as if waiting for her to say something. “What?” “Is it your first time too?” Her smile faded. A look of annoyance replaced it. “Well, is it?” “No,” she said. “How many times did you do it?” “I’m not going to answer that!” “Okay, sorry.” He paused. She rolled her eyes again, the heat escaping like through the cracks of an old badly insulated house. “Shall we continue?” he inquired. “I don’t know, you tell me.” He nodded. “Let’s continue.” He ran his hand up her thigh and planted slow sensual kisses on her neck. His hand went up and up and elegantly around the jackpot, barely not touching the panties. That turned the heat back on and Jenny found herself sighing again. His kisses and his hand approached her breasts and she ran her hand down his stomach and into his boxers. Like a startled cat, he leaned back all of a sudden. Jenny yelped in surprise, not expecting such a reaction from touching him there. “Whoa,” he said. “I almost felt your hand on it, down there.” She frowned. Wasn’t that the point? One moment she was indulging in passion and the next he was acting like a pastor, flinching away at the slightest touch. “So... you don’t want me to touch you?” “No, I do,” he said. “Just warn me before you do, okay? So I can prepare.” “Prepare?” “Yeah. You know, so I get it up in time.” Jenny shook her head, disbelieving. “Dude. Stop. Thinking.” He snorted. “Yeah, like that's even possible. Look, I want to be hard for you when it’s time for it, so I would appreciate it if you could tell me, is all.” The heat dropped down to room temperature. His touch could make her so horny, but as soon as he opened his mouth the words dressed her in a nun’s gown. If she wasn’t half-naked already she would have stood up and go do the laundry or something. But she wanted to get it off and by God, she will get it off! “Just stop talking altogether,” she said to him. “Let’s just have sex, okay? No more words.” Hugo frowned and opened his mouth to object, but she gave him a look that did not allow compromises. “Yeah, sure,” he said. He hesitated for a moment and then kissed her, starting again at her neck, and working down. His hand moved between her breasts, down her tummy, and around her lady parts to her thigh. A little spark of heat ignited again. She undid her bra and helped guide his hand over there, hoping her bosom would cause him to have a reaction. He groped them and stared at them like her little brother stared at the new iPhone he got for Christmas. Jenny suppressed a snort and reached for Hugo’s things again. She ran her hand up his back and then down, over his abdomen and over the boxers. She reached underneath and searched... “Yeah, no,” Hugo said and pulled back. “This is not working.” “God, what the fuck, man?” She hit the bed with a fist, infuriated over the rollercoaster of hot and cold she had to ride on. “Can’t you just fuck me already?” His cheeks flushed and he swallowed, not knowing how to respond. “I’d like to,” he said, his voice unsure. “But I just can’t get it going.” “Look,” she said, drilling her eyes into his. “I like you, okay? I like you a lot, or else we wouldn’t be lying here, naked. I love the way you touch me, you’ve got feeling. Just let go, don’t think about anything, and pretend it’s the most normal, easy thing you’ve ever done, having sex with a girl. Okay, Hugo?” She topped that with the sweetest smile she could muster under the circumstances. Hugo seemed to consider. He was thinking again, which made her even more irritated. “Glad to hear it,” he said after thinking thoroughly. “I like you too, Jenny. I think you’re very pretty and hot, but more than that, I think you’ve got a cool personality. I like that in a girl, that she has her own attitude.” Jenny blinked, genuinely surprised. “But,” he said, “for some reason, even though I’m obviously attracted to you, I can’t get my body to respond physically. I think it’s because I’m a little... shy.” He looked at her like a wounded puppy and she felt a little bad for being harsh with him. He did say it was his first time, so it was only normal he was nervous. “Well, how do you normally get it hard?” she asked. “Perhaps we can try that approach.” “I watch porn-” “No way, mister.” “I masturbate-” “You can do that on your own. What am I here for, then?” Hugo thought for a moment. “I did notice getting aroused while driving on a bumpy road.” “You’re kidding?” He shook his head. “Baker’s Street, it's under construction and the potholes-” “Oh, don’t tell me that potholes make you hornier than my holes!” Hugo’s face tensed up with embarrassment and Jenny blushed. A moment of silence fell upon them, the heat gone completely. “We could go for a ride...” She snapped a look at him and tapped the bed. “Yes. Right here, on this bed.” “I... Yes, of course, that’s what I want too. After we drive on Baker’s Street for a while. Just to get me going, then we can hurry back here and try again.” She closed her eyes and laughed in torment. This was not how she imagined the day would go. But she really did want to get that big O on her face, so she found herself considering his proposal. And accepting it. “I must be desperate,” she said. “Alright, let’s do it. Why the heck not? It’s better than being tortured like this!” “Agreed,” he said and nodded like a starship captain, jumping off her and putting his clothes back on. Jenny reluctantly put the bra on, the skirt and the blouse. She wondered if she’ll be taking them off later in the haste of passion. They left his apartment and walked down the stairs in silence, reaching the parking lot. They sat in the car and drove off. He didn’t put on any music and she didn’t try to start a conversation. They drove for ten minutes and then Hugo finally broke the silence. “Fuck.” Jenny couldn’t help but snort. “You’re the one to talk.” Hugo glanced at her and then pointed ahead. “Look.” Jenny looked at the street ahead of them, cars passing by, people walking, sun shining... “What?” she asked, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. “It’s the asphalt,” he said. “It’s new. They’ve repaired the road.” With an expression of defeat, he looked at her. “This is Baker’s Street.” “Yeah, well good riddance,” she said. “Those potholes were wrecking my car.” “Those potholes were supposed to make me hard.” “Oh. Right.” The car barely shook or wobbled as they drove on the brand new road. The smell of fresh asphalt rose into the car through the air conditioning. “God, I just love that smell,” Jenny said, sniffing like it was coke. “Fresh asphalt! It’s almost as good as the smell of petrol, or freshly mowed lawn!” Hugo began coughing. “Ugh, don’t say that.” “Say what?” she frowned at him. “I hate that smell!” “What, fresh asphalt?” “No, the other.” “Petrol?” He shook his head. “Fresh-cut grass. It makes me want to puke.” Jenny stared at him dumbfounded, unable to comprehend how can someone, who complicates so much and hates the smell of grass, make her so horny with his touch. She decided she had enough surprises, shocks, and disappointments for one day. “Let’s go back,” she sighed. “Sure,” he said. They both knew that this was probably it. Their relationship barely took off but was being snuffed out, as indicated by the silence that fell upon them again. Jenny watched the houses pass by and noticed that Hugo missed a turn. “You’re supposed to make a turn there,” she said. “Um...” “You know where to go?” He nodded absently. “I think the brakes are gone.” “Ha?” He glanced at her. “I’m not kidding. Look.” He stomped his foot on the pedal, but the car kept going. And as fate would have it, there was a small decline up ahead, with a sharp turn at the end. The turn with the view of the sea, where the cliff was highest. “Dude, this isn’t funny,” Jenny said, feeling a spike of panic pierce her heart. “No, it’s not,” Hugo agreed and kept stomping his foot, but the car kept going. “Damn, I knew I should have taken the car to the workshop...” “You drive around in a death trap?” “Hm, panic won’t help-” “We’re gonna roll off a cliff and die!” “Relax,” he said. “I’ve lowered the gear so the engine will help brake and if we still end up going too fast I’ll pull the handbrake.” “How can you be so calm?” Jenny was starting to breathe faster as the bend got closer. The car began rolling down the road and it was picking up speed. Hugo went silent. “Well?” Jenny yelled. “How about that handbrake?” “It’s stuck.” “WHAT?” “Funny thing,” he said, eyes telling he didn’t think it was funny at all, “I heard this strange noise when I drove to pick you up today, and now I know what it was.” “Hugo, stop this car right now!” Jenny placed her hands on the dashboard and observed with horror a couple walking on the sidewalk, right next to the bend. She could see the distant white-foamed waves of the deep blue ocean through the pines. The car kept speeding up. “Hm,” Hugo said. “This is not good.” “YOU THINK?!” “My insurance agent will kill me, but we have no choice. Hold on!” “What are you-” Hugo turned the steering wheel and the car tires screeched on the fresh sun-glistening asphalt. Jenny screamed louder than on any rollercoaster she ever rode and held for her dear life. The car hit the edge of the road and jumped up on the sidewalk. Pedestrians turned in surprise and jumped out of the way as Hugo slammed on the horn, giving them a warning. “Watch out for the-” She closed her eyes as the car slammed into a wooden fence of a nearby front yard. Planks and rattan hit the windshield, causing it to crack. Hugo’s hands worked frantically as he struggled to keep the car from spinning and turning over, while they drove through someone’s front yard. And backyard. And through another fence, into another front yard. A dog’s house was destroyed, luckily without its occupant inside. A gorgeous looking rose bush got mauled over by the front grill of Hugo’s battered Subaru Impreza. A mother rescued her laughing baby from the kiddy pool just in time as the car splashed into it, sending an explosion of water in all directions. Jeny screamed her lungs out, holding so tight her knuckles hurt and did not dare to look. Hugo barely made a sound next to her. The car jumped and roared and shook like one of those enraged bulls in rodeo and Jenny tensed up, expecting to get catapulted through the windshield at any moment. “Oh no.” She peeked with one eye to see what was so terrible that made Hugo finally let out a sound and noticed a stack of beehives in yet another backyard, and an elderly beekeeper, blissfully taking out the