I have a folder where I have all of my stories printed out on paper. There are a few in there and I chose to share this one. It’s kind of sad, but I still hope you enjoy it. Feedback is also very welcome! I could see it in your eyes. The sparkle of joy, of luck of love. It was all there. The way the corners of your mouth curled up into the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen in my entire life and your laugh, that could lighten up an entire city. You behavior was so respectful, so lovely, so careful towards others that my heart hurt from affection. You were the sweetest thing this world could ever dare to create. A blessing, even though that word didn’t capture the happiness you brought into my life in the slightest. You were my heart. Every inch of me was consumed by you and I couldn’t stop thinking of your lovely features, which were almost engraved into my brain. My mind always wandered back to your incredible personality, generous being and ravishing laugh. It almost hurt, but I liked that pain. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You were everything I needed and even more. But where are you now? The most amazing person I’ve ever laid my eyes one, the one that would make my heart melt, my soulmate? That was how you would always call us. Soulmates. You left me, left me alone in this big world. I know you didn’t mean to, I’m not blaming you, don’t worry. I’m blaming fate and the universe to tear us apart, to steal your wonderful life, to force you to leave. Why did it have to happen? I looked up into the night sky. Where my heart used to beat swiftly, now felt like a gaping cave, filled only by sorrow and numbing agony. My stomach was in pain and it seemed as if somebody was picking at my head with wicked glee, causing a disgusting headache to make my body even weaker than it already was. Why? Why you? Why us? So many questions, silence as an answer. Sometimes I think it’s my fault. I know you wouldn’t approve of that thought at all, but nobody was here to tell me otherwise. It felt like my will to live was slowly leaking out of my body like a broken pipe, just dripping away until everything was gone. What I saw wasn’t the world. It wasn’t the beautiful scenery, which I had a faint memory of in my mind. It wasn’t filled with the wonderful music you liked. You weren’t there and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. No one would wipe away my tears. No one would tell me everything’s alright. Because nothing was alright. Why did you have to die? So just looked up into the night sky, wondering why.


Emily was up in her room drawing a picture when her father came in. She put her sketch book down and asked her dad what was up. and so her dad told her about puberty. Emily calmed him she already knew about it and went back to drawing. When they were done with dinner they went to an art museum. and Emily was so happy. her dad told her about her mom and how much she loved art. Emily's mom died a day or two after Emily was brought home from the hospital. And every girl has bullied her about it but Emily dies not care. Emily has done with her life like art and teaching jobs. Emily has loved all of it and she dedicates everything to her parents because they helped her through everything. Her dad has done everything to keep her drawing going. She got all sorts of art jobs and she denied most of them because she was decorating cakes and cupcakes and teaching art in 3 different schools. her step mom was abusive and her dad did not see that. so when Emily got off of school one day she went to the police to tell them about her parents because her dad became very abusive to he as well. But the police sent her away to a art home which made Emily happy but she wanted to be with her dad. Emily always wanted to be somewhere with other girls who loved art but they still made fun of her here and there but they did not irritated her like the other kids at her old school did. she had a routine to do everyday. She also had sports to choose from that were free. she chose cheerleading and softball. after about a week of being there everyone adored Emily. and they all asked why she was there and she told them about her dad abusing her after he got together with some girl and she had her kids taken away. They all explained that they were looking for a school for art. Come to find out they were all bullied. and they were abused and such. every girl has some real good skill and a girl named lila was super quiet and gave Emily her story. Dear diary, My science teacher Mr. Brown is not as I expected him to be. Ya, I just moved from Texas to New York but still. So anyway in science class he made me do an essay on a scientific event and I chose dinosaurs. And Mr.Brown said that it was due tomorrow. In history, Mrs. O’Neil is making me do a paragraph on a president and that is due tomorrow. And the president I chose was Abe Lincoln. And there was nothing in math and stuff. I wish my stepbrother Henry was not so mean. He is always at parties, drinking, smoking, and talks back. I wish my step-dad let us stay in Texas. Dear Diary, Today was not too bad. At lunch, a group of boys asked if I wanted to sit with them and I said sure. Josh asked if I did any sports in texas and so I said that I did baseball, cheer, dance, and volleyball. And he said “ But Lila cheer and dance isn't a sport.” and so I told him what all we had to do they stopped laughing. After school, my mom took me to the dance studio to see if I could do dance and they said I could and that I started tomorrow. Then we went back to the school to see if I could do cheerleading, volleyball, and baseball and they said I could. Dear diary, Ok. I have to make sure I have everything: Lunch iPod Earbuds Money Uniforms As we were trying to practice for baseball the guys kept messing around. I hate how the coach does not do anything. And for me I pitch it then they don't even hit the ball. And as we practiced cheer the football players were also out. They are so cute. Since we got done early I stayed out there a little longer. When the guys were done they noticed me in the stands cheering them on and doing a cheer. The quarterback asked me out! He said his name is Sam and he thought I was cute!!! I told him my name and he said that he saw me cheering. And he also asked if I wanted to hang out and I said sure. Dear Diary So I found out that there is a party for the people who are in sports. You don't have to go through. But if you are in multiple sports you can only have one outfit on. So I went with a cheerful look. So in English, we had to make a poster of what makes us us. So I drew a pom-pom, a pointe shoe, a volleyball, my fishing, a baseball, and my family. When I was done a guy sitting next to me wanted me to draw him a basketball and I said sure. Then as I was going to my next class the creeps stopped in front of me and asked if I could hang out with them and I said I was busy with everything. ( Cheerleading, volleyball, baseball, and dance) Dear diary, I found four boys staring at me in history. I thought they were being creeps. and they put a note on my desk asking if i wanted to hang out but i said no because my step dad was super mean and did not want me hanging out with random people. The real story is that my step dad is abusive to me and he hate me going off to places. and i also have a lot of studying to do for my classes since im in all honors other than history. because im not really good at history. i hve no idea why im so bad in history. i mean i study and get good grades on my tests but not on my assignments and i dont know why.


“There is a difference between taking a life and killing someone. You can take a life and leave the person alive, yet a husk of who they were. A wandering corpse not yet dead. The people who have had their lives taken slunk through the streets just like everybody else, sit behind their desks like everybody else, yet all they feel is the sweet bliss and nothingness that is want of death. What of those who took their lives in the first place? They are left showing humanity the very depths it can reach. The people who take a life from another serve the same purpose as staring into a mirror and whispering words of discouragement to yourself softly, letting your warm breath graze the glass, leaving fog as the hate spews. To take another's life you must be willing to take your own. To commit an act that can leave a person a husk of themselves requires you to be a husk yourself. The problem is you can never tell a husk from a person. Someone who still feels human and actively acknowledges the lives and existence of others and someone who does not look the same. You may ask yourself, what do we do with the people who take lives? Well in all honesty there is no right answer. No way to fix a person beyond repair. No god who can heal enough, no medicine that can cure well enough, no ale that can make you forget enough. What do we do with the people who take lives and what do we do with ourselves are the same questions. We all create husks, we will all become husks, and as the soles on our feet turn to sand as we walk our endless prisons, clinging to the ethereal nights, we will finally be set free in the realization this is the punishment humanity must endure. There is no freedom in death. Only the entrapment of oneself. Like burning a teddy bear and then forcing the stuffing into a box. Once you see what lies beyond you will know. It is unfortunate. Very unfortunate. You will live long, and happy, and you will live this life with a person that you love and trust, and when you are finally at a ripe old age, where death feels like something you fully accept, they will die. They will die and leave you husk without ever meaning to hurt you. A fate I wouldn’t wish on the worst of humankind. I can not claim to know. I can not claim to understand the inner workings of death despite being death himself. It is the curse I bear to understand the human struggle. Humanity can learn every aspect of their being and still live in torture over the mind. The mind is a senseless object. A computer made of fat and flesh molded together to create nothing but chaos we interpret into meaning. Honestly the unknown of one's own mind should be enough to drive all of humankind into bumbling husks. Yet so many persist. So many breath without purpose, blink without love, speak without intent, and yet hold a will to live. Maybe I just don’t understand yet. I can not begin to comprehend the idea of life as a loveless and joyless slog. A long fall into the depth of mud and filth. Yet what is it to live? Some say to live is to breath and function and process light with your retinas. And that's true. That’s what being alive is. Yet it is not living. For one to live one must love not only themselves but others. To love is to live. Yet husks can love and be loved. A husk can feel the same way a human can. Yet they were made into a husk anyway. Weather intentionally or not the expression of love onto a person's self and onto other persons is to invite pain. Others can’t hurt you if you do not feel you deserve anything higher than pain. And you can not hurt yourself if you do not value your own being. To love is to be a husk. To love is to invite your own pain. Yet it is not worth living to not love. Humanity is in constant suffering not because of some wrath or pit of humankind, but because we can experience the best feeling known to man, we can love. Love is the ultimate pain. Sorry for rambling. I lost myself there. Right what was I supposed to tell you? Right I remember. You are dead. You experienced 10,428 sunsets, experienced millions of gust of winds, heard the sound of frogs outside your window on a warm summer's night 38 times, danced with pure and true emotion 5 times, experienced love and heartbreak 3 times, and danced with the idea of death 77 times. Now you’re here, a husk of who you used to be. I was told to give you one memory to live in, just for a while, before I take you. Before you become even less than a husk. “ Your eyes open at a small apartment. A cat sits near the television, rubbing it’s fur gently against it. The couches blanket have been draped messily over it, dishes sit unwashed in the sink, plants shine a dark glossy green in the corner, the fan spins slowly and quietly around the room, the stars and the moon shine through the window. You remember them. You rest your hands gently on their hips, they rest their hands around your neck, you sway back and forth. The room fades away slowly. Each piece of the memory turns to dust and ash before your very eyes. It’s just you, dancing with no one, in an infinite white void. You stop dancing and rest your arms at your side. A soft gust of wind blows by and you feel like you can almost hear the ruffling of a tree's leaves. Then you can’t feel anything at all.


