As I made my way through the busy highways and street lights, I finally arrived at a red bricked building that had matching patios stretching out across the complex. This place certainly looked bigger online. I walked through the front door and was greeted by Phyllis, a nice old lady who owned the building. Her hair was curled and white and she wore a face that has seen many like me come and go before. “Here are the keys,” she said as she handed me two gold keys that dangled on an old bottle opener. We walked up the stairs three stories and she brought me to room 304. She opened the door for me as she began to explain, “rent is due on the first of the month and try to keep it down. You got neighbors to your left, right, above, and below you. If it gets too hot, open all the windows. If it gets too cold, put a jacket on.” The door opened into the hallway of my apartment which was dark until I hit the light switch. To my left, a restroom door that had a sink that dripped like a metronome in a music class. To the right, my bedroom, where a twin sized bed sat in the middle of the room with a light green cover that I knew I desperately needed to replace. At the end of the hallway, a large space that was illuminated by a single large window. A full kitchen that still had a stove that still had coils and a refrigerator with outdated coupons and a chinese menu taped on its face. The window had a wooden table that was complimented with a wooden chair right in front of it. I put my things down and sat down at the table. I stared off into the view. The sound of horns and people walking by filled my ears. In the distance, the sun was setting and I can see the cloud beginning to change its color to a hazy purple. One by one, the windows on every home from each busy street began to turn on. “Did I really leave it all for this?” I thought to myself as I let out a final sigh. As I stepped away from the window, I couldn’t help, but notice a small house right next to our red bricked complex. It was easy to miss because all the other buildings towered right over it. It is a light grey duplex with white frames that wrapped around the doors and windows. I have a clear view at the many bouncy balls that got stuck on the roof over the years, and a gutter that has not been well maintained. The backyard had a rusted swing set and weeds that over grew the jungle gym. The front of the house had an old bike that was leaning on a mailbox that stood over a chain linked fence. The side of the house that was facing my complex had a large window which lit up as I began to look. From my high angle, I could only see a desk with a laptop and notebook resting on its surface. I can see the reflection of a flat screen TV and a lamp that radiated a luminescent white light, similar to the shine of a full moon. I can hear Randy Newman’s “You got a friend in me” playing from his TV screen. There were lines all over the carpet, which made me feel like there must be a train set or some sort of children’s toy that was used regularly in the home. Then I saw a young boy, who must have been about 15 years old. He wore circular glasses and had the hair style similar to Harry Potter. It was not well maintained, but how can you blame him, he’s a teenager. His body was skinny and frail and he focused on his laptop as if nothing in the world mattered. On his desk, he had two stick figures. It was Woody and Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story. A movie that I watched when I was not much younger than that boy. At that moment, I see a dark blue BMW pull into the driveway. A middle-aged couple get out of the car. A short woman in pink scrubs walks out of the passenger side carrying a brown paper bag full of groceries. She walked with a fast pace and approached the front door quickly. The man walked out of the driver seat with a briefcase in one hand and a bag full of take-out in the other. He walked slowly and took his time as he walked towards the front door. He had his tie loosened and his blazer unbuttoned. They seemed to move so gracefully that I felt this was just another daily occurrence for them. The boy looks up from his laptop, closes it, and shuts off the light. I never thought I’d feel so close to home by being so far away. I assume that the couple are the boy’s parents and it reminded me of what life was like for me at a time. On birthdays or holidays, my parents used to bring home take-out as well. We didn’t have a large duplex or even a BMW, but my parents tried their best when I was just a boy. But that was when I was just a boy. I unpacked my things and got ready for my next day, the first day working at the new office. I could have stayed back home, but with an opportunity to be a part of the first new staff at this new office, I had to take it. Plus I needed to get away from it all. The office was filled with new equipment and every desk was packed uniformly into its own cubicle. Every single employee was from another branch and the only thing we had in common with each other was the fact that we all left our homes to start fresh here. We all left everything we knew to be a part of the grand opening of an office that handled all the finances for a company that supplied door handles, door knobs, door locks, and door stoppers to offices and businesses. I know my line of work isn’t the most exciting, but it pays the bills. I easily adjusted to my new life as my routine remained the same. I would wake up, drive to work, park in the same spot, walk through the same door, sit at the same desk, talk to the same people, eat at the same restaurant for lunch, look at the same websites, leave work at the same time, and figure out what was for dinner on the way home, driving the same route. I would eat my dinner on the same wooden table and look out the same window. The only thing that was different as the weeks passed was what my neighbors were up to. Without sounding like some total creep or stalker, my favorite part of the day became eating dinner while watching what this family was up to. It was the closest thing I ever had to home. They had their own routine too. The couple would come home at the same time, 6:30PM every single day. Most of the time, they had take-out, and most of the time, they moved in their routine ways. Now unless it happens during my working hours, I have never actually seen the boy leave the house. I have only seen flashes of him looking at his laptop or rewatching the Toy Story series on his flat screen TV. Many times, I envied him. To have take-out almost every night, to have a room all to himself, to have both parents catering to him and loving him, it really seemed like every kid’s dream. On Sundays, both of the parents were off and sometimes, I could smell the sweet smoky smell coming from the flames of their backyard bbq. It reminded me of times when my dad taught me how to use the smoker. He taught me that patience was the key to getting that tender and juicy element. We used to cook together all the time. That was until he got sick and well, everything changed since then. As time went on, I furnished my home, bought some new clothes, and finally learned how to prepare some meals. Of course I was motivated by the ingredients that my neighbors brought in in their brown paper bags, but for the most part, I was able to craft some ideas of my own. I finally managed to save up to buy a TV, nothing close to the size of my neighbors flat screen, but it was big enough for me to enjoy some light relaxing television. But I quickly learned that I wasted my money, because my nights typically ended with me looking out the window to see what my neighbors were up to. One Tuesday morning, I felt a tickle in my throat and my body was aching. Randy from accounting has expressed to me that he was feeling under the weather last week and I knew I knew I should have taken an Emergen-C. I called out sick that day and went into bed. The pounding from the apartment above me and the children running around below me made me realize that this place is impossible to rest during the day time. Then it hit me, this was the first time I was home during this time, and I walked towards the window. The driveway was empty as I expected it to be. The boy was in his room, but this time, his laptop was closed. The boy had his arms on the table and his head pressed against his forearms. I thought he was sleeping, but after looking a bit closer, he was crying. He had Buzz in one hand, and Woody in the other. He weeped and weeped. I wondered what he was crying about. I thought to myself how he has two loving parents, gets to eat take-out every day, has a home to himself, and is still crying? How can that be? It made me wonder how in the world could someone that has so much, spend his Tuesday afternoon crying and weeping. Tuesday afternoon? Shouldn’t this kid be in school? I fought so hard to not just go down there or scream out my window to the kid. I just wanted to scream out, “What do you have to cry about !? You have it made!” But then I quickly realized how much of a creep I would be if I were to approach a 15 year old kid and tell them that I have been watching them for weeks through their window. But it killed me as I wondered what he was crying about. I laid awake for the next few days, wondering what was wrong. I couldn’t come to any conclusions. I thought about all the things a 15 year old boy had to worry about. When I was 15, I was crying over my father’s illness, my mother’s stress, and the time I spent in isolation. Could he be crying over a girlfriend? A sad movie he saw? What was it? About a year passes by and I stop looking out my window every single night. Whenever I do look, it tends to be the same old things: the boy looking at this laptop, playing with his figurines, and a busy parent couple rushing in and out of the house. But one afternoon, I got home early from work and decided to take a look outside. To my surprise, I saw the BMW in the driveway. How strange. In my whole entire year of observing, I’ve never seen the BMW in the driveway during the day time. Did the couple skip work today? Did they take the day off? The boy was not in the window as well. It almost seemed like no one was home. But at night, the couple came outside to the patio. I can only see their legs and I can hear the boy sitting across from them. They were enjoying dinner outside tonight. It was a beautiful sight to see. After seeing the boy cry when he’s home alone, it felt nice knowing he was loved when he had company. Later that night, I noticed a different pattern in how the boy moved. Instead his normal gait, he hovered over the room. For the first time, I saw his father go into the room with him. He stood behind him as the boy opened up his laptop. And then it hit me. The marks in the carpet, they way the boy moved, he was never walking around the home, he was in a wheelchair. It suddenly all made sense as to why he couldn’t move around freely. A few months have passed and I forgot about the boy. By now he should be a bit older and hopefully even got a haircut. I decided to take a look outside the window one night, but his room light was off. “Must’ve called it a night early,” I thought. And then it happened again. And again. And again. I felt embarrassed to say that I was worried about this kid I have never met. Someone I have only known through the four corners of my window peering into his. One morning I noticed a for sale sign up in front of the house. This was my first chance to actually get to take a look inside of the home. I put on my light jacket and headed downstairs. I saw Phyllius on the way down and said hello. “Those poor folk next door,” she mumbled. “They’ve been living there for three generations,” she explained as her voice began to crack. “Why are they selling their home?” I asked. “Well, son, they just got no one to pass it down to now,” she replied. My heart sank as I was finally able to make sense of everything. I ran back up my room and began to sob uncontrollably. Then I began to laugh. Not the type of laugh from hearing a joke, but the type of hysterical laughing that happens when you just don't know what else to feel. Then I began to feel like a jerk. How could I, a healthy adult, at one point in my life envy a kid who was sick. How could I have ridiculed his reasons for crying when he probably felt more alone than anyone else in the neighborhood. I saw first hand how much time he was alone, and the entire time, I could have been there for him. I wept for days over a kid I never even met. I stopped looking out the window for a while. I just couldn’t handle the view of that table that sat at his window. Where I would usually see a young kid sitting, I now saw an empty chair. The BMW was in the driveway all the time now. I think the couple decided to take some time off. They have been showing the house to many different people throughout the weeks, so I decided to finally walk down to take a look. I rang on the doorbell and was greeted by the man who was now in sweatpants and a t-shirt, definitely a different set of clothes compared to what I was used to seeing. Behind him was an empty wheelchair with two figurines on the seat. I viewed the house, but it was really too much for me to handle. That night, I looked outside the window again. It really bothered me how I could feel so alone in a city surrounded by others. But it was also strange to me how I have never felt so close to home, through the view of my window. In a new town and in a new place, it is this family I have been observing that made me feel like I was a part of a family again. I’ve felt alone before, just like that kid sitting at his desk, but now I really felt alone all over again. In a way, I feel like he was my only friend out in this new city. The most tragic part of it all, is that he will never get to know. He had someone that depended on him, someone that valued him, and someone that was there all along.