honey, with his back turned towards them. “MOVE AWAY!” Jenny yelled and Hugo slammed on the horn, but the old guy didn’t notice them. Hugo cursed and performed a sharp turn, steering the car towards a patch of bushes. But the turn was just a little too sharp. The car hit a bump in the grass and it flipped. Jenny felt weightless for a split second, stretched into an eternity of dread. Then, the car slammed to the ground and began rolling downhill like a kid rolling down a snowy slope. The seat belt locked and held Jenny in place while sunglasses, umbrella, car manual, and various debris from the outside were flying all over, hitting her in the face, hands, and legs. The world spun and roared around her and then it all stopped abruptly. The car stopped as if hitting an immovable obstacle and fell still. The only sounds that came were the clinking of heated metal and Hugo’s heavy breathing. Jenny didn’t dare to breathe, didn’t dare to open her eyes. She feared that if she looked, she might find herself split in half. “Jenny? Are you okay?” It was Hugo. “Look at me.” She forced herself to open her eyes. Hugo was staring at her, his eyes pulsing with adrenalin and he smiled. “We’re alive.” She inspected her whole body, but save for a few bruises, she was unharmed. The car stopped by hitting a tall tree and they were inside a thicket of bushes somewhere. If she listened closely, she could hear the waves crashing somewhere nearby. Hugo let out a cheer. “Whoa! Now that was something! I’ve never been so close to death before, ever! Makes a man feel alive!” He climbed out of the car, pushing away the bent doors and helped Jenny come out as well. She leaned on him for support as her knees barely held her. “We’re alive,” she said, her voice trembling. Hugo laughed. “Yes, we are! Some luck, huh?” She looked at him, not knowing whether to punch him in the teeth or jump in his embrace. Instead, she decided to sit down on a rock, as hse couldn’t stand. Hugo helped her, holding her hand. “Jenny,” he said, while she was taking deep breaths to calm down. “I think it worked.” “What worked?” she asked, her mind absent. “You know, why we went for a ride in the first place. I think I’m ready.” She gave him an incredulous look, not knowing what he was talking about. Then she noticed a bulge in his pants. “You’re out of your mind.” “Yes!” he agreed. “I am, finally! Out of my mind and in my body! How about it? We’ve got, what, ten minutes before the ambulance and the police get here? Someone must have called them, we drove through nearly half the neighborhood!” Her head was light and her emotions swirling. They just survived a car crash, barely escaping death, while causing mass property damage and perhaps even murdering someone. And he got a boner from it! She stood up, fists clenched, intended on punching his smiling mouth. She raised her arm, swung... ...and wrapped herself around him, jumping up into his embrace. He grabbed her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Alright, mister,” she breathed, drilling into his eyes with hers. “Ride me like you rode that car, then; don’t stop until I’m nearly dead!” As rescue finally arrived eight minutes later, they were shocked to find a wrecked car and a couple, not crushed to death or trembling with shock, but rather butt naked and completely shameless, making passionate love right there in the grass.


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy ! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about . Sometimes in our lives we all have pain. We all have sorrow. But if we are wise we know that there's always tomorrow. *Everybody, now!* I’m glad we could have together. # “A good friend will help you move, but a true friend will help you move a body.” ― **Steven J. Daniels** Remember when the real treasures we found were the friends we made along the way? Let’s face it: Allies and friends of your main characters can be just as important to your story as your protagonist. “Supporting role” characters can surprise you with how important they are to moving your story along. Sometimes those people can be all the same person, but sometimes the water can be a little murky. An ally of your character doesn’t mean they’re a friend of your MC, or that they even want the same things. A “friend” isn’t necessarily an ally, nor could they really want the best for your protagonist. Look, we all know that the is playing Sansa’s side but doesn’t care about the Starks. *But he does have what the Starks need*, other than a razor. He’s an ally. *But we don’t trust him, do we?* “But James,” you may cry! “What about lovers?” Hmm, good question. *-shifty eyes-* ? Write those people too. Make us love them for the same reasons your MC does. Or don’t. Things to think about for this assignment: As your story develops, consider the actors around your protagonist and their social standing: *Why* are these people friends, allies, or lovers? Does your protagonist \*trust\* them? Would they help each other bury a body? How did they come to know each other and what keeps them together? Maybe a plot situation keeps two allies bumping into each other whilst on their own journeys. Do they have a common enemy? **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 9/12, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, Enemies: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/ajttja/, a This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: , And honorable mentions: /u/xdisk, And /u/Ryter99, \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


Summer Love - the Quarantine Edition “Then I Woke Up” by Mary Corbin I could never have seen it coming if you had asked me two months ago but I fell in love this summer. Who doesn’t fall in love in summer, right? But this was no ordinary summer and this was certainly no ordinary love. This was my love from the summer of 1980. Come back to find me. With so much sitting around not going places, one does get a little restless to say the least and you sit on the couch reading your Facebook scroll and your Insty page and all levels of crazy that comes through the news pipelines and you just start thinking over your life. People reconnect. They do, in this kind of unpredictable climate. For all kinds of reasons. To reconcile differences, find common ground, have a good laugh, compare coping mechanisms, to cling to life. And just plain boredom. Listen, Zoom can do wonders to a lonely heart. One morning, another quarantine morning, I woke up. And I found an email in my inbox from Marvin. Marvin Macks. Marvelous Marvin Macks. He was my first true love when I was just 19 years old back in Chicago. Marvin and I fell in love over potato skins and half-and-half's and in case you didn’t know, a half-and-half is a pint glass filled halfway with tap beer and half Guinness Stout. We met through a mutual friend and it was love at first sight. No really it was. We were both damn cute and he was a college soccer star with great teeth and a hot bod and lots of room to party and have a good time. Pretty soon we moved in together and we just couldn’t get enough of each other, I mean, we were connected at the hip. At one point, though, in our relationship we decided we needed to branch back out with our own friends once in a while, not forget those people altogether so we experimented with him going off on a boys camping trip or me going out with the girls for ladies night somewhere. We were working at keeping things open for each other, not getting in each other’s way of a broader scope of relationships and experiences without each other. There was only that one time that it sort of pissed me off when I was invited to go on a weekend road trip to visit some friends in college at Mizzou - that’s in Columbia, Missouri, in case you didn’t know. Anyway, it was some big football game and my friends were practically begging me to go saying “everyone is going, it’s gonna be a big party weekend, you’ve GOT to go”. So I said yes. Well, I ran it by Marvin first and he said yeah, sure, I should do it. Go have fun with my friends. What I didn’t know and didn’t learn until I came back from my weekend was that Marvin had just been given two free tickets an hour before to see the Boss, that’s Bruce Springsteen, in case you didn’t know, but, really, I mean do you really not know that? So, Marvin hadn’t had a chance to tell me yet and he decided right then and there not to tell me he just scored those amazing tickets for Saturday night because we had made that pact, that silly little pact, that we weren’t going to stand in each other’s way to doing things with other people. He had two ninth row tickets to see the Boss, for god’s sakes, how could he think he couldn’t violate the pact just that one time! Other than that one tarnish on our sterling trophy, we really had a wonderful relationship. For two young kids who didn’t know much about love, we were perfecting something together. But we only lasted for two years because he went off to grad school and I went backpacking around Europe with my friend Lori and you know what they say about long distance relationships. That silly phrase about absence isn’t true, don’t believe it for a second. The heart doesn’t grow fonder, it wanders. So we drifted off into our own lives on opposite coasts as I landed back in the States in California with a surfer from Seal Beach who I met at a youth hostel in Italy and that was that. Marvin and I kept in touch for a few years after that, sharing stories about boyfriends and girlfriends and marriages and dogs and vacations and kids, he with three and me with two, but then you know, life just is. Parents pass away, careers change, your kids have milestone events and the letters and phone calls get farther and fewer between. Then I woke up. I woke up one otherwise banal morning making coffee and toast, one more day in lock-down avoiding the news and people on the street, to find an email in my inbox from Marvin. “Hey, how are you!” it said in the subject line. What other Marvin could it have been but my Marvin, right, other than the fact that he started every conversation with “Hey” and also the fact that I never met another Marvin in my whole long life. So I opened it. I read through a long tale of happiness and loss, success and failure, joy and sadness. In essence, the threads that made up the fabric of his life. Any life, really, when you think about it. It was an entertaining read, he was a good writer. At the end of it was his phone