A whisper condensed in Caroline’s ear, startling her awake. She swatted at the culprit. “Hey, relax. It’s just me.” Jeff nuzzled into her neck while she grappled with consciousness. His hands swept the length of her body with obvious hunger. She groaned and pulled away, knowingly disappointing the man, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Overnighters were *not* her thing - she fully expected to pay for the accident. She whipped the comforter off her body and flushed at her own nudity in the company of another human. A glance over her shoulder revealed he was *clearly* not so embarrassed. “Let me make you breakfast. I never get to see you in the morning.” It wasn’t the first attempt he’d made at getting her to stick around *just a little longer*. She could only imagine his thoughts. A scene straight out of a romantic comedy where the morning light glowed off her messy hair and he would swoon and just know that he was in love. He’d think “this is it, she’s the one.” And finally, the swell of a ballad. Caroline bounced around the room to pick up her clothing. A shirt that led to a sock leading to a pair of jeans, only half inside-out. Her face burned knowing that Jeff was watching her. At least it was easy to find everything in the daylight. The trail of garments went cold just outside the bedroom door. The inside of her lip was already raw from previous chewing, but her teeth took no issue with tearing into it once again. She wondered if she had let the question linger too long. A buzzing escaped from the clothes stuffed under her arm, and she tried to wriggle it free from its prison on her way to the bathroom. Privacy was just the ticket. By the time she got to it, the screen read, “Missed call: Dad”. Her brow scrunched at the odd hour. “Shit.” The clock practically laughed at her joke. 9:49 AM. She stuffed herself into wrinkled jeans and shoved the phone into the back pocket. She shouted an “I’ll call you later” in the general direction of the bedroom before leaving behind a cartoon dust cloud at the door. In the elevator, her phone buzzed again. Jeff texted *miss you already* with a kissy-face emoji. He wasn’t so bad. He’s a simple man, eager to please. *What was she doing with him?* There was nothing appealing to Caroline about a white-picket fence, kids, and a dog named Spot. It seemed cruel to keep him hanging on without the promise of some kind of progress. The ding of the elevator reminded her that she was in a race and she dashed off into the lobby, very likely toppling several victims in her wake, but she was too hurried to turn and find out. The buzzing persisted throughout the morning, so Caroline silenced and quarantined her phone in the top drawer of her desk. It was time to put her nose to the grindstone and get shit done. She had complaints about her job, like anyone else, but she loved it. She let spreadsheets consume her, craved formulas, and loved the dance of her fingers on the keyboard as she entered redundant and superfluous data, even on such a tight deadline. Of course, in the blink of an eye, she realized she’d missed lunch. Her stomach growled its complaint, but her mind went right to her phone. The missed calls were piling up, but she knew if it was important, her father would leave a voicemail. She stuffed the phone back in its hiding place and headed for the beckoning cafeteria. As she headed for the stairway door, a goddess emerged. She had legs up to her eyeballs and slow-motion music video hair. Her pencil skirt had a risque slit up the thigh, but everything about her was tidy. Professional. *Sexy.* “Greta,” the celestial form said. She greeted the silence in return with a giggle. “Oh, hi. Yes, um. Caroline. Hi.” She wiped the sweat from her palms on her pants and reached for the one offered to her. They shook hands and Caroline gathered herself. “Was there something I could help you with?” “Oh, goodness. I thought you’d be expecting me!” Greta’s cheeks flushed, but she composed herself quickly. “I’m meeting with the partners today? I have an appointment. I apologize, I assumed you were one of them.” *Me? The utter puddle in front of you?* “Right. No, I’m not a partner but I *do* give excellent directions.” She turned and pointed to the conference room. “Looks like they’re all in there. Must be waiting for you.” *Lucky assholes.* “Great! Thanks, Caroline. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Her smile was dazzling. She was a freaking toothpaste commercial. “The pleasure was all mine,” she replied. And then she headed back to her desk. Caroline struggled to remain focused on the tasks that usually thrilled her. *What is she here for?* She tapped aimlessly at some keys. *Damn, I still forgot lunch.


Before Jed and Kamil could clear the rusty platform, littered with grease-smeared wrenches and chain locks, the massive pressure from below the earth's crust tore the drill head and platform free from their mountings. Kamil lost an arm; Jed was dead. Kamil being a renowned Sitar player was arguably the worse off, each day from then on to be tortured with the knowledge that he would never entice soulful meandering melodies from the beloved instrument again. Jed was stone cold by the time professional medical help came to the remote drilling site in outback Australia, the flying doctor service concentrating on getting Kamil's stump swaddled and stopped before turning their attention to the corpse which had been shot clean through from the sheer pressure of pent-up oil breaching the earth's surface. Stemming the flow of the crude oil, noxious and angry, was something that the drill site manager, old McCrory had done just a few times before; no easy task under any circumstances. It took all of his skill and much goading of the small workforce to get close enough to the gushing black-brown fountain in order to temporarily halt nature's furious tirade at being punctured. The Jalbiru site was secured by the next morning, by then just a well-trampled patch of murky dirt and puddles of crude; the platform and drill head looking like not much more than a mangled old car wreck left to its own devices on the harsh sun-baked plain. Word of the accident quickly circulated headquarters; these things happened, people lost their lives in the worst cases, and on the rare occasion that they did the emotional pall that hung over the company lasted weeks, sometimes months. Not only that but there were any number of local, state and national authorities which would make it their business - because that was exactly their business - to investigate what had happened and why. The people who knew all about the whats and whys for the Jalbiru project site were the two geological engineers charged with the responsibility of seeing the project safely home - something which never came to fruition. Zeph had been with the company for thirteen years, Katie for only three; they both had to take the rest of the day off from shock when the news came in that the Jalbiru project site had suffered a rupture, resulting in injury and death. On their return to work the next day Zeph and Katie had a quiet lunch together, at a seat at an outside table, facing away from the road at a local deli. Zeph eyed his lunch “A BLT sandwich never looked less appetising...” “Yeah I know” Katie agreed “I've not had a good appetite since yesterday either. Caesar salad is the best I can do.” “The Work Safe investigators will be here tomorrow. Then we'll have to deal with the state authorities after them, and if we're really unlucky-” “Don't even think about it Zeph. Let's just go one step at a time.” “So, the figures, the maximum working pressures that we modeled,” Zeph, snapped small pieces of bacon from the edge of his sandwich and nibbled at them mindlessly “didn't exactly match what the actual site exploration pressures were measured at. I looked yesterday before I headed off home.” “Oh, so you've looked already as well? It's not so hot, is it? What we said versus what they got. Especially what those two drillers got.....” “I..... I thought that those measured pressures were lower. They normally are for that part of the country. Those other test drillings we sank - you remember those? Two just north of Jalbiru and the smaller one to the east? - they were all within spec.” “Yeah, I recall you saying that. I must admit that I took your word for it and didn't check on it myself. In hindsight....” Katie piled the Caesar salad croutons up like a mini-fortress. “Even if we allow for the standard five percent measurement deviation error those Jalbiru project numbers are like eighteen percent over. There's no way an investigator will pas that over.” “I don't like this. It gives me a bad feeling. I think-” “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Zeph looked directly at Katie for the first time since they'd sat down “I can't...... lose my job Katie. I've got one kid in school and another needs special care. The mortgage isn't going to pay itself and I just bought a friggin' boat. Shit timing, but there you are.” “Zeph, I think we need to take this seriously.” “I am, for Christ's sake Katie, believe me!” Zeph raised his voice to a level that would normally arouse attention if they were eating indoors, got away with it outside. Zeph quietened down, as if his sudden outburst had released some internal pressure. He ate without pleasure, occupied by thought. Katie chewed on the fortress of croutons, depleted their defences. “Got it!” “Huh? 'It', Zeph?” “I've got it, I've got it, I've got it.” Zeph beamed like a Cheshire cat, he leaned back in his seat. “Ok Katie, listen to this. I've been with the company long enough that some of the project names get repeated. So, I remember, about eleven years ago - no wait, maybe twelve - there was another Jalbiru.” Katie stopped eating to concentrate on what Zeph said. “Another Jalbiru? And?” “Yeah, and I'm pretty sure those figures will be -” “Oh no no no, Zeph. You can't do that. The dates and lat/long won't match.” “Uh-uh, of course I know that too. But I can change the metadata Katie.” “Hold on. You want to change some data? Fudge something up so that it gets you-” “Us Katie, us.” “Ok, frees us of blame. Is that what you're suggesting?” “Exactly what I'm suggesting. And what's wrong with that?” “Someone will know Zeph. We can't do this. We'll get caught.” “S'far as I know Katie I'm the longest serving at the company. Most others there haven't done more than ten years. They don't know about the previous Jalbiru project data.” “No Zeph, I can't-” “You'll lose your job too Katie. Who would want to employ a geological engineer with a lousy three years of experience and a serious drilling accident on their record?” “I..... This is not...” “Listen to me Katie. This will work out fine. Once I merge that old data with this new-” “What about McCrory?” Zeph put a bread crust down “Huh? McCrory? What about him?” “You said that nobody has been with the company for more than ten years. Isn't he at fourteen?” “McCrory? He works out at sites, not at headquarters. He won't even know what's going on.” “This feels ..... wrong, Zeph. I can't-” Zeph laughed out loud “No, it's gonna be fine Katie. Believe me, I can work this.” Katie was up and walking before Zeph had realised, she'd cut directly across the road through the traffic. Zeph turned his head, wiped his hands and yelled at her through the passing cars. “Katie!”