The majestic whale who had seen many decades was floating with the swells near the lighthouse. She knew her time was nearing, when her essence would go on to another life. She began to instinctively look for a soft, sandy beach for her 40-foot-long body to rest. For many years the wise whale taught the younger whales and helped lead when they swam in the migrations up and down the Oregon coast. They liked to spend summers in the Arctic and go south to the warm, tropical waters off Mexico for winters. There they bore their calves and mating season occurred. Now some of the old female whale’s own babies had calves born last winter off the Mexican coast of their own. These yearling whales were already swimming off from their mothers, exploring and forming play groups. The old whale listened to the whale songs and sounds, unique to her group. When the group reached Mexico the male whales would begin to seriously serenade and seek to impress the females with their complex singing, acrobatic leaps out of the ocean, and enthusiastic tail flapping. Rising and falling with the rolling swells, the whale drifted away from the group, slowly letting the currents of an incoming high tide carry her toward the shore. A wide sandy beach seemed to beckon. As the high tide surged up it lifted the whale above the shallows and gently placed her on the soft sand. The whale took a deep breath, feeling tired, knowing her work was done and she could rest. She felt contented knowing she had lived life to the fullest - a life well lived. Then her breathing slowed and gently her essence left her body, shedding it like an outfit of old clothes. *************** A few weeks later a school of migrating humpback whales were spouting, breaching and tail flapping off the coast of the lighthouse shore. "The whales are heading from the Arctic oceans to the warm waters off the Mexican coast for the winter," said Joseph, the head lighthouse keeper. "Look at that!" Elsie, Joseph's daughter, stood next to her puppy, Teddybear, gazing out at the sea. "Where?" Edward, her brother, squinted and looked back and forth. "Right out there." Elsie pointed. "Oh, I see it now, a whale spout going up into the air," Edward said. This brought everyone in the lighthouse keepers’ houses outside to their porches to watch. Elsie's mother canceled school for the day to watch the whale migration and the children had unexpected free time. The children of the three lighthouse keepers had unexpected free time. With light hearts, they began to envision how they would take advantage of it. Thoughts of exploring the wilderness trails, whale watching, and playing on the beach below the bluffs called to them. Her father brought his telescope out onto the porch of the white Victorian house on the high bluff. Beyond the tall white lighthouse tower with its huge glass lantern and red roof, the ocean was unusually calm for a day in December on the Oregon coast. The winds were quiet. The lighthouse keepers’ families enjoyed a rare, warm, sunny day between the winter's gale-force winds and heavy rain storms on the Oregon coast. “See the whales. There's one spouting. Take a look,” he said. Elsie and her brothers each took a turn and then let the other children look too. The school of huge ocean mammals was not far from shore. Elsie called to her puppy, Teddybear. She looped a long rope around his collar and held the other end. Then she and the other children ran down the sloping wagon trail from the lighthouse keepers’ houses to the beach. A day of playing on the beach and whale watching was a treat, especially in the middle of winter. ********** ********* At the beach Elsie and her brothers imitated the whales by leaping and twisting, and making sounds like whales spouting air. Her shaggy, dark haired puppy ran and jumped with them, enjoying this game. “Teddybear,” Elsie called, giving a tug on the long rope attached to his collar, “Come.” Together they galloped and cavorted along the beach. High above the cliff’s their parents watched from the wide verandas of the two lighthouse keepers’ houses. Another quarter mile up the bluffs, two hundred feet above the ocean, the lighthouse tower gleamed white against the blue sky. Pretend was one of their favorite games at the remote lighthouse station. With the children of the other two lighthouse keepers they made a group of eight, ranging in age from 9 years old through teen years. In Elsie’s twelve years she had lived in Austin, Texas, San Francisco, California and briefly at another Oregon coast lighthouse station before the Mystic Beach Lighthouse. Her long braids flew out behind her while she ran across the beach below the lighthouse. A brown apron covered most of her dress and protected the material of small colorful flowers. “Tag, you’re it!” said a boy with tousled brown hair blowing in the wind and falling over one eye. He wore a pair of rugged pants and a grey shirt, well adapted to the outdoor life in the wilderness. “Catch me if you can, Erik,” Elsie called, smiling. She took off almost flying across the sand. With a gleam in his eye, Erik put out a burst of speed and reached for one of her braids, giving it a little tug. Elsie wiggled away and kept running, laughing. They ran toward a rocky outcropping and rounded a corner. In front of her was a wider beach with mounds of sand dunes. Erik followed her, and the other children ran after them. In the distance was a long, tall dune, that looked grey instead of beige. “Hey, look at that!” said Erik. “I think it’s a whale.” The group trotted along the beach to get closer. “Look at the size,” said Elsie. They stood gazing at the enormous whale, its flippers and tail, and its snout. “I wonder how long it has been here?” said Elsie’s brother, Edward. “A while I would guess, judging from the smell,” said Samuel, Elsie’s other brother. Erik puffed out his chest a little. He wanted to impress Elsie and a way to do that had just occurred to him. “Watch this.” He walked over to the whale’s flipper and climbed onto it, then crawled up on top of the whale. “Yippee. Look at me!” He waved his arms and lifted them over his head, smiling and laughing. The group of children stared in awe at the figure of the young man on top of the huge whale. Then they gasped, “Erik! Erik!” They saw Erik start to sink into the whale. The rotting whale’s skin and structure gave way. The group saw Erik completely disappear from view. “Heeeelp! AAAAaaaggggh!” Erik felt his feet sinking into the soft, drying whale blubber, like going down into quicksand. He tried to grab onto the whale skin but his fingers slid. Elsie’s heart pounded, her eyes were wide, and her breath stopped. She approached the whale slowly, trying not to smell the decay. Teddybear sensed her distress, and protective instincts were aroused. Close to her side, crouched toward the ground, cautious, moving in a panther-like style. His sensitive nose did not like the smell either. “Someone! Get me out!” came from inside the whale. Trembling, Elsie reached the flipper and climbed onto it. Teddybear snuggled up to her. The other children followed and stood next to the flipper. “Yip, yiiiip, yiiiiip!” Teddybear barked excitedly, tail swishing, intense eyes peering at the place where Erik stood when he disappeared. “Edward, Samuel, come here,” said Elsie. She untied Teddybear’s rope and hung it loosely around his neck. “Erik, call Teddybear. He has a rope. We’ll pull you out.” She hollered. “Teddybear... here Teddybear,” called Erik. Slowly the growing pup lowered himself into a deep crouch and crawled across the whale’s skin toward the opening on top where Erik had been standing. “Good dog, Teddybear. Here boy. Come Teddybear,” called Erik. Slinking down into a deeper crawl, the pup went a few more steps. The group could see him looking down at something. A hand reached up and grabbed the rope. Elsie, Edward and Samuel held the other end. “Hold on tight, Erik,” called Edward. “We’ll pull you out.” Inside the whale, Erik leaned against the drying flesh of the whale and part of the bony structure. Elsie, Edward and Samuel gathered the other children and together they all leaned back, groaning and pulling. Erik’s head popped out of the whale’s back, then his shoulders. The group struggled to walk in the sand, pulling harder. “One, two, three..pull now!” yelled Samuel. Erik popped back up onto the whale’s back, his face white, shaking, gasping for breath. He slid on his hands and knees toward the flipper and tumbled onto the sand. “Here, let me help you,” Samuel said. He grabbed the smaller boy around the shoulders and half-carried him. Edward came to the other side and together they helped Erik along the beach. When they were far enough away so the smell was less pungent, they all collapsed on the sand, resting. While the others caught their breath, Elsie walked back toward the whale. On the way, she picked some wildflowers growing in a bunch on a small dune. Then she found some clam shells, broken parts of sand dollars and other shells. A heart shaped rock caught her eye and she added this to the treasures. When she reached the whale she set the flowers, shells and heart shaped rock gently on the flipper. The other children saw her standing quietly for a few minutes next to the whale. They knew she was paying tribute and honoring this enormous friend from the ocean. Everyone looked at Erik to see if he was ok. There were some remnants of dried whale on his clothes but otherwise he was the same as always. Erik cast his eyes, down, embarrassed. Elsie felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He raised his eyes and their eyes met by accident for a moment. It was only a second or two, but something electric flashed between them. Erik knew he tried his stunt to impress Elsie and get her attention. In that flash of eye contact, Elsie sensed this too, and she felt flattered. A large wave crashed nearby, seagulls called, and the moment passed. But it was not gone forever. Instinctively, Erik and Elsie knew the story of the whale would connect them somehow. After resting, the group rose to their feet and hiked around the end of the rocky outcropping to reach the beach below the lighthouse and the keeper’s houses. They could see the figures of their parents sitting on the verandas of the white Victorian houses gleaming on the bluff above. “Err, Elsie, Edward, Samuel, everyone. Please don’t tell my parents,” said Erik. Elsie’s eyes narrowed with laughter and the group broke into giggles. Even the pup, Teddybear, opened his mouth into a wide smile, white teeth shining against his dark fur, tail wagging. He joined in with the mood, laughing too as dogs can do. Erik began laughing too. “OK,” said Edward, with a grin. For the rest of the day, the parents were mystified when their children kept glancing at each other and laughing. Later, whenever someone said, “whale,” the group slid their eyes to each other and broke into giggles. They had a whale of a secret.