number saying I could call anytime if I was so inclined. Well, was I? I mean it had been thirty years since we were last in touch, what could we possibly have to say to each other? Is the bond still there, I mean, does something like that, someone like that stay forever or simply disappear through the revolving door of people who shape your life? I didn’t know the answer to that question at all. I did know that I felt something weird in my stomach when I thought about him and I don’t mean just now when I think about him but all these years...whenever. I thought. about. him. I left that email in my box for a few days, thought it all over and finally responded saying “Yes, let’s talk soon!” in a vague, non-committal, no date or time specified kind of way. But then he called me on it as he would always do and proposed a more exact day and time to talk on the phone or Zoom, if I preferred. Oh, god no, I’m not ready for Zoom with Marvin but a phone call would be fine. So it was settled and I tried not to think about it too much. Then I woke up and it was the day of our call though I would have to wait all day until 3:00 for it to happen. You can imagine the nerves and the questions and the lists and the doubts and the genuine excitement that built up until that hour crept slowly closer and closer. Then it was three and I’ll be darned if Marvin didn’t call me at exactly 3:00 as if he was on a timer or something which would be just like him. I picked up and said hello with a slight question in my voice. “Hey” he said nonchalantly. “Hey,” I said back. And from that moment it just flowed. Like we had just seen each other yesterday. Well, it was just yesterday if you put it in the proper context of a whole continuum of space and time, right? People don’t change that much I don’t think and time is just a relative, abstract construct of our minds if you ask me. Marvin was so eager and excited and downright giddy about our reconnection, saying things like, “You’re so good for my brain!” and repeatedly telling me how happy he was. He wanted to talk every week and wanted to know if it was ok with me that he “plans to stay connected with me from now on”. I was happy too. I admit it. During our first conversation on the phone we agreed we had had something special, that we had a bond, that we raised the bar for every relationship that followed. He loved talking about how respectful we were with each other and how we never got in each other’s way. Except for the concert, of course, it was a pretty perfect union. Marvin also told me he was divorced. Then I woke up a couple months into our revived friendship to a voicemail from Marvin from the night before, wherein, after a few scotches he tells me he never should have married his first wife, that he should have married me, “...despite my three great kids with her...”, should have quit with the not getting in each other’s way bit and that it was me all along and that he’s been talking to his therapist for years about me. Then he sort of trailed off into an awkward silence and a “well, that’s all I needed to say....for now. Ok, talk soon?” Me? I’m still married. Had I told him that yet? I’m pretty darn happily married, too, but you know, it’s been a long time together whatever with one person. You know how it goes. But what do you do with a voicemail like that? Ignore it? Cut things off? Talk about it, laugh about it together? It was starting to feel like I was cheating on my husband, getting deeper into a forbidden tryst that would cross a line with no turning back, that I would regret for years to come. I talked to my sister about it, “What exactly are you doing?” she asked me. How the hell did I know. Yeah, it was much more innocent than the way I just mapped out, there was no indiscretion. But it had all the markings of a classic summer romance. Those stomach flutters in anticipation of the call, the giggly laughter sharing stories, shared points of view, the visions in my head of the plans we made to see each other. But, let’s face it. It’s Covid Summer and who knows when Marvin and I will actually see each other in person, when and where and how, and maybe even why, that’s all just speculation and pipe dreaming for now. We’re all in quarantine. Letting our minds run wild with desire and fantasy and hopes and dreams for a better future where we hug and kiss old friends, have grand summer reunions and sit under the trees with wine and cheese. But worse, maybe, we see the past as some perfect world where a boyfriend was a one truly heroic, perfected love that can never be matched. That is worthy of rekindling and creating a new spark better than the last. A place where the sun shines brilliant everyday and we frolic in unending love and joy. Then I woke up. This morning, I woke up. On my Facebook feed was a post from my friend Jen in Asheville, North Carolina, one of those memes that people pass around. It said, “Don’t let a pandemic be the reason you get in touch with your ex.”


Halloween in a hotel, that’s what we’re doing this year since no one ever has enough room for the entire family to sleep. At first mom didn’t like the idea but she finally agreed, with the one condition that I had to do the planning, which I did. I found a gorgeous old Victorian home that was recently developed into a hotel and from the pictures I could just tell everyone will like it. It is in a safe area so the kids can go trick-or-treating. There is a charming brick fire place and a library to keep the adults busy. What was most striking to me while viewing the photos on the internet is that the interior looks so much like the Salvatore mansion from The Vampire Diaries. For all I know, it might be the place where the series was filmed. “Babe, we’re going to be late and you know how your mother feels about that.” Alex bursts through my thought bubble and through the bedroom door. “Just in time, please take my bag to the car while I grab my cardigan and vanity case. I’ll be down in a sec.” “Anna, do we really have to stay here? Look at this place! It gives me the chills.” Alex shrugs deeper into his jacket. “Look, I know you don’t like old homes but this was the only place I could find with fourteen rooms available and I already booked and paid all of them so there’s no turning back now” “Darling, you’re here! This place is amazing and the staff is so welcoming. Did you know the inside looks like the Salvatore mansion? I just knew I had to leave the planning in your hands.” Grace is clearly very excited. “Hi mom. Thank you, I’m glad you approve and yes I saw photos on the internet about the interior. Is everyone else here already?” I hug my mother and turn to grab my stuff from the car. At the top of the stairs of the wooden porch, lit up by tea light candles in mason jars hung from the ceiling, we are greeted by an elderly man who takes our bags. “Good evening and welcome to Happy Holidays hotel. You must be Anna and Alex, I’m Wilson. I am the butler and here to makes sure everything in the hotel runs smoothly. Come now; let me show you to your room.” Walking through the door I am amazed by how beautiful the place really is. The photos don’t do it justice. There are 8Cherry-wood furniture where you look and the most amazing rugs and carpets that simply invites you to lie down. Around the corner from the living room there is dark wooden spiral stairs which Wilson starts to ascend. Three storeys up, at the very top of the tower situated in the middle of the house, a huge solid wooden arched door awaits on us. Wilson opens the door and I’m left in awe. My focus is immediately pulled to the high four-poster queen-size bed in the middle of the room, complete with beige and blue Victorian bedding. In the far end a big cherry-wood vanity and chair. I step into the rom spinning around slowly taking in all the sights and smell. I smell coffee and get pulled back to reality. “Thank you Wilson, this room is fit for a queen.” I still can’t believe my eyes an feel a little absent-minded so much so that Wilson had to repeat himself. “Dinner is in half an hour if you want to freshen up. Are you alright, miss?” I simply nod and walk towards the bed where Wilson put our bags. Everyone is already seated at the large mahogany dinner table when I walk into the dining room. Everyone looks very festively but there’s something missing. “Wilson? Why didn’t you put up any Halloween decorations, it is all Hallows eve after all.” I ask while taking place at the table. Wilson smile and clap his hands together two times and like some sort of metamorphosis the house starts shifting. The kids scream, at first frightened but when they realise what is going on they start giggling. The table turns into a giant tree stump as the rest of the house, everywhere spider webs appear with realistic looking plastic spiders, in one seat at the table a skeleton falls into place as well as on one of the sofas in the living room. Wilson puts a cape on and show his vampire fangs and I can’t be sure whether or not it is real but it really looked that way. “It’s not Halloween if you don’t experience the transformation yourself, miss.” Wilson says while taking his seat. “Thank you Wilson, it was a nice surprise. Trick-or-treating is at seven right?” “That’s right miss, I’ll stay here and hand out candy.” The kids plunge down on the sofa when we get back to the hotel. Walking around the neighbourhood for an hour is not easy even for me but it was a lot of fun. There were some cute angels, a few ghosts and Frankenstein’s and even a devil and so much other monster and fairies and princesses. There was also one family the dressed like goldilocks and the three bears. The kids received a lot of candy and other treats toys and ghostly story book and as a tradition mom took everything so it can be divided equally between them and so that the amount of candy they eat can be controlled. “Come on kids. Fun’s over. Time for bed you know the rules and don’t forget to brush your teeth.” At once they all get up dragging their feet with their bag of treat under one arm but eventually they were all in bed. I decided to follow by example and head upstairs as well except I can’t manage to fall asleep. I can hear the floorboards creek throughout the house and somewhere a ghost is howling but that has to be my imagination right? Eleven in the evening, Alex is out like a log and my imagination is running away with me. A thousand thoughts and questions cross my mind but one remains - Is Wilson really a Vampire?