Brodie stuffed his face like he never had before. To his left a massive minotaur was mowing down on some fish and chips. To the right, an ogre belched before placing an entire turkey leg inside his mouth. Both were only on their fifth dish and slowing down. Brodie on the other hand was just finishing his sixth, a peking duck, before moving onto his seventh, a large mound of poutine, and nothing was going to slow him down. There was too much riding on this competition for him to lose. As the first human to participate in the Heavyweight Consumption World Championship he represented humanity and it’s capabilities. He had the whole of humanity behind him, watching and cheering him on as he pushed the remains of a peking duck away from him and a waiter brought over a heaping, steaming pile of poutine. He snapped at the waiter to hurry as he chewed on the last bits of duck. The rules of the competition were simple and clear, eight dishes, first to finish all eight wins, and if he was going to win then every second counted. Especially against last years champion, a slug-like creature with an expanding stomach named Kevin. Kevin had taunted and insulted him in the qualifying rounds, stating openly and slowly on international television that it was impossible for a human to compete on his level. The memory of the public embarrassment ground Brodie’s gears and he was determined to prove him wrong. Between handfuls of poutine he stole a glance at Kevin, who was in the midst of eating their own pile of poutine. Brodie was ahead of him, just by a little, but enough that he allowed himself a smug, cheese, gravy, and fry-filled smile. Victory within reach he pushed himself to his limits. He swallowed entire handfuls without bothering to chew, muscles in his neck straining to push the food down. Slurping up the last of his poutine he beckoned furiously to the waiter to bring over the last dish. An entire pot of cheesy garlic mashed potatoes was set down in front of him. He grinned despite his stomach feeling like it was tearing at the seams. He had trained for this. For an entire year he had eaten a pot of mashed potatoes for dinner, recording how long it took him to eat it and constantly pushing himself to go faster until he could do it in just one minute and twenty-seven seconds. He quickly looked at the timer before plunging his hands into mashed potatoes. Exactly twenty-three minutes in. If he finished before the timer hit 24:27 he would beat his own personal record. The world around him faded away as he watched the timer tick, every second feeling like an hour as he struggled to shove as much mushy potato as he could fit into his mouth. As the timer hit the twenty-four minute mark his bodys’ autonomic nervous system decided to forgo breathing altogether, the consumption of mashed potato becoming Brodie’s sole purpose. Inhaling the last of the pot he slammed his hand down on the button. A loud buzzing noise rang out. Brodie looked to the timer. 24:20. Brodie jumped up and, with tears welling at the corners of his eyes, gave a crazed cheer that startled even the minotaur beside him. Pointing at the slug-like creature at the end of the table he screamed, “Take that Kevin, you slug-ass looking dickhead!” Then he passed out. When he opened his eyes he was in an off-white room on a hospital bed. Confused, he tried to sit up but found that he didn’t have the strength which only fed into his confusion. A door opened to the right and he watched Sandy, the love of his life, rush in from a door to the right of his hospital bed. Something was wrong about her. She had more grey hair than he remembered, even some whites, and there were wrinkles where there hadn’t been any before. Beginning to panic, Brodie attempted to speak to her but his vocal chords felt like they were being used for the first time. With a raspy croak he managed, “What... happened?” Sandy looked down at him with pain in her eyes. “Brodie, what I’m about to tell you is going to come as a shock but please don’t panic, it’s important you don’t put anymore stain on your body, do you understand?” Brodie used what little strength he had to nod his head. His love continued, tears in her eyes. “After you won the championship, when you stood up and yelled, the lack of oxygen in your brain caused you to pass out.” Brodie listened to every word, wide-eyed. “After the paramedics failed to revive you the doctors, they... they diagnosed you as comatose. Brodie, there’s no easy way to say this but...” Sandy began to sob. “Brodie,” she managed between her sniffles and tears, “You’ve been in a food coma for the last 15 years.


The moving truck sat in the driveway, with Dad behind the wheel. Our entire life was in boxes in the back. My fingertips cling to the doorknob, not quite willing to let go, to leave behind my past. It’s silly, I know. I’m fourteen-I’m old enough to realize that I have to go, that I can’t just stay here. But my entire life up to this point was contained to those four walls, to that small yellow house on Wildflower Avenue on the outskirts of Chicago. Inside we have the most beautiful kitchen, a comfortable family room, and a bright sunroom with huge windows that let us see all the way to the city. We had a beautiful yard-a tire swing on the large apple tree, and a garden with produce. Dad honks the horn and motions for me to get in the car with Mom and Harper. I give a glance back to the house, and reluctantly pop into the front seat. Harper is playing with her plastic horses in her car seat, babbling happily. Mom gives us a smile and says, “Well! Jansen, Illinois, here we come!” I give a half-hearted grin, and Harper laughs. I pull up the browser on my phone and search up the town. Here is what I found: Jansen, Illinois Population-687 people Known for- This town is most notably recognized for the murders of Dr. Amelia Patel and Mr. Vince Harding six years ago. They were killed under mysterious circumstances. No suspects were identified, but the family of the victims suppose they will return to the area within a few years time to scope out their next victim. Residents are often wary of new neighbors. “Hey, Mom?” I say, becoming a bit nervous indeed. “Yes, Emery?” She responds, not taking her eyes off the road. “Uh, there’s a murderer in that town. Never caught. It says they don’t like new people.” “Oh, hon, the Internet is full of rumors. Jansen seems like a lovely, close-knit community of people. Now, I need to focus. Please keep an eye on Harper.” I sigh. Well, at least the house we are buying looks nice. I am excited to finally have my own bedroom. It really stunk having to share a bedroom with Harper, because she is only three and makes a mess. Mom said Harper can share a bathroom with her and dad, so I can have my own. But still, the whole murder thing unnerves me... We arrive at our new house later in the day. It’s ok, and is certainly larger than our Chicago home. It is blue with navy shutters and a brown roof. The backyard is so large, and I bet I can convince mom to get me a dog to keep me company. We head inside and split up as we look around. I race upstairs to my bedroom. Wow! It’s huge! I can’t wait for my furniture to get here, surely then this will feel like home! After a tossing-and-turning night of sleep on some air mattresses, it’s the first day at Jansen Middle School. We had bought supplies weeks before moving, and I was prepared physically, but my mind just couldn't wrap around a whole new school. A new school, new kids, new teachers, new social norms. I can’t do that. But the car turns the corner, and I am in front of the large, brick school. I say goodbye to Mom and head out of the car and into what I am sure is imminent doom. Kids are staring at me as I walk to the office. It’s like I have “New Kid” written on my forehead. When I get in front of the secretary’s desk, she gives me a startled look. She quickly gathers herself. “Hi! What are you doing here?” She says. I noticed her name on her desk- Ms. Patel. “Oh, hi. I’m Emerson Peters. I’m a new seventh grade student.” I reply. “Oh, well. Hi Emerson. Uh, go to room one hundred and twenty five. Just down that hall.” She quickly returns to typing on her computer. I mumble a quick thank you and head down the hallway. People are avoiding me like I have the plague. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and put my head down as I walk. Room one twenty-three, twenty-four, ah! Room one hundred twenty five! A sign on the door says “Mrs. Ortega’s Social Studies”. I knock, and a small lady with long, dark hair comes to the door and peers out the window into the hall. The door creaks open. “Welcome!” she says. “I’m Mrs. Ortega! You are Emerson, right?” “Emery,” I say. “Well, Emery, take a seat in that desk in the corner.” “Alright.” I head to the desk, which is separated from all the others. Kids whisper, and a tall girl with dark hair waves to me. She is wearing a shirt that says “Detroit” on it. I give her a small wave in return. After an excruciatingly long and boring social studies lesson on trade between Britain and the colonies, we are released for our next class. The tall girl is waiting outside the door. “I’m Melody,” she says. “Emery, right?” “Yeah,” I say. “I just moved here from Chicago.” “I moved from Detroit six weeks ago.” Melody says. “Why is everyone so ice cold here?” I ask. “Same for me when I moved here. Even the middle school is caught up in the whole murder thing. You hear about that?” “Yeah! It’s so weird!” I respond. “Especially Ms. Patel. Wait, is she related to-” “To Dr. Patel? Yeah.” Melody says. “That was her mother. We can talk at lunch-I need to get to math class.” “Ok. I need to check my locker, my mom said my schedule should be in there.” I tell her that and head to the wing where the lockers are. I find my locker quite easily-62782-and spend a good minute getting it open. Inside is a schedule. Oh no! I thought. I should have been in Language Arts class seven minutes ago! I just realized that no one else is in the hallway. I must have spent a lot of time at my locker! I rush to the classroom, room 131, and stop at the teacher's desk. She recoils a bit before speaking. “Oh, hello. My name is Mrs. Reynolds. I teach language arts here at Jansen Middle School. Why are you here?” “Uh, I’m supposed to be here. Reynold’s LA, 131.” I say. “I’m Emerson-er Emery.” “Well, I suppose you can have a seat at the spare desk in the back.” I nod and sit. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I eagerly turn around, but he whispers Killer, killer, back to get more! In my ear. I turn back around and try to focus on verbs. When the period is over, I run to my locker. I call my mom. “Emery! You shouldn’t be calling during school!” “We need to get out of here!” “Why ever so?” “Just pick me up. I... feel sick.” “I can be there in fifteen minutes. Go to the office.” “Ok. Love you.” “Bye, hon.” I rush to the main office, ignoring stares from kids I pass by. “My mother is signing me out,” I bark at Ms. Patel. She nods, a bit frightened, and waves me to the door. I go to my mother who is in the parking lot. I cry as I open the door and through sobs I say “I don’t want to live here. The kids are bad. The teachers are bad.” My mom sees the fright and sadness in my eyes, and agrees that people have treated her oddly, too. She promises to move us back to Chicago. Three weeks later, we are in a new Chicago home. We are watching the news when a special report comes on. “Thanks, Jim. Breaking news. The Jansen town murderer, identified as Jeremiah Garcia, is behind bars. His family is here to speak with us.” “Mom!” I say. “That’s my friend, Melody! That must be her dad!” Thank you for reading! Please comment feedback/suggestions to help me learn to be a better writer. If you enjoyed this story, likes are appreciated! Have a great day, and stay safe.