Semul/34/Year of the Cocoon The Aisle of the Aniqotari Journal Entry 43 Stymus Entamule  I must have drifted for what seemed like days aboard this liferaft... I was the sole escapee from our pursuers, The "Keepers of the Ruin", Or "Hrijanyans" in Aniqotarian tongue. Descendants of those ancient Aniqotari who lived upon these accursed shores, and who will protect their island at all costs. I could not see them as I reached land, and I suspected they would have turned away out of fear of what is to come. I have lost everything to complete this task, two wives, a home, my reputation, maybe my sanity. But such trifles are fleeting anyways... The only thing to withstand the sands of time shall be this tome. For the record of my name and the story shall live on inside these pages, so that whoever may read this shall be privy to the anomaly known only as, *Quohixima...* The Aisle of Aniqotari. It is here that I have made a small shelter among the ruins, to lie in wait to witness the unknown. I have set my camp inside the vast library of the former Aniqotarian king, Groth Xenuen. It was during his reign that almost all who lived within his city's gate suddenly vanished into nothingness, including his majesty. I continue to drink my fill of knowledge as days come and go, learning of the various customs and cultures of the forgotten people. Plates upon plates of inscribed marble, a lifetime's worth of knowledge all mine for the taking. As far as living arrangements go, supplies are very scarce. I feed upon the marble mice that fall prey to my rudimentary traps, and water is hard to come by except for the rain which falls exactly every 3 days. And it is here at the seat of the king, on the setting of the third Sun, that I shall retire to my bunk to rest.  Musha/12/Year of the Cocoon The Aisle of the Aniqotari Journal Entry 54 Stymus Entamule  I have found what seems to be the last plate of knowledge written. An account written upon a black marble slab, and rather hastily I might add, as I cannot seem to decipher most of the text. Instead, I am left with blanks for my mind to fill in, but with what? From what I could put together, the message seems to be a grave warning of Quohixima's wrath... Still, I have yet to find a detailed account of its appearance, or nature. Something so intangible and far out of my reach is Quohixima, whose very being is still a mystery to me and all those who study it. Despite being known throughout the world, very little is known about the entity. We may try our best but could anyone name such a formless form? An abstraction of reality... The *most lost* among the lost... Who could describe the void from which it came, and fathom the terror of its sight? An otherworldly mass of otherworldly horror, a being too strange that just the sight of it can cause madness and pandemonium abound. Only the ancients knew, for they have gazed upon its forbidden form. From the tattered remains of their dead tongue, of which the ancients scrawled upon the marble stone of ruin, could only inscribe the name of the terror. *"Quohixima"...* That word... That only word... Only that word... That word I cannot seem to grasp, even the people of today have little to no idea of just what kind of calamity Quohixima is. *Many* a sleepless night, quills upon quills upon parchment, the ink ran dry as the scholars tried to derive the meaning of that *dreadful* name. From what the ancients knew, and only what we had learned from them, was that the name of the phenomenon meant pure darkness. Darkness, of which could cast a shadow on the night's sky. Darker than the blackest black, to make the darkest midnight seem as day in comparison. Ancient text said It came as a cloud, As slow as the rise and fall of the tides, but seemingly from nowhere. The ancient's knew that it comes upon the eve of the new millennium. A time similar to this... And it is for this reason I turned my back upon everything in my life, and why I have journeyed to the ruins of the Aniqotari, to the forbidden continent that lies southwest of home, to the very square of which Quohixima was said to have first appeared. A journey of which has taken years of my life, and the lives of both family and friends. A journey of which I am the only survivor, the last witness to Quohixima's sight.  Triya/0/Year of Metamorphosis The Aisle of the Aniqotari Journal Entry 76 Stymus Entamule It is now mid-day of the new year, a certain air fills the halls of this palace. The winds blow harder and harder each passing minute and then stops, and starts again as if the planet itself is breathing, gasping in fear for what is to come. A noise resounds from the sky as if a choir of a thousand strong sing in unison, but in a discordant tone. A haunting fanfare that precedes the arrival of *his majesty*... I hear a noise like none I ever heard before, it beckons me forth... To go forth outside to the square... The very square in which the calamity appeared a millennia ago... I SEE IT! I see it! It's coming from the clouds, light has no effect on its form as it makes its descent from the void. It is entirely black, despite the 3 suns shining full upon it. Its size is monstrous, it encompasses the sky as if it's embracing the planet, as like a maiden running to the embrace of her lover. Tendrils upon tendrils, the air is made still as it makes its entrance. I run to the cliffside to get a better look upon its form. It beckons me forth! How could this earthly human language describe the magnitude of such an ephemeral form? There is nothing upon this world, dare I say universe, I can liken it to. The only discernable feature I can name is of the many eyes upon its mass, the gaze of which all rest upon... Me... It beckons me forth... How could anyone describe its sound? An ear-shattering pulse of both high and low tones infinitely spiraling upwards and downwards. The air tastes of its smell, which changes by what seems like the hour. First of Lillies, then of sulfur, then of copper, then of roses... The scent of which... It beckons me forth... I am standing face to face, eye to eye, man to marvel with the being known as Quohixima. It knows who I am, I hear its thoughts! A never-ending whirlwind of sound permeates my inmost being, it taints every fiber of my body. It beckons me forth... I can no longer ignore its call... It beckons me forth... Dimensions, voids, a starless galaxy of never-ending darkness... It beckons me forth... I run to it! It beckons me forth... A sea of spirals and right angles... It beckons me forth... burned metallic skin and eyes... It beckons me forth... The edge of calamity... It beckons me forth... Terror upon all terrors... It beckons me forth... The crushing void... It beckons me forth... A flash of light... It beckons me forth... Quohixima... It beckons me forth... It beckons me forth... It beckons me forth... Farewell, all...   I COME TO TAKE, I COME TO GIVE. I AM THE HEART OF THE VOID.