#Welcome to the Spooky Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **** *Bonus Constraint (worth extra points): The word “ravenous” is used.* This is the second week of our ***Five Weeks of Spooky for Spooktober*** challenge. Each week will involve a horror or Halloween themed prompt/constraint. Keep in mind you are not bound to write horror. If the prompts inspire you to write something different, go for it! But for those who live and breathe horror, or want to give it a shot, this is your chance! This week’s challenge is to use the theme of ‘phobia’ in your story. It (or the idea) should appear in some way within the story. I have provided an image as additional inspiration. You may include the theme word if you wish, but it is not necessary. Use of the image and bonus constraint are not required. You may interpret the theme any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/rainbow--penguin   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese   - - Submitted by u/Say_Im_Ugly   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/Nakuzin   - - Submitted by u/rolfkto   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Aren’t you getting a little sick of this, man?” “Sick of what?” I shoot back to Barren, confused by what he means. “Wandering through miles of wilderness? It keeps us in shape.” “Sick of this,” he repeats, motioning with wide arms at everything around us. “At all of this. Is it worth it? It gets old after a while. Don’t you ever want to do something else with your life?” We leave our horses behind us, heading to terrain they can’t enter. A shallow river lay before us like a writhing snake. We wade through the creek bed. Our boots are a symphony of swishing and crunching through water and river rocks. I think over his question, but a good answer escapes me. Didn’t we spend our whole life getting ready for this? This is our job, after all. It’s not like we can quit because we’re a little tired today. What about the gold? How will we support our families back home? What is he even saying? If we leave this position, we will just have to find another. At the end of the day, at least what we do is flashy. I mean, when we walk into taverns, people talk. “I think it’s worth it,” I say, my voice comes out unconvinced. “We’re a few of the lucky ones. We climbed our way up the ladder. We were given titles. We should be proud of ourselves, shouldn’t we? There aren’t many of us left from our village back home, you know.” “And why do you think that is?” he counters. “I’ll tell you. Those left of us are the only ones stupid enough to work under these conditions. Everyone else, with half a brain rolling around in their head, already jumped ship. It’s a fool’s errand, Melvin. I’m telling you.” “But we save people, Barren. That means something, doesn’t it?” He says nothing as we continue our trek under a starless sky. The air is a thick swamp of heat. We’re submerged in the kind of humidity that makes breathing feel more like suffocation. Our heavy chainmail isn’t helping matters. I have so much sweat underneath it, I could fill a barrel. The stench is something I hope never to bring home with me. My wife will leave me for the town’s bread maker, I’m sure. Barren holds a torch in his right hand as we march forward toward the caves. The flames spit and claw at the air as they go to war with the darkness. The sounds of our swords clink against our waists as we continue to take note of everything in our surroundings. Any moment could be our last. “And what about Vivian,” I continue to badger him, “You never would have met her had you chosen any other purpose in life. You saved her. You’re a hero! Think of your father-in-law and the land he gifted you with. You have honor where most people go hungry.” “Land I never see,” he interjects. “A woman I never touch. Think about it. This god forsaken business takes us all over the land. For guts, for honor, for glory. It’s all sickening after a while. Sometimes,” he quiets for a moment. “I just want the simple things. Don’t you?” “Simple things?” “I don’t want to work for somebody else. I bring all this honor home and get sent right back out again. It’s a vicious cycle. We’re nothing but slaves with showy titles,” he kicks a large rock in front of him and watches as it skitters from the torch light into the darkness. “I missed Honora’s second birthday, Melvin. I missed her second birthday and that’s right after I missed her first one, too. She doesn’t even know her own father!” I have nothing to say about this. He’s right. His words sink into my flesh like a blade piercing through organs. I think of my dearest Eleanor at home pregnant with our first child. This is what it will be like for me, expected to run out on an expedition any time our lord tells us to. We’re nothing more than well trained dogs. We sit when told, roll over when told, and if we’re really good boys... we’re fed treats and given pats on the head. Barren is right about everything. “Well, what do you suggest?” I ask. “It’s not like we can return home empty handed.” Barren lets out a deep breath, “Can you imagine Lord Ralph’s face if he had to come do what we do?” I try and all I can picture is his blotchy red cheeks. I can see his beady brown eyes full of terror as he swings a sword around in all directions. Will he even be able to lift it? Nobility has never had to do a thing they didn’t want to do. Barren and I have been swinging swords like our lives depended on it since we were boys. Let’s face it, our lives do depend on it. Do they make chainmail in his size? I doubt the endless rolls of his stomach would fit into any kind of armor that would protect him out here. He’d die in seconds. “He’d never make it,” I tell Barren, and he belts out a hearty laugh in agreement. We listen to the trees groan and creak against a steady breeze blowing to the east side of us. The moving air is the only thing keeping us from being slayed ourselves by unbearable heat. These conditions are ridiculous, I admit to myself now that he brought it up. I consider asking if we should set up camp for the night but think better of it. The more ground we cover tonight, the faster we can return home. If we survive, that is. “All I’m trying to say is how pointless it is,” Barren calls out. “We are out here risking our lives and someone else gets rich off our backs. The last few times we returned he gave us a fourth of the riches we were promised. Trying to secure goods in town keeps getting harder and harder. The prices go up, the work isn’t getting any easier, yet our pay is never what we’re worth. We work long hours away from our families. We’re told from a young age how glorious this life will be, so that we spend every second preparing for it. We take lessons in sword fighting and compete to see who can be the best. Even if we become the best, what then? Is this really the dream ? Quite frankly, old friend, it wasn’t what they promised. Instead, it’s rather... exhausting.” We continue in a sobering silence. It isn’t what they promised at all. What a fool I’ve been, working myself into the ground on endless expeditions. Chasing after riches and God knows what else. Is this really the best way to spend my time here on this luscious green earth? It’s not like I can take any gold or honor with me to the grave. After we die, everything about us dies too. Some memories last longer than others, but eventually, like small grains of sand, we all drift away in the end. “I have a dream... do you want to know what it is?” Barren asks me, voice full of thought. “What is it?” “I’d like to take Vivian and Honora to a place far away from here. Far away from the politics and the toxic games of nobility. Vivian’s father married her off to me like she was cattle,” Barren says, eyes dark and full of malice in the shadows of the torch light. “Four daughters, and all they are to him are bargaining chips. I see the hurt in her eyes every time she talks about him. He hasn’t visited her once since he sent her to me. I can’t imagine doing something like that to my precious Honora. This place is sick. Don’t you think there is a better place out there somewhere?” I can see he is confiding in me, hoping the weight he wrestles with in his mind can be lifted. I look for any kind of strength within me to share with him yet find myself debilitated. The truth is, I can’t see how running