“Please, don’t do it.” His fingers dig into the flesh of my lower abdomen and my vision blurs as his bright blue eyes get swallowed by dark corners. “You brought this onto yourself,” he tells me, voice trembling with bitter rage, his smile as sharp as the blade clenched between his teeth. He reached up and put his hand on my face, stroking the side of my left cheek with his thumb. Our eyes locked with a fierce intensity and I knew my fear wasn’t what was hindering my breath but the endless stretches of cobalt blue. His thumb brushes over my lower lip as he speaks, “I wonder if your lips are still soft and subtle,” His voice has gone velvety, and he draws my lips towards his. “Tell me, do they still have that rich, tangy, sweet taste?” I still remember the way he would pull me into his arms, a cluster of hostile nerves dancing beneath my stomach to greet him. He would lean forward, eyes searching my face before planting a warm kiss on my lips, gently biting my lower lip to tease me. When we parted his hand was always on top of my chest, my heart trembling beneath his fingertips. He was laughing, I was crying. Then he jerks my head forward and almost snaps my neck in two, just to remind me that I fell for every lie, every perfectly curved smile. Despite his hatred for me, that moment stayed in my mind, nurturing the soul within me. I look into his eyes, begging for him to stop, giving him one last chance to walk away but his expression is the same, dark, vacant, and hungry. Then he takes his knife and drives it in between my ribs and up my chest. I wake in a pool of sticky blood, fighting my way out of an anxiety attack that has started brewing in my chest. The man in gray is nowhere to be found. I am alone. The pain is electric, burning through all my defenses and it takes me five minutes just to lift my head. I sucked in gulps of air, and the pain in my ribs intensified. “You’re alright,” I say to calm myself down. I should be dead but I’m not. “You’re alright.” I roll to my side and that’s when my blood overflows my lungs, suffocating me like a sponge soaked in water, and I’m certain that if I didn’t die before I would now. My agony spills out in stabbing spurts, rippling over my skin in the form of fresh tears. The silence was heavily throbbing and for just a second I begged for someone to find me so my suffering could end. I hear a rattling at the door and I scramble to my feet, catching my reflection in the mirror dizzily: curly hair disheveled, skin-tight, dark eyes wild and smoldering. So this is what being in love looked like. What the hell was love if it wasn’t me and him? I found my way to the door, dragging my feet behind me and clutching my chest with one hand. I peeked through the window before deciding to open it, just trees. Whoever was there was gone now. My eyes scan the street, hoping for it to be empty but it’s a bright day out, full of people dressed head to toe in dark blue. The crisp white dress I was wearing was now stained a glossy reddish-brown. I head back inside and try to think of my next move. He might come back here. I had no choice but to run. My legs feel numb and I am trembling as I start cleaning the blood on my chest. I rip the bottom of my dress and use the piece of fabric to cover my wound, wrapping it three times before tying it. I lean against the door, taking a break, and gasp, gritting my teeth when the cold doorknob touches the sensitive side of my chest. The microchip that’s snug beneath the skin on my neck is glowing red which means I don’t have much time left to live. The bolts fastened inside my elbow are tightened making it harder to extend my arm and I wish I could have just a moment to rest, to think of a better plan than this but there’s no time. It won’t be long when the rest of the bolts inside me start to lock and I won’t be able to move at all. I slip out the door and walk down the sidewalk with my head down. As I ventured out of the neighborhood I found myself at a farmer’s market with booths filled with all kinds of things but nothing I could stomach. Then I am hit with a rich, sickly sweet aroma. Strawberries. I used to wear strawberry-flavored lip balm all the time. And now my mind wanders back to him. How did he do it? How did he memorize the taste of my lips when all I could hear was the pounding of my erratic heartbeat every time he kissed me? It almost justifies my theory that there’s a heart, a swarm of pulsing arteries among the metal. That he might just be like me. But I was wrong. Warm sweaty fingers enclosed my wrist. “Hey! Don’t move!” “I’m just trying to get home,” I say. “You’re wearing the wrong color.” I curse under my breath. He tugs my arm and I slowly turn around. He is tall, with faded blonde brown hair and an enlarged belly. He looks at me and blinks. “Is that blood? How is that possible? Unless-” My hand is at his face before I can think, fingers clawing his eyes, itching to hold on to the cold metal. Then I rip his eye out of its socket pulling out a jumbled line of blue and red wires that entwine between my fingers. I remember a time when I would have given anything to be just like him, to be just like everyone else. Another trinket among metal and computer programming. A crowd is standing around me, calculating my existence, trying to figure out how I ended up here. He falls to the floor with a thud and I use that to turn around and stagger past them. They won’t know what to do with me. They’ve never dealt with a malfunction before. A mistake. I take a deep breath and start to stop jogging when a hand clamps down over my mouth. My heart lurches and I want to scream but I have to remember they don’t have any emotions. No one will come running to save me. I swing my body around, shoving whoever was behind me. “Damn you’re still alive.” He tells me. I flinch, my gaze coming up to his. It’s him, the man in grey. Soft dark brown curls fall around his face. He lets a slow lazy smile stretch along the curve of his mouth. For once, all I feel toward him is red hot anger and the worst part is that I’m not even that mad at him. I’m angrier at myself. “When you left me, my heart went under and the pain submerged in my bloodstream because, without you, I had nowhere else to go,” I say, my hands clenched at my sides. He blinks at me, bored with what I said. He still, after everything, doesn't seem to care. “It’s not my fault that you fell in love with me,” he says with a scathing look, eyes clouded. Then my last bolt screws shut, the one located in my knee and I feel my body falling. The ground comes in contact with my skin in an abrupt force, pain shooting everywhere. My head is at his feet. He takes a step towards me as if to crush my face and squats looking me in the eyes as he tilts his head. He watches me and for a split second I think he feels bad but then he leaves me lying there as I take my final breath. I notice that my dress has faded to grey.