Breaking from the surface of the sea meant sunshine. While water streamed from her skin, sluicing back to the waves she was pulled from, morning sun rays spilled over her too. They were startlingly warm, bright in her eyes. And they ate up the crisp cool of the ocean, wicking away moisture to dry out her skin, her red curls. Taking a gasping breath of warm air, she blinked against the harsh sun, water still beading on her lashes and dripping down her cheeks. Even ripped from the waves, the first thing she noticed was the bob and sway of the world around her--it wasn’t still like land. Creaking and the occasional clang of metal sounded out, wood groaning under thudding footsteps. A gull cried somewhere far above in the sky. The bed of scales she rested on was slick and slimy, flapping spined fins and gaping mouths digging into her back and shoulders, catching in her hair. Rough rope, turning green with mold and fraying at the knots, chafed against the heels of her palms, her wrists, her elbows when she pushed at it. But worn as it was, there was no breaking the rope. Fighting the fear and anger bubbling up in her chest, threatening to boil over, she tried to get a proper look around. There was a vast blue swatch of sky above her, stretching on forever, only interrupted by a brilliant ball of sunlight. Below her, she could only make out silvery grey fish, all flopping and struggling, trying to break free and get back to their home under the waves. But over, down a little, she caught glimpses of metal. Grimy white hull, blood and scales covering the floor, a large tower holding up the net she was caught in. And, two wide hazel eyes staring up at her. For a fragile instant, neither of them moved. On the deck, it was a boy, or rather, a lanky teenager with chestnut bedhead and wonder in his eyes. In the net, it was a girl with frizzy curls and eyes blue like the ocean. But, most notably, it was a girl with pink and green scales that lined her eyes, spilled in fine lines down her throat, and sparkled in the sun on her powerful tail. It wasn’t a girl at all; it was a mermaid. “Who are you?” he asked, and all she could think was that it was a silly question. Who called for a name, an identity. What, on the other hand, asked whether she was human or beast, creature or cryptid. But he didn’t ask what, so she didn’t say. It had been a long time since anyone wanted to know who she was. “Kaia,” she answered, a little hesitant, a little breathless. The boy only nodded, messy tufts of hair sticking out everywhere and falling into his eyes with the motion. It was then, she noticed, he had a knife in one hand. “My name’s Levi,” he said, trading introductions like they’d met in passing currents under the sea, like it was normal. A lopsided smile broke out across his lips too, eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with the sun glittering in them. “Leviathan! What’s taking so long?” A gruff voice called from somewhere farther on the boat. Kaia couldn’t see them, couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to. Probably someone in charge. Probably someone who wouldn’t be as welcoming to her as this Levi boy. “Your brother would’ve had that net down yesterday!” The voice came again, louder this time. “Sorry, Dad,” Levi placated, raising his voice to be heard over the splash of the waves against the hull, the creak of the boat, the crying gulls, and the distance. Then, spinning on his heels to look up at Kaia again, he gave a smile. They seemed to come easy to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you down from there,” he said, and padded off somewhere she couldn’t see, behind the tower holding up the net. Then, a handful of tense, waiting moments later, the net started to drop, then released from the tower with a mechanical clunk, fish sent sprawling and skittering across the deck as the net fell open. “Every small fry goes back,” the rough, gravelly voice called out again, “I don’t want to see a single fish under the limit, you understand?” “It was only one time,” Levi said as he came back into view, expression crinkled with a frown and pulled brows. Though, when he met Kaia’s gaze, everything in him brightened again. “You’ll help me off this wretched boat?” she asked, voice smooth and cool, enticing, like water lapping at skin. She did have a little siren back in her bloodline, after all. Like it was an absent thing, he twirled the knife between his fingers. It was a small blade, but still dangerous, with the wrong intentions. Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest, nerves fraying. It was starting to get uncomfortably hot, too, all the cooling water dripped and evaporated from her skin. She could feel it drying too far under the unrelenting rays. There wasn’t even a cloud in sight. There was a fish flopping, gasping, at Levi’s feet. And before he said a thing, he knelt, measured it against his forearm. Kaia hadn’t noticed it until now, but it looked like he had drawn ticks down the length of his arm in black marker, numbers written after every so many. Then, satisfied, he slid the knife into its gills. In just a handful of moments, the fish stilled, dead eyes glazed and gazing out at nothing. “I don’t like to let them suffer,” Levi offered quietly, still looking down at the fish at his feet, the blood trickling out around his shoes. But, it was only a moment before he came to crouch before her. “I don’t want to see you suffer either,” he said, offering a smile. His teeth were just a little crooked, but the remnants of childish roundness clinging to his cheeks and the warm hazel of his eyes made it look more endearing than unsettling. She only hoped she made the right judgement, or that bloody knife might sink right into her throat instead. He pocketed the knife. She let out a breath. For a moment, he stood, ruffling a hand through his hair, the thinking, the working of his mind written clear on his face. Again, he crouched before her, this time guiding her arms around his neck. And, with quite the struggle, cheeks going pink with exertion, he managed to lift her up with gangly arms, one looped behind her back, the other underneath her tail. On unsteady legs he stumbled to the railing, and Kaia held on with fear and hope both pounding out a rhythm in her pulse. Unceremoniously, because it was the only way he could manage to do it, Levi dropped her over the railing. The kiss of crystal blue water on too warm skin was such relief; she couldn’t help the joyous smile that curved at her mouth. Just for a moment, she basked in it, feeling the cool current wash by her, tasting salt, crisp and sharp on her lips. Then, she resurfaced, letting her head bob atop the waves as she glanced back up at the boat. Levi and his messy hair and goofy smile were leaned over the railing, waving at her. “Meet me at the pier tonight, if you can,” he called and pointed out across the sea. Kaia turned, red curls floating all around her shoulders, to find the stretch of wood jutting out into the ocean. “I’ll wait for you,” he said while her back was still turned. With a glance over her shoulder, she found his gaze again, ocean blue meeting sunny, earthen hazel. “I’ll come,” she said, and without another word, dove beneath the surface. -- Night had wicked away the sun’s warmth by the time she reached the pier. Its wooden poles that ran down deep into the sand were stained with algae and littered with barnacles beneath the surface of the sea, crusted with salt above it. There was a grey ladder that stretched down too, at the end of the pier, built of thin metal poles crudely fitted together. That was where Kaia waited, and sure enough, a little while later, Levi’s familiar face popped over the edge of the pier. When he noticed her, he grinned and climbed down the ladder, slipping his legs and arms though so he could sit on one rung, arms hooked over the one above it. “So, you’re a mermaid?” he questioned, like it wasn’t already obvious enough. Instead of answering, Kaia just flipped her hair behind her back and asked him to lean down a little. It was with a questioning glance, but he did as he was told, slumping over the metal bars to get lower to the water. Fingers wrapping around a rung, Kaia stretched up to meet him, pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek. Under her lips, his skin still held the day’s warmth, like his golden tan complexion was made of sunshine. When she pulled back, his cheeks had gone a little pink, his eyes a little wide, but he was smiling that same easy smile that seemed to permanently pull at his lips. “A mermaid’s kiss is good luck,” Kaia said by way of explanation, turning her gaze out at the night sky. It looked inky black, dotted with silver stars that reflected back on the surface of the sea. Mirrored as it was, it almost gave the impression of swimming through endless stars, the pinpricks of light stretched all the way out on either side of the horizon, sky or sea. “Oh, really?” Levi asked behind her, tone warm and curious. Kaia smiled, easy like him. “Really.”


My room is a pale cube, carpeted, with a metre-wide intrusion on one wall from the box around the chimney flue. There's a stretched out radiator that runs under the only window, for about five feet, it's a squat and dusty thing that goes too hot. When the air turns colder and thicker in the late evening, the radiator expands and my beechwood desk tightens up, and they both clack at each other, right as I'm getting hypnagogic.  Last night, having plainly over-drunk from a bottle of red wine (that was on the turn anyway, if that's an excuse), I schlepped up the staircase and fell on to the bed. I passed out over the covers, still dressed. I had spilled red wine on my shirt, and my trousers were unbuttoned at the waist where the top button had started to come loose. The clacking of the radiator at the desk must have woken me, and the desk's creaking replies kept me awake long enough to sit up in hot frustration. Still being on top of the sheets, I went to stand up to take off my trousers and button-down shirt. As I shifted off the bed and planted my feet on the carpet, something about the give in the mattress gave me pause. I had the impression there was a weight on the bed behind me, and pause turned to cold panic: Something person-sized is on my bed. The mattress was clearly bearing the heft of another body.  I sat with my spine like a rod, too terrified to turn and look. A long minute passed, as I considered why I hadn't just spun around and looked straight away. The weight hadn't startled me so much as willed me to freeze. Eventually, I found courage enough to stand up, slowly. I had the childish thought that if I went about normally, then nothing could possibly be wrong. Having got up to take off my clothes, that's what I did. I removed my trousers and shirt and left them in a heap on the floor. Now underdressed for a paranormal experience, but not necessarily for anything unwelcome-but-human, I turned around at slow speed.  I cannot fully describe the character of an out-of-body experience. If I had to try, I would draw a line between seeing myself in the mirror, seeing a picture of myself from the side, and seeing myself on an old home video, from one sensation to the other, in a straight upward path from left to right. On this graph of experiencing myself outside my own skin, what I saw on my bed was way out to the right, way above a home video. I am lying on the bed. I am standing next to the bed. I am so convinced that I am standing next to the bed that I start to doubt it's me lying on the bed, asleep, unmoving. Now my out-of-body experience is an out-of-self one. I am something else.  In the division of my standing self from my sleeping counterpart, the sleeping person becomes alien to me, even hateful. I walk around the bed to its foot, with my back to the chimney wall. I stare at my unjoined twin, and as I stare I start to drain, and my eyelids snap together. Right as I feel like I'm going to pass out, with my back pushed up against the cold wall, I open my eyes again. The body, the copy, is sat up, staring back at me. We stay locked on each other for some time, neither moving, neither saying a word. I'm getting drained again, and my eyes shut all at once.  I woke up to morning light and a wide headache, fully clothed, over the covers. I was myself again, completely. The picture of what had happened in the night came back softly, dream-like at first, and then as the complete nightmare. But the horror came back in double parts. In one part, I had felt a shadow move about my bed, and settle at the foot of it. The dreadful, unknowable thing stared me down, even as I sat up to stare back at it. It had been something outside of a dream, it was more of a hallucination, if not something real and awful. The other part was more of a cloud than the solid memory of the first. It was definitely more nightmare than truth. I had been outside of myself, and become something else. I had undressed, turned to the bed, and seen my body sundered from my knowing mind. I had reared up against the chimney wall and stared my old body in the eye until I fell unconscious.  Struggling to put the memory and the nightmare together, but also unable to fully tell them apart, I start to haul myself up and off the bed. I plant my feet on the carpet. On the floor are a pair of trousers with a broken button, and a wine-stained button-down shirt, identical to the ones I am still wearing, left in a heap.