away will do us any good. “No,” I tell him. “I don’t.” In the distance, we see a large stream of fire shoot into the sky. A loud roar echoes. Our feet draw us forward, closer to the beast we’re meant to kill. We’ve been on so many of these trips now, I don’t feel fear or anticipation as we dredge toward our fate. It’s another day, another slay, and I miss sharing meals with my family. “I don’t think there is a better place, Barren. Humans are the same wherever you go,” I watch as he battles the sweat dripping down his face into his beard. “You know what I do think?” I tell him, as we move out of the water into a tall field of grass ahead of us. “I think if something isn’t working anymore... it needs to be fixed.” Barren gives a grunt of approval, and I can see the gears turning in his head. People think folks like us are all muscle, doomed to die young in the glory of battle. Our cleverness has kept us alive far longer than we had any right to live. It’s true what I told him. I don’t think there is a place better than this. Even so, he isn’t wrong for wanting a better life for his family. When I think of the world I want my unborn child to grow up in, is this it? A world where the rich get richer, and the poorer you are, the harder it is to survive. Will my future son have to risk his life over and over again to put bread in his mouth? Will my daughter have to marry any gent off the street to ensure her own survival? Or something even worse, will my family only be concerned with what they can take while they are alive, and not what they can give? Is there nothing we can do to make this world a bit better with our meager slices of time? Is this.... all humans are capable of? I shudder in fear, and not because of the beast we are headed to vanquish. No, this fear is for a different beast all together. I’m truly afraid we can’t do any better than this. “I heard a rumor once,” Barren’s voice is low. “On how to train a dragon.” I give him a look that says he is crazy. For the record, he is . If there is one thing harder than asking humans to be less greedy, and to look out for each other more, it’s training a dragon. “Rumors are groundless works of fiction,” I say. “Not this one.” “So, what? You think Vivian will let you keep a pet dragon at your estate?” He shoots me a grin. One I know too well. It’s the same grin he gives me every single time he convinces me to do something stupid I’ll regret later down the road. “No dead body, no gold. Those are the rules,” I remind him. “You told me to break the rules.” “When did I tell you that?” “Moments ago! You said if something was broken it needed to be fixed. Doesn’t that also mean if there are rules in place doing more harm than good, they need to be changed?” “What an incredible way to twist my words, Barren.” I shake my head at him in disbelief, not that it does any good. He’s been this way since we were children. Always getting ideas in that thick head of his and running with them. Not without dragging me behind him, of course. Most times against my will. “What good will a trained dragon do?” I ask. “Where do you get these unbelievable ideas?” “You’re telling me we should leave it like this, Melvin. And you killed my dream moments ago, saying there is no place better than this. It’s a bit of a dreary thought. The system here is broken, a predatory exploitation of humans and nature alike. Our only option is obvious, isn’t it, old friend? Tell me, what can two knights fix all by their lonesome? Even two who are inconceivably handsome, and wickedly cunning, like you and me.” “What are you suggesting? Things have always been this way,” I point out. “Our job is to slay the dragon. You’re saying you don’t want to? Lord Ralph will have our head’s if we stray from the path he carved for us.” Barren gives a disapproving look in my direction, “Don’t you think it’s thoughts like those that keeps real change from ever happening?” He has a point. “I don’t know what change should look like, do you?” I question, my voice on the hesitant side. “Where would we even begin?” “I think you were wrong earlier, Melvin. I really do,” his voice is steady despite the terrain becoming steep as we head uphill. “Humans are not all the same.” We see the caves ahead of us. There are catacombs of them riddled into the side of a cliff so high we can’t see the top of it. The cliff is known as “Dragon’s Breath.” These caves are home to many creatures including the legendary Vermillion Dragon . She is the last remaining female of her kind. Her head will fetch Lord Ralph a hefty lump of gold. Many have made it this far only to never return home again. Barren and I eyeball it like we’re returning home to see our mothers. The surroundings are familiar but we’re ready to be scolded at a moment’s notice. We have been here and back so many times the men at home call us, “Wyvern’s tongues.” Men who can slide in and out of what’s considered the dragon’s mouth and remained unscathed. “It’s quite easy, isn’t it?” Barren continues. “To believe things will always go on this way. But I think there are more people like us than you realize.” “More people like us?” I question. “Of course,” he goes on. “People who see the cracks in the foundation of the very houses we’re meant to dwell in. The one’s who recognize it’s only a matter of time before the walls come down and we’re left with no choice but to start building again.” We reach the bottom of the steep ahead of us and listen to the wind as it howls against a black ocean. It’s quite a climb up the precipice to Vermillion. We have only seen a glimpse of her crimson tail in all the journeys we’ve taken. Tonight, she sets the sky above us on fire with nothing but her breath. Her voice is a harrowing tale of all the men who have tried and failed to meet her. The rocks at the bottom of her cliff are like the jagged edges of a knife. One slight misstep and a man wouldn’t make it home for supper. We never worry about the climb, however. Unlike the many who came before us, we believe using your intellect is just as effective as using your sword. It was our first expedition when we found a tunnel at the base of Dragon’s Breath. A tunnel that leads to the inner workings of the cave system. It goes all the way to the top. Easy as meat pie. “We’re guilty like the rest of them, Barren. How long have we seen the cracks, but didn’t do a single thing to patch them? No, worse than that. We continue to put more weight on the very homes that are supposed to house ourselves and our loved ones.” His silence weighs as much as our armor before he gives a reply. “So, that’s it then. Humans can’t change. What do you think happens when we slay the last female dragon, Melvin?” He doesn’t have to tell me, I already know. Without her, their species will die. “I didn’t think killing a few dragons would get us here,” I say, voice somber. “People think they’re cruel and dangerous creatures. The reality is... our feelings toward them are only a reflection of our feelings toward ourselves. We’re the cruel and dangerous ones.” “Aye,” Barren agrees. “I hate when you push me into these places, Barren. When you know full well, there is no way out of them. It’s us, isn’t it?” My closest friend gives me a deep knowing look. A smile pulls at his lips. It’s the kind of exchange where words aren’t needed. Only those who are truly in sync with one another can understand the meaning behind it. “Aye,” he agrees again. I take a moment out of the silence between us to consider all that dragons bring to the world. We look at their fire as devastating, reducing the lands we know to soil once more. We name them savages and kill them instead of learning to work with their kind. When exactly did humans start to believe we are superior to everything living and growing around us? It’s quite possible we dismissed the true purpose of a dragon all together. Perhaps, they aren’t raging beasts at all, but healers. It’s only out of new soil that new growth can occur. “It’s ourselves, that’s where the change begins. Isn’t it,” I laugh. “It begins with you and me.” “You and me,” he says, crossing his arms behind his head before letting out a whistle. Many will come for Vermillion, seeking to put her head on a spike. I follow Barren into the deep recesses of the cave system before us. I follow him the same way I have many times. This time, it’s not to take a life, but to save it.