Opposite Day By Laney Bryant I wasn’t looking forward to my sixteenth birthday like you might be. People say that before there was something called a sweet sixteen? It’s funny to me that people used to look forward to they’re sixteenth birthday. I was certainly not looking forward to mine, in fact I was dreading tomorrow. At least I can finally get it over with, no more waiting to see what curse I was given. I mean I had been waiting for 15 years. No more overwhelming sense of trepidation. I found it interesting that out society chose to curse they’re own citizens. I mean it’s not like I haven’t seen it happen before to others, it was so sad to see families torn apart. To see siblings turn on each other. Every curse was different there has never been two of the same. Or at least not that I knew of. Maybe twins got the same curse? I really hope that the curse will eventually let up. There was a rumor that it wasn’t the government but that there was a person out there who had the power to curse the world. I suppose it was possible, this had only been going on for twenty years so it could be a singular person. No one really knew. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad? Maybe I will get something along the lines of “you can’t to homework anymore,” or “you can’t cut your hair again,” But really I don’t know. My older sister got “you can’t interact with family members,” That’s why I haven’t seen her in a few years. I missed her, maybe one day the curse would let up. I was extremely close with my sister. Her name was Maria. There was a funeral held for her. Everyone pretended she was dead. Because to my family she was dead, she was gone. My younger siblings probably wouldn’t really even remember her. One day I might not remember her. What if my siblings forgot me one day? I chose not to think on it right now. My parents said it would be delivered in the mail. I think it's ironic. Such a detrimental day of your life and it would all start with a simple piece of paper. If I didn’t read it would the curse not be put into place? Or would it be even worse because I chose not to read it. I think it's too big of a risk. I’ll just cross my fingers and hope for something good. Well not good but not bad...I think you know what I mean. I checked the time, for the twentieth time this hour. It was 11:30. Technically in 30 minutes I would get my curse. I think I would rather have a good night of sleep before my life changes forever. I threw the blanket off my lap, slowly standing and stretching my legs. I turned the lights off and settled into bed, setting my glasses on the table. Sleep came quickly, wrapping me in sweet darkness. BEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEP I hurled my alarm clock across the room, satisfied with the loud crash. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn't want to brave the days ahead. That minuscule piece of paper could ruin my life. It could turn everything upside down. There was a possibility that I could lose everyone I loved. What if I never saw my parents again. Or my sisters. I only had two left. I couldn’t lose them. “CAAAAL!” My sister screamed. That was Ava she was two years younger than me, then there was Emile she was four years younger than me. Would I ever see them again? Was that the last time I would hear Ava’s voice? A knock. “Cal?” Emily asked. Her voice gave me the strength to open my eyes, the strength to get out of bed. Because I had to be strong, I couldn’t let my family see that I was scared. I needed to be strong for them. With that in mind I opened the door, aware of every sense around me. My bare feet on the cold wooden floor. Emily grabbed me around the waist. Pulling me tight to her. “Don’t go,” “I won’t leave I promise” I said it like I had a choice, anything could happen. I hope I didn’t have to break my promise to her. “Is breakfast ready?” It was cowardly of me, to change the subject, to get her to talk about anything but today. I just couldn’t stand it so I decided that I was going to pretend nothing happened. I am going to spend what could possibly be my last day with my family making sure the last memories they have of me are happy. “Yeah, Mom made flapjacks,” she sniffled. I patted her head, her hair was a bright red with a slight curl, I love braiding her hair and Ava’s, Emile’s hair was longer though. I would spend the entire night braiding her hair and talking with her. She grabbed my hand, I almost pulled away. Her fingers were like ice. Emile started tugging me down the stairs behind her. Ava, my mom and my dad were sitting at the table chatting. My moms face was grave and my dad had a smile plastered onto his face. I couldn’t see Ava from here, she was quiet though which was unusual. Flapjacks were on the table next to a bottle of syrup and some chocolate chips. There it was a plain letter with a red seal. I didn’t look at my family as I picked up the letter, the sharp edges dug into my fingers. I slowly pulled off the seal, and opened the flap of the envelope. It was folded, I pulled it out and sat down at the table. “I love you,” I said before unfolding the paper. There it was written in black ink. You shall forever say the opposite of what you mean, Cal Payright


By Chris Doerksen **Thursday August 9th** The printer whirred to life and began to spit paper. Jamie Kerr waited for the pages to finish printing. Scooping up the warm documents into his hands, he placed them in a Manila folder and brought them up to the top floor of the office building. While he could have looked at them, he knew it was best not to, as their information could be confidential. Jamie had been the intern for Dr. Hugh Carols, top researcher and head astronomer for NASA over the past six months. Throughout this time Jamie had met and began to work under Dr. Carols, though he found very little of that time was spent together. Jamie found that the word ‘intern’ had different meanings to the two of them. While he was very excited to be working for one of the nation’s most brilliant minds, never did he dream of that work being nothing more than a glorified secretary. Fetching copious amounts of coffee, filing paperwork, and being asked to leave most meetings due to “*classified information*”, was what the brunt of the (unpaid) job had included so far. With only six months left Jamie had wondered when he was going to be able to participate in some of Dr. Carols’ research. *Was this really where ten years of schooling had gotten him?* The master’s degree hanging in his apartment made each *2-cream-and-1-sugar* more belittling, and Jamie had slowly been working up the courage to ask Dr. Carols to let him take on something more, and to prove to him that he was there for a reason. Jamie’s growing frustration had only been accelerated by Dr. Carols’ increasing distance from him. The past month had seen Hugh buried in his work, often staying late into the evening, which Jamie found annoying since he wouldn’t dare leave before Dr. Carols, even if it was considered beyond the usual hours of working. What finally forced Jamie’s hand, however, was what happened on Thursday: As per the usual schedule, Dr. Carols received a weekly update from the team at Hubble, located in Baltimore. The updates included various information, such as recent diagnostics, prospects for new projects, and very occasionally new images taken by the actual telescope, which seemed ironic. Jamie brought in the briefing folder and handed it to the doctor, who began passively thumbing through the documents. Suddenly he stopped. Jamie could sense the change. Hugh began slowly reading the content of the folder, stopping every now and then to mumble something, as if needing to reaffirm what he was reading. As if something didn’t make sense. “*Is something wrong, Hugh?*” Jamie asked. Dr. Carols continued reading, not paying any attention to him. “*Hugh, if something is wrong I-”* Jamie started to say but was interrupted. “*No! No, it’s fine.”* Though it appeared to be completely the opposite. A few moments went by with neither of them saying anything. Dr. Carols continued to slowly examine the documents, until coming upon what seemed to be a set of images. He gasped, which made Jamie jump. Hugh then spoke in a low, soft voice: “*I’m sorry Jamie but I need you to leave the room for a while, I have to make a call.”* he nearly whispered, “*Perhaps you can join in on next week’s meeting.”* Jamie, who had never been heard Dr. Carols sound this way, was confused. “*Why?”* He asked. “*This is too important... too big. I-I’m sorry Jamie, but not this time. I need you to leave. Now.”* Jamie had no idea what had possessed Hugh but it seemed like it was serious, so he left without saying anything more. He returned to his desk which was across the hall from Hugh. The initial surprise from his removal wore off and Jamie began to become frustrated. *Wasn’t his internship supposed to include all the challenges involved with the job? What could be so alarming or important that Jamie couldn’t be let in on it, after having worked with Dr. Carols for the past 6 months?* This incident, along with the general dissatisfaction that had plagued Jamie since his first day there, was what pushed Jamie to decide it was finally time to say something to Hugh. Despite his gratefulness for the position, Jamie knew he was not being used to his full potential. He decided that once his call was done, Jamie was going to go back and speak his mind. The rest of the day passed and Jamie heard nothing from Hugh’s office. He went up several times and knocked on the door but heard nothing in return. The 5pm clock-out time came and went as Jamie continued to wait and speak with him. As the clock approached 10 Jamie realized that at this rate, he was going to need to sleep at his desk in order to catch Dr. Carols leaving, and that this conversation would have to wait. He packed up his things and headed home, picturing what he would say to him the following day. He didn’t sleep well that night, kept up by bad dreams. **Friday, August 10th** Arriving 15 minutes early as usual, Jamie had noticed that Dr. Carols’ car was already parked in its spot. He found this odd: Jamie usually got there a good while before him and began working on the day’s menial tasks. Thinking it was probably just another meeting he had not been invited to, Jamie sighed and hurried into work, hoping that Dr Carols had not expected himself to arrive early as well. Jamie had hurried up to the top floor to find that the door to Dr. Carols’ office was shut. Normally the cleaning staff left all the building’s door open overnight to air out the rooms, so the closed door labelled *HEAD OF OPERATIONS - DR. HUGH CAROLS* stuck out. Jamie approached the door to see that the light was on inside, but when he tried the handle found it to be locked. Jamie knocked and called for Hugh: “*Hello? Hugh? It’s Jamie. Are you there?