Once, Alikast was nothing but a barren wasteland, created by the gods as an empty canvas for their imagination. But the god Kast, leader of the pantheon, was disappointed with the lack of life in the land. For days and days, he stared down upon it, until his eyes could no longer handle the strain and he blinked, letting his tears fall upon the land. In mere moments, the wasteland was transformed into a beautiful landscape of trees, grass, mountains, and animals. But not everyone was pleased with the change. Kast's brother Ali, who had helped with the original creation of Alikast, thought the lack of life was more magnificent. Enraged by Kast's actions, Ali punched him in the jaw and the two brothers fought, their blood spilling onto the land and bringing forth natural disasters and monsters. And thus, the first sin was born in Alikast. The sister of the brothers, a goddess uninvolved in the creation, was fascinated by the humans that had formed from the brothers' blood. She became romantically involved with one and had three powerful sons, Artis, Breter, and Turin, who became the kings of different regions in Alikast and protected it with their magic, passed down through generations of humans. But the other gods shunned the goddess for her actions and stripped her of her power. She was forced to live among the humans, but her legacy lived on through her sons and the magic they bestowed upon the people of Alikast. The three brothers, Artis, Breter, and Turin, were raised by their mother and taught the ways of magic. They were powerful wizards, each ruling over their own kingdom and using their gifts to protect their people. Artis was the ruler of the northern kingdom, known for his fierce battles and powerful ice magic. Breter, ruler of the southern kingdom, was a master of fire magic and was respected for his wisdom and strategic thinking. Turin, ruler of the eastern kingdom, was a master of nature magic and was beloved by his people for his kindness and compassion. The three brothers were not just rulers, but also protectors. They fought against the monsters that plagued the land, using their magic to keep their people safe. They also fought against the natural disasters, using their powers to mitigate their effects and protect their kingdoms. And so, the people of Alikast prospered under the protection of the three brothers and the magic they possessed. But not all was well in Alikast. The other gods, jealous of the power the three brothers held, plotted to overthrow them. They sent powerful creatures to attack the kingdoms, but the brothers' magic proved to be too strong. Frustrated, the gods decided to take a different approach. They sent a beautiful and cunning goddess to seduce Artis, Breter, and Turin, turning them against each other. The goddess was successful in her mission, and the brothers' love for each other turned to hatred. They fought against each other, their kingdoms tearing apart at the seams. The people of Alikast suffered greatly, caught in the middle of the brothers' feud. The once peaceful land of Alikast was plunged into chaos as war broke out among its people. Battles raged for decades, and eventually, for centuries, as the kingdoms were torn apart by one another. This was just the beginning of a long and tumultuous period for the land of Alikast, as conflicts and struggles for power consumed the realm.  (Alikast is a world I created with my own two hands. It's a fantasy world I created for dnd and I also use it for writing a lot.


Waking up on Monday is always hard. As I unenthusiastically get out of bed and start to get dressed, I hear a loud crashing noise coming from another room. “I live alone. I have no pets. No one would visit me this time of year. What made that noise? A robber. With a gun. Tall, wearing all black, but more scared of me than I am of him ." I whisper to myself. I grab my phone and a fork from a bedside table, the nearest thing available to me that I can use as a makeshift weapon. I cautiously creep out of my bedroom and into the hallway while dialing 911, the tension overtaking the air and choking me. I slowly turn my head around the corner, and sure enough, there he is. A tall man with a gun wearing all black digging frantically through anything and everything. I tell the 911 operator what's happening as quickly and as quietly as possible, and after they reassure me they will be there soon, I hang up. He looks even more terrified than I feel. As he continues to scour through every drawer and cabinet, I jump out from the hallway holding the ever-so-terrifying fork. He turns around, looking horrified. “Put everything down, and get out. If you don’t, you won’t be going home tonight, or ever again. Got it?” I say as calmly as possible. He nods furiously, and the look in his icy blue eyes tells me that it wasn’t his choice to rob me, and was probably told to do it for another person. He quickly sets everything down and bolts through the front door of my apartment, only to run head-on into a police officer. A half-hour later, after the authorities question me, I remember that I’m supposed to meet up with Minsun at the coffee shop at eight-thirty, which is now only 23 minutes away. I run to the elevator and back to my apartment bedroom on the seventh floor from outside the apartment where I was questioned. Once inside, I quickly finish getting dressed and walk to the bathroom where I comb my hair and brush my teeth. I take one last look into the mirror before leaving. I guess the whole incident of the man trying to rob me took a toll on my looks in a way, too. My face is pale, and my usually calm and tired-looking amber eyes now make me look nervous and alert. My black and electric blue hair is still knotted in the back, so I wrestle the comb through my hair one more time and then run out of my apartment to meet up with Minsun. I’m halfway there when I realize it. “She’s missing.” I whisper, stopping in the middle of the road I was crossing. “She won’t be there.” I was so caught up thinking about where she could be that I didn’t see the truck barreling towards me. I’m able to run to the side, but not without getting scrapes all over me. I start sprinting towards the small coffee shop we were supposed to meet up. I get there at eight-thirty four, and look for our usual table, then scan the restaurant for her pink and purple-dyed hair, usually in dutch braids. Just like I thought, no Min. Minsun is never late. Minsun never cancels or bails unless she absolutely has to, and she always tells you when she does. I take a few minutes to calm down, as I’m still out of breath from running here. After I chill out a little, I start worriedly texting Min and walking to her house. It’s pretty far away, so I realize it’s going to be around a forty-five-minute walk. I’ve always known what was going on. I’ve always been able to just realize what was happening before I saw or was told anything. The rest of the walk is pretty quiet. It's cold outside today again, it has been for the past two weeks. New York City is huge, and even though I’ve lived here for almost 6 years, I still have trouble finding my way almost anywhere. Minsun’s place is easy to get to, though. It's almost a straight line down from the coffee shop. She’s loaded rich and lives in a penthouse, but she’s not snobby or mean. I walk into the building and take the elevator up to the top floor. As I enter the penthouse, I’m hit again with the sheer beauty of it. I’ve been here plenty of times, but I can never get used to how amazing and modern everything is. The view is definitely the best part, especially at night when you can see all the lights. I’m getting distracted. I need to look for Minsun. I think to myself. I sprint through her place, yelling her name. It’s been about twenty minutes when I see it. Her purse. Her purse has her car keys, the keys to her company office, her penthouse keys, her phone, her wallet, and everything else that she would always take with her at all times. “Ok, I don’t know where Min is, and the only way to find her is by looking. And the only way to look is by knowing where to look. So in normal circumstances, this would be screwed up, however , these are not normal circumstances, and therefore it is acceptable to look through only the parts that would be useful to the search on her phone. Right?” I say to myself. I pick up her phone slowly, thinking again about how it’s okay because I have to in order to find Minsun. I press the button, turning it on. Her wallpaper is an old picture of us from 2015 when we were at a concert, and she still says today that it was the best night of her life. We did a lot of stuff that night, and it was probably the best night of my life too. I press the button again, and it asks for a password. Right. Of course, it needs a password. I say in my head. Ok. If I were Minsun, what would my password be? No doubt she spelled something out using the letters on the button of each button, she always does. 246786, maybe? That spells out Minsun. Password incorrect. I furiously press the buttons, typing out more numbers quickly, tyring more passwords, trying to get into her phone. Password incorrect. What does Min love the most? After a few more tries, I almost give up. And then it comes to me. No way. It wouldn’t be this, not anymore. Right? I slowly press the buttons on the screen, typing out 65682 which would spell out Okoua. It won't be this. She made that nickname up in middle school. She probably doesn’t even remember it. Password correct. “Really, Minsun?” I say with a smile. Okay. Where should I look first? I ask myself silently. Messages. I open the app and look through her contacts until I find one that looks interesting. The name is just unknown, but the last message sent read, “Come alone.” I click on the contact and scroll to the top, back to the first messages. “You have no choice. You know you can’t avoid me any longer.” “ What is wrong with you? I told you to leave me alone!” Minsun replies. “It’s your fault, you know.” “SHUT UP! It was your fault just as much as mine and everyone else's. It was years ago! Find someone else to bother.” “I’ll tell him.” “Who? There’s no one to tell.” “OH but there is. Your new friend. He doesn’t know, now does he?” Are they talking about me? “Leave him out of this.” Suddenly, the silence starts to choke me. I walk out of her bedroom and into the living room. I turn on the tv and sit on the floor in front of the couch, feeling how soft the gray fluffy rug is. I keep reading. It's them massaging back and forth about something they did, and the unknown person saying it was all Min’s fault. I’m focusing on the things they’re saying until I hear what’s happening on the tv. The news is on, and they’re talking about a suspected killer named Seiro Komoka “ After years of investigating the 207 murders that were all done by the same person or group of people, police have finally found a huge detail that was nearly impossible to find that tells them that Seiro Komoka is the perpetrator in this case. The killer in question is often called by the nickname ‘Eye Obsessed Abducter’, as he takes each of his murdered victims eyes, sometimes taking them from the people he has injured or kidnapped that managed to survive him and has been confirmed to have murdered at least over 207 people, injured 457 more, and kidnapped 289 people, and this is just what has been confirmed. For all we know, the ‘Eye obsessed abductor’ could have done much more damage than we thought. Although there is evidence we have here whatsoever as to who this mysterious murderer is, Seiro Komoka is being looked for and is still around somewhere, and police have found that he has been spotted talking to many of the victim's families lately. The only other knowledge we have of the murderer is that all of the murders, abductions and harm have in fact been done by him. Although it is possible that everything has been done by a group of people, chief of police Neil Kamri has said that it is highly doubtful for reasons that were not shared.” the broody reporter says. They still haven’t caught that guy? They’ve been looking for such a long time. They do finally have a suspect. I go back to reading the messages, still thinking about the Eye Obsessed abductor I’m almost at the end. “ You have to do it. It’s not a choice, Minsun.” Says the unknown person. Min doesn’t reply. “ 67 Sanra drive at 5:30 next Monday. Be there.” Again, Minsun says nothing. “Don’t bring anything. I will give you what you