Granny was delighted by the robot that would carry kittens across the polished floor. We, her grandchildren, had done good. The Roomba Evolution was not cheap, but it was the most advanced robot in human history. Nevermind military-machines. We call those Deathbots. Deathbots are disqualified, they only know one thing. So when a Deathbot got loose, it went global viral live. It happened on a quiet Sunday morning. A Mark I had gotten refurbished by some disgruntled-character in his backyard workshop. It was bound to happen sooner or later. We heard gunfire and soon there were police sirens. The news followed the progress of the Mark I. It moved about on six legs like a murderous insect. It had a machinegun and a homemade buzzsaw weapon and several strong sharp claws. It couldn't be contended with, until Police could bring in anti-robot drones. That could take awhile. All the cops did was drive through the neighborhood using their speakers to tell people to get indoors. For seventy minutes the rampage continued as injuries and casualties accumulated. Granny almost became its final victim. The Deathbot found her asleep and deaf on her backporch. It blew through the fence and started spraying bullets at a cat running along the edge. Then, as the cat escaped unharmed, the Deathbot identified Granny as its next target. While it reloaded it approached her on its spindly spider legs and revved up a buzzsaw weapon. Roomba Evolution saw this and already alarmed by the noises, identified the Deathbot as a dangerous intruder. It opened the sliding glass door and barreled out at the Deathbot at top speed, ignoring its safety protocols. The tackle happened midair and both machines landed awkwardly on the lawn. Grass got churned as the Roomba Evolution fiercely defended its Granny. The armored Deathbot was much stronger and faster and better armed and knew how to fight in melee combat. Severely outclassed, the Roomba Evolution was directed by a protocol to preserve itself. It ignored this protocol, noting that if it stepped aside the attack on Granny would resume. It picked up a broken fenceboard and tried to catch the spinning blade. It worked and it thrust the board between the legs of its opponent and tripped it. As the Deathbot righted itself the Roomba Evolution recalled a move it had seen the cats do while playing and it jumped up onto the Deathbot and pinned it. As the Deathbot threw off the Roomba Evolution, it aimed its machinegun where its enemy would land. Armor piercing rounds tore through the Roomba Evolution and tore apart more of the backyard lawn. The domestic robot twitched and sparked, rerouting power to the functions needed to get back up. The Deathbot had almost turned back to Granny when it noticed the Roomba Evolution was trying to get back up and continue fighting. It mercilessly pounced and finished off the opposing machine. Suddenly two police drones hovered on either side of the backyard. They shot close-range darts at the Mark I Deathbot and temporarily disabled it. Police flooded into the backyard and apprehended the machine. That Christmas the Roomba Evolution, despite the expense, became the most sought after gift in human history. Already it was no longer the most advanced robot; but instead it had won our hearts as it fought to the end to protect its owner.


"Welcome home." "Who are you?" “I am Deus.” “Where are we?” “In your mind, as you can see.” “Of course, of course... I only see a semi-dark corridor dotted with doors on the sides. Did you happen to kidnap me and take me to some kind of abandoned motel or something?” "No. This is really your mind. And I did not bring you here. You got into it on your own.” “Of course! Get me out of here, you freak!” "I cannot. I am sorry." “What do you mean “I am sorry”?! Get a move on!” “I tell you again, I cannot. You will have to escape from this prison with your own strength." “What do you mean by “prison”? “I mean you are going to stay here until you get the key.” ""Key"?! What are you babbling about?! Are you delusional?! And then, what the hell is this “key”?!” “Calm down. The key I am talking about is hidden behind one of the doors you see. You will have to open them one by one until you find it.” “Are you crazy?! Have you seen how many there are?!” “It is normal that there are so many, since each of them holds a fragment of your memory.” “And do you really expect me to indulge this delirium of yours and start looking for a phantom key hidden who knows where? Come on man, get it over with and take me home. The game is good as long as it doesn't last long.” “This is not a game.” “And what would it be about, then?” “Of self-awareness.” “Listen, dear Deus, I...” “During your life you have made a fatal mistake of which you are unaware. Behind one of these doors lies that mistake.” ““A fatal mistake,” you say? And what would it be?” “I cannot tell you. You will have to find out for yourself.” "I understand. But you are totally off the mark if you actually think I am going to play your game.” “I tell you again, this is not a game. You will not be free until you find the key.” “I do not care about your stupid key. Just take me home!” "I cannot. Believe me, if I could, I would. But I cannot." "Why not?!" “Because I do not have the ability. I can only accompany you on this journey of yours.” “And do you really expect me to believe you?” "Yes. I am totally sincere.” “Do you assure me that finding this key will truly end this torture?” “Totally.” “...And that is fine.” “Start opening the doors of your mind.” “You do it for me.” “And why would I?” “I feel like it is better this way.” “And so be it. I am preparing to open the first door. Observe.” “But that...” "Yes. The child you see is really you. It is winter, it is snowing heavily and you are playing snowballs with your friends.” “What a beautiful memory. I highly doubt the key I am looking for is here. Let's move on. Choose and open another door.” "Ok. Here you are." “... This is a decidedly less pleasant memory. I remember my middle school years well. Bullies tormented me and I didn't know how to stand up for myself. At the time I was extremely introverted and incapable of socializing. However, I do not think the key I am looking for is found here. Let's move on to the next memory.” “As you wish. I am opening the third door.” “Oh, first love! How to forget it? We had so much fun together and... But, wait, why have I started yelling at her...? Well, I have just made her cry. What have I done? I bet I got nervous for nothing, as usual. One of my usual tantrums, I guess. The usual imbecile who could not control himself. Deus, the key I am looking for could be here." “What makes you think that?” “This scene reminded me of how volatile I was as a teenager. Maybe I made some big mess in that period.” “I do not think the key is here.” “What do you think?” “It is just a feeling.” “Deus.” "Tell me." “What do you know about me?” "I know everything." “Why did you lie to me?! You even had the nerve to say that you were “totally sincere”!” "I know. And I apologize." “I will tell you again. Why did you lie to me?” “To prevent you from finding the key and going back.” “Are you telling me that you intended to make me your prisoner forever?” “No, I did not mean to do that.” “What did you intend to do then?” “Make you play forever.” “What are you saying?! Are you crazy?!” “Probably yes.” “Tell me immediately where this damned key is!” “Behind the fifth door on the right.” “Are you lying now too?” "No. I swear.” "Agree. Let's see a little. ... I do not see anything strange here. A memory regarding an episode that happened recently, nothing more. I am in the company of... of... Oh, no! No! No!!" “Here is the key.” “Damn, no! Maybe there is still time to fix things." “...No, it is too late.” “Deus!!” “Stay here with me forever. Now you have no reason to go back." “Deus... Deus... You are just selfish.” "I know.” “Why doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this?!” “You did nothing wrong. It is just my fault. I am an unforgivable sinner.” ““Unforgivable sinner”? What do you mean by that?” “Oh, do not pay attention to it. You would not understand.” “How can you be so sure about it? You are part of me, of my mind!” “Nobody can totally comprehend their mind...” “Then open up with me. Let me understand. Let’s use this key properly. Let’s use it. Together.” “After all I did... Unlike me, you are not selfish at all. “I know.” “Do you... do you really want to help me? Do you really want to stay here with me?” “I do.”