*” Nothing. Jamie called Dr. Carols cell phone, seeing if perhaps he had stopped by later last night to pick something up and had left the door locked. He had just barely put the phone to his ear when he heard ringing on the other side of the wall. Whether or not Dr. Carols was in there, it seemed that his phone was. The phone continued to ring until eventually transferring Jamie to the voicemail. *Dr. Carols never missed a phone call*. This had been the case ever since Jamie had met him, and many a time did Jamie get interrupted when the phone would ring and he would suddenly be abandoned while his boss went into the other room for a twenty-minute exchange. For Jamie, this was the first thing to truly make him worry. Knocking harder this time, Jamie called out more loudly. Surely Dr. Carols could be asleep on the office couch, or perhaps using his desk telephone. Jamie continued trying to think of reasons that there would be no response at all to his knocking and calling, but this only caused his stomach to tie into tighter knots. After waiting for security to arrive, Jamie asked if they could let him into the office, explaining his ever-growing worry for the doctor. Accompanied with two officers he returned to the locked door and had them try knocking as well. After no response, the guards explained that the door was going to be forcibly opened, in case someone was hiding on the other side of the wall. Surely the threat of violent entry would be enough to force Dr. Carols to open door, to avoid causing a scene and even more forms to fill out and documents to sign, Jamie thought. Still nothing. Finally, the door was kicked in, and Jamie found Dr. Carols inside. Apart from the man hanging by a noose in the centre of the room, what Jamie noticed next was the mess. Dr. Carols had been an impeccable neat-freak, and it had not taken long before Jamie was used to being reminded about where to place certain papers, how they were to be folded, and that when leaving his office things must be left in the same place they were when he came in. What Jamie saw before him now was the den of an animal; folders scattered from corner to corner, papers ripped and thrown about like confetti for the mad, and all three chairs tipped over and left strewn in random spots. The blinds covering the windows were partially down and partially ripped off their tracks, causing a slanted sunrise to cascade itself along the corpse before them. As for Dr. Carols there was not much different aside from the rope keeping him from ever touching the ground alive. His hair was a bit messy, as though he’d run his fingers through it a few too many times, and his glasses were mildly askew. He almost appeared at peace, taking with him all the secrets of what had led him to his seemingly apparent suicide. The desk on the left-hand side of the room appeared to be the only things nearly untouched; the nameplate and lamp remained upright and in their usual position, and there seemed to be no clutter or mess on top of it. All Jamie could see was four pieces of paper, all of which were laid face down, their importance and contents unknown to anyone. The tidiness of it scared him, but not enough for him to want to see what was on the other side of those pages. These observations all flew through Jamie’s head before time felt like it sped up at an alarming rate. Suddenly he was in the hallway again, answering the same questions over and over to various police officers. He felt like each time he explained what happened the reality of the situation was getting further and further from him. His boss, who at the start of yesterday was completely sound and utterly unremarkable in so many ways apart from his mind, was now dead not ten feet from him. Now he was being walked out of the building by the police, being told that he may be contacted again, but that overall it seemed to be a cut-and-dry suicide. By the time he finally began to come back to himself he was home and in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to untangle his thoughts and go through them one by one: *What made him kill himself?* *Did he go into work planning on it? Why didn’t I notice any signs if he was?* However, one thought kept coming back to him, which he felt guilty about but his curiosity couldn’t help but come out on top: *What was on those four papers?* Again, he did not sleep well, kept up by nightmares. **Saturday, August 11th** The sky seemed to grow darker overnight, and when Jamie found himself tossing and turning at 5am he was surprised to see that the sky appeared blacker than it had been when he went to bed. Perhaps it was just because he was up earlier than usual, but still he found it odd. Finally succumbing to the approaching morning, Jamie grabbed his phone and was about to begin scrolling through various apps when he noticed a new email from one of Dr. Carols’ associates who worked in Baltimore with the Hubble team. The email had been sent at nearly 2 in the morning, so Jamie had missed it, but it seemed that the message was rather urgent: *To Jamie,* *I’m terribly sorry to be reaching out to you so soon following Hugh’s death, but there is a favor we need from you. We believe that on Thursday he received a report from one of our scopes with some highly classified information. From the forensic file we received from the police, it appears that the contents of the report are in that office. We need that information to be sent back to us as soon as possible, as they are time sensitive. Could you go into the office at some point today and collect the documents? There should be four pages, and please try your best not to look at them as they are above your level of clearance. We have someone who will be at the RRNA at 1800 who can meet you and bring the documents back to us.* *Forgive me again for the late email, but we can’t afford to have such sensitive information out in the open. Please let me know if you can do this, as I’ll be contacting other members at the DC branch if I don’t hear from you by noon hour today. I’ve made sure a key to Hugh’s office is available for you, just ask for it at reception, they were told you may be stopping by today.* *Thank you,* *Paul Geraghty* Jamie spent a few minutes reading and rereading the email, a pit forming in his stomach. *What information could be so valuable to require a personal courier and need immediate delivery? Why did it need to be done so soon, and why was Jamie supposed to avoid looking at them?* Despite his reservations, Jamie knew that this would look good for him in future career aspirations, as well as allow him some closure on the last twenty-four hours. He replied immediately that he would pick up the files and proceeded to shower and get ready. He left just after 7AM without eating, not feeling hungry in the slightest. Though only a few minutes by car, Jamie found that between leaving his apartment and arriving at the office, his shirt had begun to stick with sweat, and walking outside felt more akin to swimming with the humidity. Luckily for him the building had good air conditioning, and the thought of his damp clothes was soon forgotten about. July heat in Washington was a killer, and this morning was no exception. Still, today *did* seem different. The clouds appeared more than dark grey but instead black in the sky, looking more like wisps of smoke than average nimbostrati. There was little wind to be felt, and everything seemed to be moving slowly, as though the entire world was in the midst of taking one giant breath. Jamie kept thinking he heard thunder but looking upward he couldn’t make out any lightning. *Weird*, he thought. *It wasn’t supposed to storm today*. Due to it being a Saturday, the place seemed a little less cramped. Normally the hallways were bustling at this time: people going in between meetings, breaks being taken just a little too long, and the seemingly endless line of interns and students trying to get their feet into doors. Jamie smirked at this thought, being an intern himself. The smile quickly faded as he thought about why he was here on a weekend. Stopping by the front desk, Jamie asked about a package under his name, and the receptionist reached behind their desk and pulled out two items: one being the key to Hugh’s office, and the other was an empty folder. “*The man who spoke to me on the phone said that you’d know what to do with these.”* Taking the elevator, Jamie collected himself as he rode up alone. *Remember, all I’m here for is the papers, I should be in and out.* He knew that as difficult as it would be not to inspect the office or search the drawers for signs of Hugh’s sudden demise, he could get in a lot of trouble for not doing exactly as he was being asked. All he had to do was grab the papers, head back outside and proceed to the airport. Simple. After what felt like an hour, Jamie finally emerged onto the top floor, walking swiftly down the dimly lit hallway towards where his and Hugh’s offices stood. Perhaps it was the recent suicide in the building, but something about the place seemed ominous now. Though far from flickering lights and cobwebs, the beige paint and pale fluorescent bulbs made Jamie feel slightly paranoid, claustrophobic even. He picked up his pace and finally arrived back where he had been nearly twenty-four hours ago, though it felt like years. Jamie took out the key, and unlocked Hugh’s office. Never in his life had a lock felt more mechanical; a slow and heavy deadbolt that held behind it the place where a man Jamie had admired all his life had taken their own. Looking down at the key, Jamie thought for a moment he saw his hands tremble. Taking a breath and steadying himself, he pushed open the door. Following the police and paramedics, the office had been returned to a state of normalcy. Cluttered papers and office supplies had been placed back in their piles and in their respective holders, chairs once upturned were not back in their rightful state, even the overturned shelves had been placed back against the wall, with books mostly put in their original spots. Had Jamie somehow missed the events of Friday and Paul’s email, he would have returned to work on Monday and thought nothing had happened. Any trace of the uniformed officers’ visits, nor even the man who hung mere feet from where Jamie now stood, could be seen. Jamie stepped further inside, taking a moment to gaze around the room, looking for any sort of difference. Suddenly he realized that the four pages were still face down on the desk, perfectly placed and aligned, as though no one had seen them the day before. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he made his way over to the desk. Though he knew there was other people in the building, Jamie felt alone as his footsteps resonated on the cold hardwood floor. The windows looking out over the parking lot showed the dark sky looming over the city. For a second Jamie thought he heard thunder outside. Opening up the larger envelope, Jamie began to grab the papers, but before he could go through with it, he paused: *Is* *this what drove Hugh to kill himself? These four pieces of paper?* Jamie’s morbid curiosity began to get the better of him: *How would anyone even know I looked at these?* Jamie knew that the pages in his hands would eat away at him for the rest of his life if he didn’t turn them over. No matter how far he distanced himself from this event, the knowledge that he could have seen what possibly traumatized Dr. Carols would be in the back of his mind. He knew that he shouldn’t even risk it, but- The first page had already turned over subconsciously in his hands, and Jamie realized that he was staring at a letter addressed to Dr. Carols. The letter contained very little text: *Dr Carols,* *We received some very disturbing images from Hubble Telescope. We took three separate pictures and realized something is very wrong. We need your input on this, and we fear that our time is limited. Please respond as soon as you can.* *N: Currently at 30.31AU as of Sunday, August 5th.* *S: Currently at 10.12 AU as of Tuesday, August 7th.* *M: Currently at 1.4 AU as of Thursday, August 9th.* *Attached Photos taken Thursday, August 9th.* Trying to make sense of what these could mean. He knew that the AU numbers stood for astronomical units, referring to an object’s distance from the sun compared to the earth, but the dates and letters *N*, *S*, *M*, rang no bells. Jamie turned over the second page, where he saw a mostly black image, with a few fine specks of blue, scattered across the landscape. In the bottom left hand corner, the line of text from the letter was printed: *N: Currently at 30.31AU as of Monday, October 5th.* Jamie realized that this was a photograph from the many he had seen all throughout his childhood and into his schooling. This was a Hubble Telescope image. As he continued to study it, the numbers on the left seemed familiar to him, and suddenly he realized what they were: the location of the planet Neptune. This made no sense to Jamie, as his eyes began to dart between the blue specks that dotted the page: *This has to be a mistake, where is Neptune if this photograph is claiming this is the location? And why are these blue specks on here? Is this some sort of issue with the telescope?