need.” They say. “Come alone.” He adds. I check when the last message was sent. Monday last week. She’s going there today. I check the time on her phone, and it’s three thirty-two. Did she leave early? I run back to her bedroom, stuff her phone into her purse, take out her car keys, grab the purse and run to the car garage underneath the building to her car. I get in, not bothering to have a valet do it for me. I type the address into the GPS and start driving. It’s an hour and a half later before I get there. I park behind a large rock, hidden from anyone else. I start walking to where everything was. How did even Min get here? A taxi wouldn’t take her here, and there’s no way she walked so far. I take a look around. What is this place? Everywhere I look seems dead and abandoned. There are deserted restaurants and houses, stores, and other buildings all around. All the plants and trees and grass, all of it is dead and withered. A nearly dried-up pond is beside the uninhabited town, and the only water left is brown and disgusting looking. What happened? Who and why does someone want to meet Minsun here? What is happening? My thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a loud bang. Something is about to explode. I run towards the car, away from the rundown settlement. I get there and hide behind the rock, hoping it’s far enough away. Seconds later, a building from the back of the abandoned town bursts into pieces and two buildings around it erupt into flames. Debris from the explosion goes flying in every direction, and a flaming half of a door lands in a dead bush about 14 feet away from where I’m hiding and sets it ablaze. I look at all the other flying wreckage, some are on fire, some aren’t. Then I see the bloodied body soaring with the rest of the debris. It lands in the dried-up pond with a snap. I turn my head around the side of the rock to check if anyone is there, and when I’m sure no one will see me, I run to where the body lies dead. I don’t know who it is, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to tell. The heat devoured half of their face off, and the rest of their body was a mangled mess of bones, flesh and blood. I hear a low, smooth, voice. “See, it wasn’t that hard now was it?” and then after they say that, I hear another soft, quiet voice say, “It’s done, okay? Now you have to leave me alone, and you can’t tell anyone I ever knew you.” It's Minsun. I freeze, wondering if it’s too late to hide somewhere, anywhere, somehow. Then they see me, still crouched next to the body in the dried-up pond. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Yells Minsun with a twisted, shocked expression on her face. “I just- I uhm...” I utter. “You can either keep this secret or you get killed.” The man next to Min announces. “What secret? I have no idea what’s happening.” I ask. “We used to be in the mafia.It wasn’t our choice, though. The rest of them died and we fled. How they died though, was our fault. A group of friends we were in.” “Minsun? Is that true? Is this the guy named unknown in your contacts that you were talking to?”I urge quietly. “Yes...” Whispers Minsun, her face scared-looking, staring intensely at the ground.”Wait, how did you know I was texting him?” She says, looking up suddenly, the expression on her face changing from grave to suspicious in a matter of seconds. “Uh- That's...That’s not important right now.” I reply nervously. “Wait a minute- I know who you are!” Says the guy Minsun was talking to. “You...You’re Seiro Komoka! You may have changed your looks, but you can’t get rid of that look in your eyes! You killed my SISTER.” He shouts, his face seething with hate and rage. “What are you talking about? I’m not a murderer! You’re insane.” I yell. “Don’t lie to me! You’re the Eye Obsessed Killer!” He roars. Minsun looks really confused. She starts saying “ No, he’s not the killer, there’s no way-”. She stops talking when she sees the giant smirk on my face. “What?” “Let me explain.” I say calmly, still smiling. “ I’m not following you anywhere you psychotic kil-” I pull a knife out of my pocket, start running the flat part of the blade through my fingers, focusing on the sharp part. “You have such nice beautiful green amber and green eyes. It would be such a shame if someone were to...I don’t know...” I turn to face him, knife in hand, and rotate my head to the side a bit. “Take them.” He looks terrified. Perfect. His eyes look so worried, just like all the smart people’s did. If you’re not scared, your risk of death goes up by a high amount. “W-where do you want to go?” He asks nervously. I pocket the knife and point to a building in the back. Minsu and I walk there together, answering each other's questions, while the other guy walks far behind us. We get there and walk around the buildings, avoiding the debris from the explosion from earlier. “It’s not that I wanted to become a killer. But once you start.. You can't stop. It’s addicting. So at first, it was bad. But then...It became the only thing that gave me joy. So much joy, that I would do anything to kill someone, anyone. And I mean anyone. Like family, teachers, friends, strangers...I say the word strangers with a smirk on my face, and stop walking right where I planned to stop. They turn to me. “Hello, stranger.” I say, pushing ‘unknown’ into the fire, laughing. He shrieks and cries, but very soon he goes limp as the fire devours him. Minsun is frozen in horror, too scared to do anything. I do it as a joining, my instincts tell me she’ll move. She won’t get hurt. I would never want to hurt her. “Hello friend.” I say, widening my eyes and launching manically, trying to scare. I playfully shove her towards the fire, but she doesn’t move. She lays there, screaming in agony as the scorching, flaming monster eats her whole. I let out a scream too. I didn’t want that. After she dies, I spend ten minutes sitting there, next to the fire, convincing myself not to jump in with them, let me drown in the pool of flames with their bodies, and that she was dead-weight. She wasn’t. She was the only one there for me when everyone else hated me. She was the reason why I started killing. To protect her. And now she’s gone. It’s my fault. The one person I didn’t want dead, the one person that was safe from me, who I wanted to protect, was dead. And I had killed her. I get all the ‘monster’ comments now. The people telling me to die. I hadn’t before, but my mind is clear now. I start walking towards the rock, tears in my eyes, knife in my hand. I start the car up and start driving. I don’t know where I’m going, just that it’s going to be far, far away from New York. For a fresh start. Where no one will no know me or what I've done. Authors note: Ok yes the transitions were horrible. I’m not good with word limits, sorry and this is my first time doing one of these.


“The first kill is the hardest.” She said to me, with a brutal indifference that is mastered by creatures who have surpassed their lifetime. I cradled the broken body of an innocent girl, as if she were mine to protect. As if I didn't reap the very life from her. Blood. On my hands. Not mine, but hers, I soon realized. Scarlet and oozing, and mingled with mine. Thick as burnt caramel, sitting on my tongue like tar without any of the sweetness. Bitter. I had once revered this white gown as a gift, a present free of charge. Unknowingly, I had paid a most grievous toll for such indulgence. Her life, and mine, entangled in the dark strings that made up the Countess’s web. The girl’s eyes widened for the last time. What may have held the memories of a lifetime, contained only a few fleeting, yet precious years. Blank, was the faint silhouette of something that could have been, had she not provoked the Countess; had she not entered the chamber at the wrong time; had she not been born as poor as she was. Had I not been born. Why blame her? This is my fault. The difference that separated us, was the startling reality that I would go on to breathe and blink and kill for another day. Another month. Perhaps even centuries. Death is what it took to keep us living. This was the agreement I made the second that blood hit my lips. I watched the rise and fall of her caved in chest. She wheezed back and fourth, like a burning house. She made an odd creaking sound trying to breathe. “She won't live. What are you attempting? To save her life? My dear, you already stole that from her. The only possession she laid claim to, and you stole it from her. There’s a certain victory in that, isn’t there? Savory and sweet, the threat of looming over someone small. You made her a powerless creature. Prolong her suffering, if that is what brings you joy, then perhaps we are more alike than I knew.” She was right. Why distract from the inevitable? I pulled my hand from her gaping neck. Without my fingers closing around the wound, I could finally see the outline of my teeth, my newborn canines imprinted on her nape. The blood sputtered in dark rivulets, arcing against the macabre paintings on the wall. Then, the substance began to pool from her, slowly. “That’s right, my dear, let her die.” The countess leaned back on her throne. “And with her death, you'll live endlessly.” She is a portrait of beauty, unsettling, horrific beauty. The kind of loveliness one would find in the expression of a freshly dead girl. I can almost pretend she is only sleeping. Her eyelashes tickle my hand as I close those broken, doll like eyes. As if to congratulate me, The countess raised a bloody wineglass to the twinkling chandelier. She lowered the glass in a slow, teasing movement to her lips. As if entranced by her reflection in the viscous red, growing cold in its glass, she sipped. And when she smiled, her pointed teeth were stained red. “To take life is a messy thing my dear. A beautiful thing, to exchange pitiful years for eternity. And yet, such a tricky business, being a god among rotting flesh.” At her confession, I note that this has been a game to her all along. As much of a game as playing chess, with someone that never knew the rules. As much a game as the fleeting mouse was to the perusing cat. As if to choose black or white means the difference of life and death. “Eternity.” I mumble, shaking. “Eternity indeed is lonely business, wouldn’t you agree?” I ask. At this, that cruel facade collapses for a moment. And I see the real countess, like a flash of green between the sea and the sky. But like a flash of sunlight against the sea, that unguarded facade dies within a moment, lost within the blink of an eye. “Aren't you poetic?” The glass shatters in her hand. Her palm bleeds, but the blood is not hers. And even so, she wouldn’t hurt. Pain in the face of eternity is nothing, that was one the first lessons my lady taught me. Perhaps then, it’s easier to justify when her cruel hand slithers around the expanse of my throat. Pain is nothing to me any more. In fact, it's the only humanity I have left. Her fangs pierce the flesh of her lower lip. Her gaze settles upon me like a rain of burning arrows. Something thin and sharp clawed my wrist and snapped. I wailed. My broken wrist hung at my side, limp. She pulled me to the surface of despair that I had grazed the thin veneer of. I don't process the movement until she is breathing into the side of my face, until the body tumbles off of me with a soft thud. It is only when I smell her perfume, warmed by her stolen youth, that I realize she is a bloom-less rose. All thorns, digging into my heart. But how lovely it felt to have something growing within you, even if it was invasive. I know better than to struggle against her. It wasn’t always like that. “Hush now. Stop your crying.” She coos. I hate that I feel comforted by the sound. Her cat-like eyes narrowed into mine. For a moment, she possessed a gentleness I had never known existed. Her touch once fleeting, burned through my skin, tucked my hair behind my ear. For a moment, I pretended we were two mortal people. I pretended we shared only a mortal kiss, a kiss that reeked of death. She cupped my cheek, and lead me by the waist to the center of the ballroom, not far from the girl I had murdered. “Shall we dance?” Her voice is too tender, too full of pride, and what I mistake for love. But, there was never such a calmness as the peace that shivered over me at the feel of her hand in mine. Even though her talons sunk a little deeper, the longer she kept me. I would wake in the morning in a cold bed without her, the only impression