She was hungover again that Wednesday, so I’d had to go in to work for her. She hadn’t been to the office for almost a month now, telling me she still needed some “well-deserved” time off. She’d only had the job for six months. So far on her time off all she’d done was stare at her phone, watch the tele and get drunk. She’d used her trust fund from her parents to pay for me; a Doppel. A clone that could perform tasks for her and also take her place in public without anyone noticing; identical in every way apart from a small metal device in the wrist, called the Experience Tracker. Originally created as a way to double productivity, or to allow someone to work 80-hour weeks, Rhian thought it best to let her Doppel (Me) be the productive one so she didn’t have to. Though she didn’t treat me like a slave, she did use me to make her life far more comfortable that she deserved. When I got home, she was dozing on the sofa, a flannel on her head and a bowl on the floor. She heard the door and registered me with a look before closing her eyes again. I hung up our coat and put our shoes away before going through to the kitchen to get my preprepared Nutri-shake. “Doppel,” She asked me in a stickily, pleading voice. “Original.” I responded freezing in my tracks, with a feeling of dread in my chest. “I need you to do something for me tonight.” I sighed. Originals seemed to forget that whilst, yes we were clones of them and we were created for their service, we too got tired and needed rest like they did. I longed for my cryo-pod. “I’m still feeling so rough and I totally forgot I was supposed to go on a date with Brad.” I looked down on her puzzled and she blinked black lashes at me. Rhian had short blonde hair and bright brown eyes, though today they were dull from too much sleep and drink. She was also a few sizes larger than me, partially because she had been living on nothing but junk food and barely moved from the sofa for a month, whereas I was forced to drink a tasteless “Nutri-shake” that sustained my exact nutritional needs and no more. It was too expensive to feed a Doppel proper food. “Why not cancel?” I asked her and she pulled a face like she’d bitten down on a sour sweet, “Because CBA? I’d feel bad too. He’s a nice enough guy. I mean I don’t “Like” him, but I said I’d go for dinner. You go, humour him. If you go you can even eat the food. How long has it been since you’ve tried real food?” She tempted me with that one and I decided that I could forgo a bit of rest for a chance at real food. “A long time original.” “So you’ll go then?” “Yes.” “You’re a life saver!” She looked relieved. I was excited. “What do you want me to wear?” She smiled in a sweet way that didn’t spread to her dark-rimmed eyes. “Take your pick.” “Do you want me to sleep with him?” She thought about it, then pulled a face and shook her head. “Nah, I can’t deal with the drama. Maybe kiss him if he leans in.” I nodded. “Cool. Thanks Dop.” She took out her phone and pinged the address of the restaurant and a picture of Brad to my Experience Tracker. It functioned much like a smart phone, only with far less features and fitted with to both a movement tracker and a recorder to record all a Doppel went through in an original’s absence. “What time should I be back?” I asked as I dismissed the picture from where it showed on my palm. She groaned and waved her hand dismissively. “I dunno. Be back in your Cryo by 11.” Another nod and I left the dirty living room to choose an outfit from the closet. I had been feeling apprehensive when she’d asked me to go out, but to taste real food... That was something I dreamed of. At least I would if the Cryo-pods allowed us to dream. After I’d chosen an outfit, a sleek white blouse with black trousers and high heels accompanied by a small jacket, I caught a cab to the restaurant where I was meeting... Brad. That was it. I called up the picture from my tracker and made sure I’d be able to recognise his face. I saw that Rhian was watching me, by the little red marker projected on my finger. She was probably just making sure that I’d made it safely, but it made me shudder. The Restaurant was called “Campino’s”, a narrow three-story Italian eatery with a brightly lit sign and dazzling yellow lights in vintage bulbs shining through the tall glass windows. I stepped out the cab and, after paying the fare, quickly tottered into the porch. A girl in uniform, her hair in a tight chestnut bun, smiled at me as I approached and asked if I had a reservation. “I’m here with Brad?” I said hopefully, putting on Rhian’s sweetest smile. The Waitress nodded in recognition. “He arrived just a minute ago, I’ll show you the way.” I followed the waitress between round clothed tables like river rapids till I came to a table with a man sitting at it. He had ash blonde hair with too much gel in and wore a navy-blue shirt. His face was kind with green-brown eyes and slightly wonky teeth, that added a boyish element to his smile. I liked it, but Original didn’t so... “Hey, glad you could make it.” He said, his voice was high timbered and warm though there was something about it that I couldn’t quite work out. An artificial or false quality. Although in all honesty I wasn’t paying that much attention, I was more excited about the menu and what I saw on the table. Breadsticks. Beautifully browned, olive-oil made, golden crunchy breadsticks. I snatched one up and bit into it with a dry snap before I’d even sat down. Then I composed myself, “Sorry,” I laughed through my mouthful, “I’m starving.” My mouth watered even as I chewed, and I pulled out the chair and sat down. Brad laughed with me. “Well, if you’re making a start I might as well.” He took a breadstick too and we both shared a smile as we enjoyed them. The waitress brought us a bottle of red wine over and Brad poured a glass for each of us. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask do you like wine?” He asked bashfully. I’d never tried it, so I shrugged. “Time to find out.” The first drop was like strawberry fire and I almost choked on the shear cavalcade of flavour that pervaded my tongue and mouth. I could understand now my Original got through so much of it. “That’s amazing,” I whispered, a burn in my throat snatching my voice from me. “I have to agree,” he nodded savouring the taste. “A connoisseur, are you?” I giggled girlishly. “Actually,” He spun the stem of the glass between his fingers, “I was a member of a wine club.” He said sheepishly as if he didn’t want me to know. Original had taught me how to feign interest when talking to men, but there was no need. I was fascinated. “You were?” “I were.” He nodded with a cheeky smile. “Well, why’d you stop?” He took another sip and closed his eyes. “Because I... I....” He froze for a moment as if in deep thought. The silence hung awkwardly, and my eyes wandered the room to try and avoid his struggling face. Suddenly he gave a deep groan and shook his head. “Urrgh I’m sorry. Look I really shouldn’t tell you this but.” He held out his wrist to reveal an Experience Tracker just like mine. “I’m a Doppel. Yes, I know it’s a dick move I totally agree. Worse than standing someone up I reckon. Just don’t tell my original I told you, you can go home and...” “No way!” I exclaimed holding my own wrist out. His eyes widened as he saw my tracker. “Wait you too!?” I nodded exuberantly. “That’s right!” He spread his arms out wide then grabbed his hair. “What the Ffff....!?” We both stared at each other for a long moment and then laughed so loud that other people turned to look at us with disapproving expressions. “So, you... you’re Original, Rhian. Stood up my Original, Brad but he was standing up you which was actually...!” “If it wasn’t for us this table would be empty.” I said picking up my glass and taking a big swig of wine, choking on the flavour. “As you’ve been so honest, I’ll come clean with you. I’m, literally, just here for the food. I’ve not tasted anything in months apart from Nutri-shake.” Doppel-Brad gesticulated in wide eyed agreement. “I am so sick of that stuff. If it wasn’t for the canteen allowance Original gave me, I’d have eaten my own tongue.” I slammed my hands on the table. “You get canteen money!?” We talked about our originals for hours, ordering plates and plates of food till our stomachs hurt and out mouths ached. We were having too much fun to care about anything else, it was just a pleasure to talk with our own kind. It turned out that Brad hadn’t been into work for ages either and lived as my Rhian did, just staring at a phone while Doppel-Brad went out and earned the wage packet. Doppel-Brad also told me he thought his Original had sent him on several dates, asking for a record of each one so he could pick the one he wanted. “So this probably wouldn’t have led anywhere after this?” Doppel-Brad shrugged. “Probably not.” I giggled. “Well Rhian was only going out to save face, so I guess it would have been a wasted exercise anyway.” A smile touched the corner of his lips. “Well, it wasn’t from my angle.” Something warm moved inside me and I felt a genuine smile on my face. “No, it certainly wasn’t.” “We are going to be in so much trouble for talking about them like this.” “Not until we plug in.” He grinned cheekily. We clinked glasses and ordered another bottle, quite forgetting the time. The Restaurant emptied, the lights dimmed and soon a waiter came to say that they were closing in 15 minutes. I looked down at my tracker and balked. “Shit! It’s quarter to 12!” “Is it?” Doppel-Brad said calmly. “I hadn’t noticed.” “I said I’d be back an hour ago!” I hissed, standing and going through Rhian’s purse to find money to pay the bill. “So what?” He whispered under his breath, reaching out and taking my hand. “What do you mean?” I asked, frozen as my heart began to pound in my chest. “I don’t know about you.” He began in a low voice. “But I don’t really want to go back to my Original.” My breath came in controlled gasps. “Are you talking about... Running?” He stood up and murmured. “Look, I know a guy. He knows how to shut down the trackers, temporarily at least. We can go somewhere, get away for a bit.” “Get away? Go where?” “I don’t know anywhere. Just as long as we’re together.” My heart wrenched. I wanted what he wanted, but it was impossible. “You hardly know me. Why run away with me?” “Because all my life, if you could call it that, someone else has told me how to live it for their own sake. I want to do something for my own.” He looked me dead in the eye. “And I think you want the same.” “But I’m a... I’m just a...” “A what? A Doppel?” He waved his wrist at me. “Same here.” He squeezed my hand. “Look, you don’t have to. I’m just asking because the thought of never seeing you again hurts.” I regarded him for a long moment, his round boyish face, his hair with way too much gel, his smell of wine and rich food. “It hurts me too...” I whispered leaning toward him. We kissed. We kissed gently, letting the restaurant staff shuffle around us awkwardly, then pulled away. “Alright,” I threw far more money than necessary down on the table for the bill and, hand in hand, we left the waiters gaping at the cash on the table, walked out onto the street and ran.