* He knew that the telescope could be finicky and there had been problems with the machinery every now and then, but this felt too authentic and urgent to all have been some kind of technical error. Jamie noticed that his hands had begun trembling again. Deciding to move on, Jamie turned over the second page and saw a second image, this one containing “*S: Currently at 10.12 AU as of Tuesday, August 7th.*” in the bottom-left corner. This time the image was much more obvious of what it was supposed to be: Saturn. However there seemed to be something very, very wrong with this picture. Inexplicably, only half of Saturn was visible, as though the entire gas giant had been cut in half. From the view of the telescope it seemed like the core was now split down the middle, a million jawbreakers worth of coloured layers all the way down to a dull silver centre. Long and stringy wisps of various chemicals and frozen rocks were coming off of the flattened edge, leaving behind a trail of haze and specks. Even the rings around the planet were strewn about, half circles which ended in frayed ends and slowly dipping into the endless depths of space. The axis clearly off kilter, the semi-sphere looked as though it were falling on its bottom, like an acrobat tumbling from a well-balanced trick. “*Tuesday, August 7th.”* Jamie dropped the second picture in his hands, trembling so bad he couldn’t hold it any longer. *There’s no way this isn’t some kind of joke. Some convincing doctoring of a photo, or maybe it just printed out completely wrong. This can’t be real.* Suddenly Jamie was very aware that there was still one photograph left on the desk, and that *M* could only mean one thing. He slowly picked up the final page, and turned it over, knowing what he would likely see. “*M: Currently at 1.4 AU as of Wednesday, August 9th.”* was unnecessary as Jamie instantly recognized what had been photographed: Mars was in the midst of what looked like an explosion. The only comparison Jamie could think of was the time he had seen footage of a bullet being shot through a watermelon, the entire thing splitting apart and spraying across someone’s lawn. This, however, was a lot larger than a fruit. Gigantic chunks were flying in every direction, as hundreds of smaller rocks trailed behind like a tail behind a continent sized comet. Maroon streaks of iron and nickel expanded beyond the borders of the page, and Jamie knew that if enough time were to pass, earth would see meteors the likes of which hadn’t been witness since the dinosaurs. Though a still image, he could almost see it moving if he looked close enough, breaking apart and becoming less and less recognizable as the red planet. Jamie’s vision blurred with tears as he continued to stare at the page, which trembled unapologetically now. The horror of what he was seeing made the room spin before him, and he nearly fell over just trying to make sense of it all. He noticed there was something different about this image. Looking at the torn apart sphere, Jamie could see that across the top right crust, the colour of the planet looked... darker. The one aspect still intact of what he knew of Mars was the red hue of its surface, except now a portion of the planet appeared almost black. Jamie suddenly realized that these three images were taken yesterday. He also realized that whatever was happening to these planets, it was closer to earth each time. Jamie looked at his hands and tried to stop them from shaking. He clasped them together before gasping: *It was the room that was shaking, not him.* It had begun just a few minutes ago; A tremor so faint at first Jamie thought it was merely his trembling appendages growing more out of control, but now the whole room was vibrating. Books falling off shelves, a lamp falling and its bulb smashing against the floor, Jamie could barely tell what was happening as he looked out the office windows to see the sky had gone from a darkened grey to a completely black backdrop, against which lighting flashes were erupting nearly every second. Thick clouds of what almost looked like smoke swirled and twisted as the office suddenly felt very small against the dark ocean above. Jamie saw people running out from the front of the building, trying to make it to their cars and drive off. Jamie suddenly was forced to jump back as the rumbling increased and windows began to shatter in Dr. Carols’ office, littering both the floor and parking lot below with shards of glass. Knowing that it was no longer safe to be on the top floor, Jamie grabbed the papers and ran. The long hallway back to the elevator suddenly seemed a million times longer, as though the camera tricks he remembered seeing in Hitchcock movies had come to life. Deciding that the elevator was unlikely to last the ride down, Jamie flew down the stairs as the rattling and cracking of thunder continued to grow and swell, even in the muffled stairwell. Finally escaping into the main lobby, Jamie sprinted for the front door and was able to exit into the parking lot just as he thought the entire thing would come crashing down. Suddenly the shaking stopped, and there was complete silence. The thunder ceased, and there was a sort of still calmness present that made Jamie’s hair stand up on end. He looked back at the office building to see it still standing; nearly windowless and a parking lot completely covered in glass but standing. Looking up towards the sky, Jamie saw that, remarkably, lightning was still emerging from the great black sky above him, twisting and curving through the air, but the thunder was no longer sounding. It looked as though some giant switch was being silently flicked on and off. Jamie noticed that in fact, he heard nothing. No light breeze, no birds chirping, not even the sound of traffic. For a moment, Jamie thought that he was the only man alive, alone in the parking lot. Looking down, Jamie saw that the pages from the office were still in his hand, haphazardly bent and folded from the way they had been handled on the way out. His eyes drawn to the last image once more, what was likely to be the last picture of Mars, he could not help but notice that darkened area. He finally realized that it was a shadow. Suddenly, a sound emerged from the overwhelming silence; he nearly felt the sound before he heard it, a frequency so deep in nature that it rattled Jamie’s bones. It came from all directions, both earth and sky, a deafening pitch that nearly caused Jamie to fall to the ground and cover his ears. It was inhuman in nature, but for a second Jamie thought it sounded like a low roar. The ground began to shake again as the clouds rapidly dissipated, as though being swept away by something. The smokey haze gave away not to the blue sky as Jamie expected, but somehow the blackness of space itself, complete with twinkling stars and glow of the pale moon. However, Jamie realized something *was* moving away the clouds, and that his view of space was being interrupted by the waving of hundreds of shapes of some sort, blocking the darkness beyond. A bolt of lightning, long and jagged pierced the empty plane above, and Jamie finally saw what he knew had caused those planets’ destruction. The flash of light illuminated a creature, far beyond the comprehension of what Jamie could fathom. An amorphous being of pure black, which shone against the light as though it was wet with some sort of perspiration or other ungodly fluid. Eyes formed and unformed across its mass, blinking and darting back and forth before being swallowed back into the being. The forms Jamie had seen waving were tentacle-like limbs, flailing about slowly and in rhythm with one another, as though each movement was purposeful. Though Jamie could see the front of it, his eyes struggled to see the end of it as its body contorted and twisted through the sky like some sort of massive snake of unimaginable length. At the very front laid a mouth-like orifice, with a concave appearance and jagged teeth lining the entire circumference, row upon row until they disappeared beyond the line of sight. The lightning faded and Jamie realized that he was likely one of the only people to see what was up there; of the only people to *ever* see it. Another lightning bolt further away cast a dimmer view, but Jamie could see that it was already closer than it had been moments ago. The ground began to tremble as the deafening sound of whatever this was descended upon him. This was it. Jamie knew that everyone and everything was about to be scattered across the stars, forgotten in time and space, cold and dead throughout the cosmos. He now understood why Dr. Carols had killed himself, for he did not want to live as one of the only people to know what was about to happen.


What the hell? Where am I? I was laying in a strange bed, I feel my head it is throbbing. I feel my mouth is dry and my throat is sore. My vision was blurred and everything seemed to be out of focus. I was in a dark room very old looking. As my vision tried to normalise I saw the old-timey paisley wallpaper on the wall and the air smelt a sickly and overpowering shade of lily, there was also the smell of something medicinal or clinical, I could not make it out. I saw a woman in the silhouette she was sitting in a chair. I cast a glance around again and thought the room looked like a funeral parlour or what I suspect a brothel would look like. I sat up straight and instantly regretted it. 'Um, can I get some water please?' 'Of course, how are you feeling?' 'Well, I don't know. Did we...?' By her tone, she was slightly embarrassed. 'I was up for it but...' she paused '...well you got really drunk and passed out. Can't you remember?' 'Hmmm, no last night was a blank. I did not make a fool of myself did I?' 'Don't worry Matthew, You did not, but you are a great kisser though.' By this time she had come into the light and she was gorgeous, she was the type of woman I could only dream of hooking up with. Her hair was straight and a shade of auburn. Her eyes were the deepest blue and she had the body of a goddess. She had a sparkle about her that got me tongue-tied 'Ah, um...' my mind was screaming out to at least try to make some sort of coherent sentence. All I could think of saying was 'Hello' She laughed 'Hello to you Matt, I'm Davina' and she handed me the water. I took a blessed sip, the water was fresh but I felt all wobbly again. my vision blurred but I snapped out of it hearing 'Matt, are you ok?' # I was plagued by really weird trippy dreams one minute I was at the Ivy getting some drinks A glass of Rose wine and a bottle of Amstel. I looked around and everyone seemed to have a cartoon head, I looked at my hands and they were like two balloons. I knew I was staggering, from my college years this felt like it was a really bad trip. I looked around and I saw Davina she was there in a zebra print two-piece which enhanced her assets. The next thing I dreamed, I was laying face first in some sort of rug, a really fluffy rug. With a welcoming roar of a fire which turned into a growling cacophony of noise. I seemed to come back around in my dream and I felt my hands clutch my ears. I vaguely opened my eyes and did not see anything just blurs of shapes and the noise was deafening. I felt two people hold my arms and almost drag me out. I dreamed I lost one of my shoes which I found hilarious. I thought I woke up with another start but I could not open my eyes, I am sure I heard a male and female talking, I tried to come fully around but I was caught in the state between sleeping and waking. 