left behind, her bracelet of purple and red along my wrist. The longer we danced together, the less she cared about hurting me. The feel of the brief wind in my hair as she twirled me round, was the only proof of love she carried for me. The sound of her laugh, as coveted as earthly pleasures, was mine to possess. I forget about the dead girl. Whatever I had done, it seemed worth it, if only to be allowed in her presence, if only to endure the blunt of her temper. If only to be hers for seconds or for years. And so I told myself that pain and pleasure are the same, uniquely bound together with a rope of thorns. Our movements become less a dance, and more of her throwing me into the furniture, into walls, into sharp points until every wall is cracked. Crack, goes my ribs. The bone sticks out from me, reddening the white of my gown. I sputter blood. Wheezing, I look down at my cracked ribs, and touch delicately. It stings, and sparkles like freshly cut rubies. It’s almost beautiful. My body found purchase on the wall, a few seconds to collect myself before she continued this process of loving me. Until I'm certain that she has split every bone into parts. It had never felt so good to hurt so bad. My dress billowed around me. I met her gaze. She dipped me low enough for my hair to wet with the blood of the girl. Her voice lowered to a purr. And I forget about my broken body, because even a web is beautiful to behold, a gilded cage of silver and blinking moonlight. “Never forget, my treasure, what a privilege it is to be a damned creature.” In the drabble of her words, I find myself entwined deeper in her magnificence, till the words mean nothing. Until I am just listening to the sound of every chord of her siren like voice, cradled in a newborn innocence. Until I catch one word, a word that makes me shiver. “Privilege?” I whisper against her. Her hand drapes down my spine. She feels for a moment around the base of it, and I tense. She releases it and continues her petting. “To be born as we are. To be possessed by me. To kill with me. Are you not satisfied?” She asks me. A fast turn, and I can hear the crunch of bone as the Countess’ gilded heel smashes in the dead girl's face. I look down, horrified. I feel my body reject the creature I am. The spinning stops. I retch, and wail. My nails dig into a painting and rip. That is until the soft caress of her lips settles on my neck. Until she bites ever so teasingly. My back arches. And every reasonable thought is drowned by the swarm of her seduction, buzzing and impatient like a hornets nest. “Don't look at her.” She warns. “She is but an artifact of a past you will soon outlive . Look at me.” And then, all the violence wanes, eclipses into the darkness that makes up her eyes. Her eyes awake with starlight itself. She is more than I could have ever dreamed. “I thought it would feel different. It didn't feel the way you described.” I say, meek and quiet like a little girl. I don't dare look down at my victim, but I know she's there, just a dance away. “And how did you feel?” I looked at her, and despite the unholy beauty that makes up the Countess, I hold on to the image of the girl crying out for her mother. I feel a monster tearing me apart. I feel solace in the pain she had given me. For it is something that I deserved. Her love, her bite, every broken bone muttered a vow in my heart. I stare, fall deeper into her. I flex my hand, and reach into the cavern of my ribs and pull at bone and snap, tears swamping my eyes. She doesn’t wail or beg me to stop, no words of disbelief come from her painted mouth. She just...smiles. A sweet smile. Whatever I had broken within me, I had placed in her pale hand. I watch through foggy tears, her talons sinking into the flesh and bone. Was it an offering or a sacrifice? Even then I couldn’t tell what I had given her, just that I had relinquished it. I don’t think I’ll ever know. I couldn’t tell her how much I hated myself, how I hated her. How I wish I could bring back the dead girl, and leave the countess in her stead. That is right, that is just. But she knows as I know, that’s not what I really want. Her hand tightens around the pieces of me. But the words don’t come. And my throat closes, until I will it open. “I never felt anything so thrilling.” The lie rots on my tongue. I can almost taste my deceit, burning and bubbling. Thick as burning sugar crusting a rotting cake. Those eyes narrowed. And with a satisfied hum, she flicked off my viscera, and picked me up from the cold ground. Every part of me hurt. I was a mess of dislocation and severed limbs. She carried me like she had before all this madness, like a bride over a threshold. A wedding I never consented to. And trotted along the bloody room, with her frightened bride. Her other hand, unsullied by blood, caresses my jaw. “What did I say about lies, my dear?” She says and her words send a chill up my spine. I think she might hurt me, but she simply leans in close until her eyes are boring into mine. And so gently, almost like she’s telling me she will take care of me forever and ever, She kisses my cheek, still wet with tears. I pray she can't see the horror blanching my face white. For a moment, I tried to move out of her grasp, but she was stronger than I thought, and I was in no position to move. I writhed against her, ever the butterfly pinned to the cork board by a crazed obsessive. But there was no escape. My wings fluttered lifeless against the grain. She had me pinned down. The tears of blood fall before I can hide them. Her brow furrowed. A sharp red talon scrapes the wetness away. “What a pity. Perhaps one day, you'll grow to love it as I do. Listen closely, my dear, for it is the last time I shall tell you. When you find you crave their violent ends, come and find me. One day, I hope you will realize that there is no such pleasure as seeing the life drain from a young girl’s eyes.”


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: It's time for another mashup! **Fall Constraint Mashup: Choose at least 1 thing from 3 different categories below.** You’re welcome to mix and match! These were all suggested by your fellow writers! | **No.** |**Object** | **Phrase** | **Setting** | **Misc. Constraints** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | 1 | apple cider| It’s never what you expect | pumpkin patch/corn maze | features a scarecrow | | 2 | jack-o-lantern | The wind rustled naked trees | a quarry or lake | a transformation occurs | | 3 | homemade stew | It was the right thing to do | Grandma’s kitchen | features an ‘animal familiar’ | 4 | costume | How easy it is to forget | a highschool event | a secret is revealed | **Bonus Constraint (15 pts):** Choose 1 of the numbered sets above. Sets are listed horizontally (that’s 1 thing from each of the 4 categories). *Note: You are welcome to interpret the constraints creatively as well as mix and match categories! You can add onto the phrases and words, change tenses, etc. And as always, be sure to follow all sub and post rules.* You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below (no poetry) inspired by the prompt.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. Use to check your wordcount. - **Leave feedback on at least one other story by 2pm EST next Monday. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday. *(Note: The form doesn’t open until Monday morning.)* ###Additional Rules - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read the stories aloud and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and/or listen to the others! Everyone is welcome and we’d love to have you!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Weekly points are awarded based on the following system. **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **15** pts each (5 crit max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 75 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | No cap | **Bay’s Nominations** | **20 - 50** pts | First- **50** pts, Second- **40** pts, Third- **30** pts, plus regular noms | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 2 in-depth, actionable crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.* *Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.*   *** #Rankings for - u/Brknside - u/OldBayJ - u/MaxStickies *Note: Due to being an active participant myself, points and votes have also been verified by another mod.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Experiment with tropes and different genres with the brand new feature on r/WritingPrompts! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


A lonely young man and discouraged young woman make a pact in high school. If they are both single at thirty they say, they will get married. Several years go by, she gets engaged but breaks off the relationship. He does not find love, so the day of his thirtieth birthday he calls the woman and asks if she is seeing anyone. She laughs and says No. Me neither. You know that was a joke right? she says. He responds with an affirmation, adding they should try again when they are forty for they are still young and much of their lives is yet to be lived. Shortly after this conversation the woman is introduced to her roommates brother. They hit it off and are married. They have kids, careers, buy mid-sized cars and a house in the suburbs they can not afford. She works as a receptionist at his practice. One Saturday she lets herself to find him inside a partner. Papers are filled soon after. Property is split. Visitations figured. Now the kids have two Christmases. In a month she will turn forty. The young man strings together one relationship after another. He uses dating apps, work connections, friend’s sisters. They all bring sex without intimacy. His partners are for the most part willing and present. The fear is his. He cannot commit because if it. He does nothing to address the fear. Therefore on his fortieth birthday he calls the woman and asks if she is still single. She is but not is not a good time, she says. She talks about her divorce, about her pain and her need to be single for a little while so she can figure out who she really is. Why don’t you call me when we’re fifty? He laughs through the phone. Immediately the man dialogs with his inner voice. He confronts himself in the mirror, seeing a lot of middle age and not a lot else. He is inspired to get help. He finds a therapist he likes, a young asian woman with a doctoral degree from Columbia. She is expensive but their work pays off. The man address head on the issues of his life. He opens up about his absent father and overbearing mother. He learns to trust, others and himself. He begins a spiritual practice of twenty minutes of silent mediation morning and evening. He encounters his true self, the eternal place within. Living from a more authentic center he begins to flower. He opens himself to more intimate relationships. When vacationing with his girlfriend in Italy, he cries as she holds him. They are married on the plane ride back by a minister who happened to be sitting next to them. A stewardess served as maid of honor, one of the pilots was best man. The people traveling first class sit and wonder what’s with all the commotion happening in coach. On the ride home from the airport, their cab is sideswiped by a drunk driver. Both the driver and girlfriend are killed. Waking up in the hospital the man learns of wife. Only death consoles him. He wants to be reunited with his love. He wants to relive their Italian romance. He wants to unplug himself from the machines keeping him alive. On his fiftieth birthday he calls no one and no one calls him. The same thing happens the years of his sixtieth and seventieth birthdays. However at age eighty three there is knock at his door. Standing in his porch is the woman. She’s remarried but her husband has recently passed. I lost the one I wanted to keep, yet the one I don’t want is still around she says. They pass the time as friends, talking about their lives, their pains and triumphs and the lonely desperation of youth. They confess their ill-fated affection of one another. We didn’t get it right this time says the eighty-three year old man, adding do you think we will get another shot? I suspect not. I suspect the same. Would you like to hold hands and walk to the park? I would like that very much. The people of the park remark to themselves the loveliness of the cute couple in love at their twilight and they pray they might be so lucky.


ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I checked my watch. I lay in bed for a few minutes more. Not because I was reluctant to get up before the birds had even begun their morning songs, but because I wanted to plan my route one more time. To see the route in my head, to plan my timing, my pacing. To get my strategies fixed solidly in my head. To calculate the risks, the dangers, the obstacles; to map out Plan A and Plan B and just because that was the kind of person I was, Plan C as well. I was a cautious person by nature, but the nature of my hobbies and interests mandated that I look at every eventuality, every possible outcome, every contingency, every likelihood of unforeseen events. I checked my watch. Once I had my plan firmly fixed in my mind I sprang out of bed and quickly went into the washroom to perform my morning ablutions. Showering for exactly five and a half minutes. Five minutes was not long enough to kill any bacteria that might have settled on me during the night and six minutes would have potentially dried out my skin and caused inflammation or created itchy dry skin or eczema. After five and a half minutes my shower alarm went off and I turned the alarm off on my watch and got out of the shower. I returned to my bedroom and dressed in my gear. Black track pants and a shirt that fit like a glove, and a black hoodie with multiple pockets. I had packed each pocket carefully the night before and memorized the placement of each object in them. I reached for my socks and running shoes and tied my shoes carefully, ensuring I double-knotted them. Falling down was not an option. Failing was not an option. I checked my watch. Getting everything right was key. I quickly made my bed, adhering to the hospital corner protocol that regimented my life. I carefully folded my night clothes and tucked them neatly under my pillow, then fluffed the pillow again making sure the corners were square with the bed. I checked my watch. I rummaged around the kitchen, restless to accomplish my goal for the day. Realizing my need for calmness, I closed my eyes and took several calming breaths. I focused sharply on the tasks to come, knowing that my well-laid plan was flawless. Self-confidence surged through my being, quickly followed by power and peace. I was fearless. I was bold. I was brave. I was dauntless. I was intrepid. I was omnipotent. I repeated this statement two more times. This was my mantra. I often repeated it throughout the day as if it were a sacred text, my shibboleth. As a very young child, before my diagnosis, I was very impressed by the childhood story of The Little Engine That Could. I read this book three times every night. When faced with difficulties, the little engine uttered the words, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’ and was therefore able to accomplish the goals set. Now that I was grown, I had created my own mantra that I uttered to encourage and believe in myself. I repeated my mantra three times every night before I went to bed and three times every morning before breakfast. The mantra was also helpful during the day when things would go awry. I turned to the cupboard and prepared myself a light breakfast. One to give me energy and stamina for the day but not to weigh me down. After my breakfast, I washed and dried the dishes and put them precisely back in the cupboard in their appointed places. I checked my watch...again. I heard the song of the first bird of the morning and checked my watch, the bird was right on cue. I liked this bird, it lived on a branch of a tree just outside my window and every day it started its song at exactly the same time. I nicknamed the bird Timex. And its mate Rolex. The previous birds that lived in that nest were not at all cognizant of the importance of the ritual of their morning songs, and therefore they were quickly eliminated. A little arsenic in the bird feeder did wonders to relieve me of their lack of attention to detail and their appalling lack of routine. I checked my watch one more time and saw that the clock had struck the hour ... figuratively speaking. The double zeros at the end made it an auspicious time to leave the house. I quickly stepped out and locked the door, turning the handle and checking it five times before I was sure it was properly closed. It had been a windy night and I adjusted the welcome mat outside the door to make sure it was flat and square with the house, and properly centered with the middle of the door. That accomplished, I approached my car and after doing my circle check five times to make sure that all the tires were properly filled with air, and there were no scratches from the tree branches that had blown down during the night, I set off. The distance to my rendezvous was not far, and I was very familiar with the route, having traveled it every morning for the past several weeks. My destination was a track, it was generally used as a sulky track by the local fairgrounds during either the Fall Fair, Spring Fling, or tractor pulls and demolition derbies in the summer. It was generally abandoned at this time of day except for a few runners who diligently used it rather than running on sidewalks or roads where the chance of being hit by a car in the predawn light was always a distinct possibility. I pulled my van right up beside the track, opened my doors and left the lights on. The morning sun was just starting to cast a glow on the horizon, but it was still too dark to see much of anything. The lights from the van would offer a little light to serve my purposes. I checked my watch. It appeared that I was the first to arrive, but that too had been planned. I knew she would arrive any second; that was one of the things that had drawn her to me, her punctuality. She checked her watch precisely the second she started her warm-up laps and the precise second she started her run. She frequently checked throughout her run and adjusted her speed accordingly. I took a slow lap around the track while I waited. The track was lit by the headlights of my van. I knew her routine because I had studied it for the past month. She was always one of the first to hit the track. The other dedicated runner had taken a tumble a few days before and I had not seen him for the past few days. I was counting on this. The headlights of a car pulled into the driveway as I made to start my second lap. It was her. She parked close to the track, quickly exited the car, and without any preamble, crossed to the track and started off at a slow pace to warm her muscles up. I knew she would do two complete laps at this pace before she would make her move. Once she was warmed up her laps were at the speed of a gazelle so I had to get my timing right. I slowed my pace when we were both in the long stretch and bent down as if to tie my shoe and let her pass me. I raised my head confidently and we nodded to each other as she passed me. I quickly rose and followed her knowing she could hear the pounding of my feet. We had run like this for several days now, so I was a known identity. A fellow runner, someone she was somewhat familiar with. As we came up on the straightaway where the cars were parked I snuck my hand into my pockets and pulled out a cloth and a small canister. Speeding up to right behind her I grabbed her and pinned her against my chest with one arm and with the other arm I snaked it up and planted the cloth over her mouth. She fought like a tiger until the chloroform started to take effect. I actually used a variant as chloroform usually takes about five minutes to become completely effective and render one’s victim unconscious. Bz 2 on the other hand was a more effective incapacitating agent, being more potent and more effective even than ketamine, which is odorless and tasteless, not that that was a factor in a snatch-and-run situation. Despite her top physical condition, she was on the petite side and after she collapsed in my arms, I carried her easily to my van. I had left the sliding door open to facilitate the transfer. It had of course bothered me to no end to leave the door open but sometimes the end must justify the means. The overall goal or result had to outweigh an unclosed door. I had wrestled with this part of the plan for several days but felt that my Hero, Niccolo Machiavelli would approve this decision. I was therefore willing to bend my rules for the greater cause. I lay her down on the single mattress that I had put in the van expressly for this purpose. She was worthy of this comfort and I considered her my priceless treasure. I glanced around the area and found that the track remained empty just as I had surmised. I pulled a roll of duct tape from my pocket and bound her hands and feet. Lastly, I tore off a smaller piece of tape and covered her mouth, making sure that she could breathe through her nose. As soon as this was accomplished I did not linger but headed out of the area at a reasonable pace, it was always best not to draw attention to oneself by unnecessary speed. As I pulled onto the County Road, I noticed that the dawn had finally broken. The return journey to my home took little time. Living on a twenty-acre rural property with numerous outbuildings offered a plethora of choices for her accommodations but I preferred to keep her close to me so I had renovated and fortified my basement. The windows were barred and boarded up from the outside, with numerous screws. A bathroom and shower had been added to the basement and I had purchased thick fluffy towels and an array of cosmetics and hair accessories. No expense had been spared to make her comfortable. I had even purchased a treadmill and a recumbent bike which were at the far side of the room. Her bed was a beautiful cream colour with a matching dresser and night table. The duvet was a pale lilac colour and I had taken great care to find several accent pillows in coordinating colours. I had purchased many outfits for her and these filled the drawers. She would learn to love her new home. I carried her into the basement and lowered her carefully onto the king-size bed, removing the duct tape. I gently smoothed her long hair off her face and covered her with a light blanket from the end of the bed. I sat in the comfy chair in the corner and waited patiently for her eyes to open. I checked my watch, but I had all the time in the world. We had all the time in the world.