March, 1 st , 2020 Today is the first day of school! (1) My kids are excited, especially Dana, who is almost 7 years old and is starting her second grade. She already knows her classmates and has spent the last week of her summer holidays deciding on whether she should sit next to Casey or next to Luke. Last night, she helped me set the school uniform and I prepared her a delicious lunchbox: a meatball sub, a big, whole apple, and just a bottle of water, as they give her juice at school. My youngest is 3 years old, and though Harry is not as aware as his sister of the huge day he has ahead, we have explained to him that he’s going to begin kindergarten; he’s going to have a new teacher and little friends he will get to play with every day. I set my alarm clock at 7 AM. By then, my husband has already prepared some coffee and toasts. While the milk warms up in the microwave, I wake my children and they spring from their beds. “Yeah, today’s the first day of school!” shouts Dana. I help Harry put on his clothes; she dresses by herself. After a quick yet nutritious breakfast, I comb her hair in two ponytails, I tie the shoelaces of Harry’s sneakers, they pick up their bags and we rush to school! Many parents and grandparents crowd the school gate: everyone wants to get a picture of their child with a spotless uniform and a happy face before homework, sitting straight, and short break-times wear the enthusiasm out of them. I push a little bit to get a good close-up of my daughter, and after she waves good-bye and gives a big hug to her new teacher, it’s time to take little Harry to kinder. I walk into the small classroom along with other parents, and we all remain there until the teacher is confident that the children are not going to cry. As I walk away, I see Harry puts a finger in his nose and I resist the urge to correct him in public: after all, he’s already playing happily with wooden blocks and he has forgotten all about me. I can’t help but feeling a little anxious: will my girl do well in math? What if my little boy misses me and starts to cry? Wouldn’t it be terrible if adaptation to kinder took him longer than a week? I try to push aside these dreadful thoughts. Judging from this auspicious beginning, it seems we are heading towards a good school year! March, 1 st , 2021 Today is the first day of school. (2) For my almost eight-year-old daughter, it seems so weird going back, after almost a year in front of the screen, seeing teachers and classmates only in Zoom meetings, and getting email responses instead of hugs, colorful stickers, or little hearts for homework well done. My four-year-old doesn’t understand a bit. What is a kinder? He cannot remember that colorful building which he only attended a couple of weeks, a year ago, before the lockdown. He doesn’t get why he can’t remain at home with mom and dad. Harry grabs my leg and says “mommy, I don’t want to leave you!” It’s almost no use explaining to him we are no longer allowed to do home-office every day, and that he needs to get in touch with his peers once and for all. I assure him it’s just for some hours, and then I am going to pick him up. I wish I could promise him he will have a great time, but with schools opening up their gates with so many protocols and limitations, the year ahead is just one big question mark for all of us. Dana is sad because she already knows she is not in the same “bubble” that her best friends. Her pal Casey is no longer attending the same school: her parents lost their jobs and had to move to another city. And we haven’t seen Luke in a year: his dad has a heart condition, and thus the boy hasn’t gone to the park or done any activity for fear of contagion. I try to comfort my daughter, she will still get to be around children her age and spend some time in the classroom instead of in front of the computer. “Can I take my Barbie to school?” she asks, as I put inside her bag the books, the notebook, a bottle of gel hand sanitizer, paper tissues, and the pencil case. “No, sweetheart, no toys are allowed this year”. She looks disappointed: she spent half the afternoon sewing a little mask for her doll. Dad and I have told the children that their teachers are going to be great, but we haven’t met them yet: no parent-teacher meetings have been scheduled so far. All I know is that the 3 rd -grade teacher is someone new: Mr. Florio, the previous teacher, is at home, still recovering from pneumonia after he caught the virus. “Such a young man”, my neighbor told me, “I wonder why it hit him that hard!” I don’t know what to say: my sister got the virus last September and it went away like a common cold, but a friend of mine almost died, and she isn’t forty yet. Last night, I set up the school uniform, which is spotless because it has been barely worn, but looks small for my big girl. I prepared a lunchbox too, although she is not allowed to eat it at school: I have to pick her up at noon and go to have lunch at the nearest park, on a bench. There are no outdoor food courts in our neighborhood. Restaurants and fast-food chains are yet to open. And schools may be active, but children aren’t allowed to eat anything in them. I put an apple but decide it will be better to cut it in slices. “But mom! It will get all brown, yuk!” I also have to pack a juice box for her, as drinking fountains have been forbidden. I also set two masks for each child: one that they should wear the entire morning at school, and a spare one just in case. I set my alarm clock at 6:15 AM. My husband is doing home-office for all week since there was a confirmed case among his coworkers. Oh my God, there is so much to do... Although I have already set the clothes, which we wash every time we go outside, the children are no longer used to getting up this early. It takes me forever to get them out of bed and into their school uniforms. We have a big breakfast -I shouldn’t eat so much, those long months indoors have left me with extra weight. I take my anxiety medication together with a glass of water. My daughter is complaining about the pink mask she can’t find. “Sorry, honey, it’s not dry yet!” I had to wash it last night. As for my little boy, we have been teaching him how to put on and take off the mask by himself, but he is still perfecting the skill. I tell the children to go brush their teeth while I double-check my bag: extra mask, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, an extra pair of shoes to change mine when I walk into the office (the latest request from the management), more anxiety pills because I have such a big day ahead... I comb Dana’s hair, which takes forever: it has never been this long, but I’m terrible at cutting it and I won’t risk going to the children’s hair salon if I can avoid it. And my little boy looks like a young Beatle. They put on their bags, and I ask them for the tenth time to wash their hands, to avoid physical contact with their classmates, to follow the directions, and to respect the protocol. “Don’t share your school objects with other children”, I say. “But mom, wasn’t sharing supposed to be good?” asks Dana. “I know, sweetheart”, I smile at her, but I frown when I picture a dozen little dirty hands getting inside her brand new pencil case. We arrive early to school: children are supposed to enter in different timetables according to their grades. I can no longer walk my daughter to the door, as parents shouldn’t spend more than the strictly necessary time in front of the school. She can barely distinguish her classmates behind the masks so she looks lost, and oh so small... There are other parents around, but I don’t see many cameras. Nor grandparents. Until the vaccine is available for all that age group, we won’t be counting much on them. We want to keep them safe. My daughter waits in line until a janitor, wearing a face shield that makes him look like an astronaut, checks the temperature of every child, and, only after applying more hand sanitizer, allows them to enter one by one into the building. My daughter waves goodbye. I can’t see whether she’s smiling or not, but her eyes look sad. And now I have to wait for at least another 25 minutes before it’s time to take Harry to kindergarten. I can no longer go inside with him, and of course, he cries when I tell him he should go inside to meet his new teacher. He doesn’t remember his friends: he has only seen them a few times in the playground. Nobody hugs him; the principal does not even tap his head. Physical contact should be completely avoided among children and school staff, it doesn’t matter if it’s a 4-year-old being apart from his mother for the first time in almost a year, or a 10-year-old who just bumped his head into a locker and is bleeding. Everyone should stay at least 3 feet apart from one another. By the time Harry finally calms down, I rush to the bus stop. I know I’m already late for work, but I couldn’t imagine it would take me another half an hour for a bus driver to let me get in: there’s a limited sitting capacity and it is the rush hour by now. I go inside the office, I change my face mask and my shoes, sanitize my hands, and have my temperature check. I finally sit in front of my desk and I’m about to turn my computer on when my cell phone rings. It’s my husband. He tells me he’s going to pick up Dana because one of her classmates threw up and has a little fever, so the school is closing the whole grade preventively and sending everybody home. She won’t be back, in the best possible scenario, for the next two days, and if the other girl happens to test positive, Dana should be locked inside for the following two weeks. I don’t know what kind of year we have ahead. I don’t know what kind of day it’s going to be. And still, somehow, I’m ok. Perhaps it’s the medication, but I prefer to think that all of this we have been through has raised my tolerance threshold to uncertainty. Time will tell. (1) In Argentina, where I’m from, school years begin in March (when the summer is ending) and finish early in December, when the days are already scorching hot. Last year, on March 16 th all schools were closed because of the Covid-19 pandemic, and classes went full-time remote for the rest of the year. (2) In March 2021, schools in Argentina reopened following strict protocols.