'Davina, you have done well' 'Just this one Aston and I am out' 'Davina Darling, you are out when we say you are out' 'But, but you promised.' I did not catch the rest of the conversation as I fell back unconscious. # In my unconsciousness, I went back to the Ivy. I had decided to go for a quick beer after my last ever delivery. I was slightly miffed that I had been made redundant, some guy with a Rolls-Royce came into the depot and stuck a formal looking note in the canteen. Kwik Movers now closed with immediate effect it was signed by some guy call Aston Easterfield of LDC Solicitors. We were told we had to finalise our deliveries and hand in our keys. I was lucky as I owned my own motorbike. So I could move to another courier. So after giving the company six years I felt it justified to have a drink on their time. I saw a stunner sitting at the bar on her own, she had a zebra two-piece I thought her stunning and she kept shyly looking at me. Feeling impetuous I strode over to her and came out with the corniest one-liner ever 'Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?' She laughed and I saw her eyes sparkle 'Wish two, to get drunk and wish three to have the best nights sex ever' she replied all of my false bravado seemed to disappear. 'But I will settle for a drink. I'm Davina' She proffered her hand which I took and kissed it. 'I am the great genie Matthew, but you can call me Matt.' This garnered another chuckle. 'Get some more drinks and I will be over there' She pointed to an alcove on the other side of the bar and took my beer. 'Your wish is my command' I bowed I got some drinks and I turned to walk after her and I saw some residue on the bar, it was not brown like my beer it was white like talcum powder. I thought 'way hey, a side of Charlie with my beer' and rushed to her. # I came round with somebodies hands over my mouth it was Davina. 'Shhh, Matt, I think he knows you are here' her worried look brought me right round, In that instant, I felt like we had to get out of here. I had so many questions 'Can we get out of here?' I asked Davina's eyes welled up and she shook her head. She sniffed 'I do not know' I got out of bed and steadied myself. My head swam a little and I am sure I lost focus. 'God, Davina, that was some great Charlie we had last night.' 'What... charlie?' I abhor drugs.' This stopped me in my tracks. Something did not make sense. 'I saw you with some blow on the bar. I am sure we had some at the table' 'No, we did not, I was soberish and I am straight. We did not do drugs!' her finality made me stop questioning. Maybe I did imagine it. My fuzziness seemed to disagree. 'But..' She cut me off 'I lost my Jamie to drugs. And since that point, this body has been a temple.' I went over to the door and tried it, it was locked, or it seemed locked. I pulled it again it did give slightly. Davina came over to me and tried to hold me back 'Matt, stop they will hear you.' At this point, I did not care I wanted to go home. One more wrench and the door gave way to a loud creak. I pushed the door up slightly but there was no sound of running or shouting which was unsettling yet welcoming, to say the least. I grabbed Davina's hand and pulled her. 'C'mon let's get out of here We found ourselves in a dimly lit corridor. It had a couple of heavy wooded doors and the air smelt almost medicinal. I could not place the smell. I looked at each way and the dreary paisley wallpaper continued, but an even darker tone than the bedrooms. I picked the way left and Davina held me back. She refused to go. I looked back at her and she was clearly frightened, she had the deer in headlights look. I smiled and gently coaxed her, she begrudgingly came with me. We both edged slowly to the oncoming darkness then we heard a creak and we edged against the wall, hoping the darkness camouflaged us. There was nothing, no other sounds, except the sound of our ragged breaths. My senses were in overdrive. We carried on creeping toward the end of the corridor, in the gloom I could make out some stairs, but there was an opened door between us and the stairs. I let go of Davina's hand and edged even closer to the door. There was an audible gasp and I peeked around the door frame. In that instance, I wished I didn't. # That medicinal smell was overpowering here, it smelt like a hospital, but not as clean as a hospital. What on God's green earth was that smell? What shocked me, even more, was shelves and shelves of jars with various body parts in. There was a shelf of what looked like some organ's in, and a shelf full of eyes I had to put my hand to my mouth or else throw up. This macabre scene was overshadowed by a jar of what looked like Testicles in it. I walked into the room and in the twilight, I knew the room was empty of living occupants. I looked directly opposite as was overjoyed I saw a set of double doors and through the window, on the door, I saw the last or early remnants of daylight. Losing my watch in all of this madness only compounded my sense of lack of time. I crept back toward where Davina was rooted to the spot and whispered to her. 'It's ok I found the exit.' She would not come. ' Remember, your last wish' She stood there motionless. I was not sure if it was the body parts or fear that affected her. 'Come on, Davina, let's go, the exit is right here I pointed to the door. She grabbed a black extinguisher, 'Great idea' let's arm ourselves just in case they are outside. I turned away to survey the room, I saw nothing else. Then there was a metal pole near the exit. I went to grab it and I felt a large clunk across the back of my head. I saw stars and I turned and saw Davina in full swing. I must have turned around too quick because I fell over again and then with pain in my head I saw darkness # I found myself coming back around and I was back in the room. I quickly checked around and I saw I was alone. I do not know if that was a blessing or a curse. I tried to move but found I was bound by my wrists and ankles. I called out for Davina, I wanted to make sure she was safe I felt a duty to protect her. She came sauntering in, with the look that first attracted me to her at the Ivy. 'Great, you are safe, untie me and we can leave. Did they hurt you? 'No, no I am fine she caressed my face almost lovingly then the next seven words she whispered in my ear froze my blood. 'Don't worry it will be over soon' she kissed me gently on the cheek. I looked deep into her eyes and saw something, a malice deep-rooted there. 'The body parts... That was you?' The realisation hit me like an avalanche 'you killed all those people.' 'Ta-dah, you got me. You are going to join them very soon' She whispered, words like honey. I was seething, I had been betrayed and to actually think I had considered taking us further, and, with some ungodly strength, I head-butted her, right in her pretty nose. She reeled back and slipped over something and let out a slight scream as she hit the floor with a thump. I am sure I heard some sort of crunch. I looked to where she fell and she was there seemingly motionless. I wrestled with the bindings which burned my wrists. I managed to untie the knot on the bedpost. I quickly untied the rest and gingerly got off the bed. I crept to where Davina was laying, when I got there all I saw was a patch of blood. I looked around and saw nothing, I heard nothing. I kicked something, it was soft. I reached down and saw it was my trousers, with my belt. I loosened the belt, I had to arm myself with something, anything. I stopped dead in my tracks, I felt like I was not alone. I let the belt hang buckle first. I avidly looked round in the darkness but nothing. Finally, I had made my mind up I was going to leave and nothing was going to stop me. I headed toward the door. # I walked down the corridor belt held like a morning star. I hoped that if I did face anyone I could cause some damage. Well maybe. If not I would go down fighting. I sneaked toward the body room but was caught out by a loud scream, it was female. I instantly thought that Davina was hurt. Then I heard a laugh, again it was female, full of malevolence. 'Hmmm the meat is sweetest when the giver is in fear' it sounded like I was all around me. I carried on regardless I heard a saw starting up I thought shit I am a goner she has a saw. I was determined to go down fighting and as I turned the corner I was greeted by Davina's five foot seven frame she was standing directly opposite me, armed with a bone saw. The growl of the saw grated on me. I could see the blood congealing around her nose, which gave her a demonic appearance. 'Give up, and I will make it quick and painless' 'Come and get me.' Davina came at me with the saw it looked like it was fixed to her arm. I managed to get around the central table and my foot hit something I glanced down it was a large bottle of formaldehyde. So that is what the smell was. It all makes sense. 'Why, Davina, if that is your name' I had to try to distract her. She kept trying to get at me. I lifted the bottle up and the saw cut into it and I pushed it at her and there she screamed. I saw she dropped the saw and was clutching at her eyes and coughing. Part of me wanted to help her the part wanted me to kill her. I settled for neither I wanted to get out of there. I went toward the door then I heard a choking sound and Davina fell like a sack of potatoes. I went over to her god know why I did, part of me wanted to see if she was dead, the other part felt pity. I looked at her vacant expression. There was no brightness in her eyes. She was dead I was sure. I decided to leave by the front door and heard a cough. 'Matt, help me.' I looked back and saw her spluttering 'Why should I?' 'They have my son.' 'What sick game is this?' 'No.... Cough... game' She convulsed and that was it she was gone. I closed her eyes as some sort of final goodbye. I kissed her head. What was I meant to do with the carrot she dangled. I felt a pang of guilt I had to help her. Regardless of what she has done. I went out of the front door and I saw I was in the middle of nowhere and to cap it off it was raining. I had no idea where I was and I did not have a phone.


I have been seeing different people to hold my mind and body together while my boyfriend in LA finishes the first round of funding for his start-up. Sometimes I will see one of my lovers the same day he arrives. He is too aloof to know, care, or even be curious about my life. My lovers are ponds, deep and shallow, that I dip my toes into and see the wobbly edges of myself. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I let all my energy be sucked into their orbits. I am a flexible human, and I could be great at many things, so it’s tempting to squish myself into new molds. One lover is a doctor. He is kind, and good with his hands. Sometimes he is bumbling, but always in a good-hearted way. We were not meant to be partners, but we were born to be lovers. We inadvertently cultivated a very healthy romantic relationship, and I dream of worlds where we live together and have a family. He doesn’t want children and neither do I. The childrens’ names would be August and Iroh. We sit on his deck and drink coffee in the morning waiting for the birds to come down and beg for walnuts. It smells like summer, and I push thoughts of work and stress out of my head. He knows though. He knows everything. He knows what it is like to do what I am doing and can give some degree of advice that I trust. He is a comfort. I’m afraid to spend too much time with him and shatter the delicate joy. There is a world where We Try. But the stakes are so high. But I am so young. But I don’t want to lose him to another version of ourselves. One lover is an inventor. His apartment is full of all kinds of things, and he knows how most of them work, kind of. He has a motorcycle I helped drive back to his house because he didn’t have a permit. He has an orange tree that I have drank the juice from so many times on hot summer afternoons. He and I exist outside of time. Sitting on his couch. Creeping closer together until he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me, our lips still dry from talking for hours about things that might be interesting or might just be a way for our brains to have sex while our bodies question if this is a dream or reality. One lover is a boy. He had long hair once, and plays in a band. He is up to no good a lot of the time, but loves the people close to him. He might be a sociopath, or we might be compatible. If I were a little girl and I met him, I think we would be divorced by now. He has fiercely strong emotions, and so do I. We both need a little tempering. We are not meant to be partners. But what if we were.