I hate the library. Do you want to know why ? It's because it is full of things I hate ; the books,the stern librarian, how the building is built,the dirge atmosphere. In my opinion the library is similar to the place where my best uncle lives;the cemetery,in the ground. The quietness, formality and respect we give to inanimate things in these two places makes me to ponder. I promised myself to never again visit these two places but love couldn't allow my promise to last a month. My crush that I was stalking for months finally offered to talk to me,of all the romantic places in the city she chose to talk to me in the one place people were not allowed to talk - the library. The day for the hang out came. I was indifferent in what I will wear. A hoodie,blue jeans and sneakers,no. A tight T-shirt,track trousers and canvas. A white shirt,black tie and black suit,no. After spending the morning contemplating on what I will wear, I finally decided it. I stood proudly in front of the massive Monumental City Library Building, smiling to myself knowing that when I enter through those doors I will accomplish my 7 months ambition. All I could perceive when I entered the library was scent of decades old books. I started walking down the aisles, using my eyes to look for Sara;my beautiful crush. I couldn't help but noticed everyone eyes from the back table to the front table was position on me. I could hear them pointing at me and whispering to each other. I didn't see what was wrong with me to get this attention. I combed my hair well,wore my best shoe,a white shirt,red tie and black suit. The librarian was an aged woman with wrinkles splashed on her face. She wore an eyeglass that always rested on her nose. As I got to her desk to take my library pass,she said "You wore a complete suit to come and read. That's unusual". I answered" Yes and I also came to meet my girlfriend. She is sitting down there(I pointed the area I sighted her)her name is Sara". The librarian nodded then asked for my name which I told her is" John Gibson". She handed me the pass and I started going to the free seat close to Sara. As I approached her I said "Sara darling,you look gorgeous" but the quietness of the hall echoed the words for everyone to hear. I got random shhh from several people in the hall and a disapproving look from the librarian. I whispered "am sorry" "am sorry" till I got to the seat directly opposite Sara's . I sat down,sighed and said "Wow,what an entrance. This library is like a damn 1990's cave". Sara smiled in a reassuring manner that calmed my nerves. She closed the book she was supposedly reading,relaxed on the seat and said " You had two entrance, this and the first" "Yea i got everyone starstrucked including you immediately I stepped into this library. I look like a real gentleman right?" "Well white shirt,red tie,black suit all sums up to a gentleman. So,yeah you look like one but in this setting a total idiot" she told me. My tempo and happiness went down the drain,just for me to hear her laughing "I got you right. I got you real good" she said in between laughs. To follow her tempo I began laughing awkwardly. I heard "stop laughing" from a bald man sitting close to me. Well that made me and Sara to stop laughing. She smiled at me and leaned closer. In the course of our conversation we laughed in an increasing pitch that got multiple shhh from people around. The bald man got up and shouted "Someone should please get these two mental lovebirds out of this library". This got the attention of every one in the library. Flickering eyes from different races,genders,ages,sizes were all on me,Sara and the bald man. The librarian stood up and said " Mr Wilson, Mr Wilson please come and drop your library pass and get out of here and you two psycho couple. Yes two of you,come to my desk immediately ". When we got to her desk,she just pointed a sign post at the far corner of the hall which read NO TALKING IN THE LIBRARY. Sara kept the palm of her hand on the librarian desk and said " Pardon me ma,we didn't talk. We were just laughing ". The librarian just looked at me and Sara as if she was examining if were a good match. She pointed another sign post at the other corner of the hall NO LAUGHING ALSO. " Okay Mrs librarian,we are informed. Can we go and sit down now" I said in the most inaudible voice I possess. The librarian just stood up and from this close range i noticed she was shorter than she looked while sitting down. There will be pile of library books she keeps under the desk to rest her feet on and ultimately increase her height while sitting down,i assumed in my head. The librarian signaled me and Sara to come closer to her. When we did,she used the ruler in her hands to separate our hands that were holding each other. Before Sara and I could say anything she pointed the third sign post hanged on the wall which read NO ROMANCE,CUDDLING AND PSYCHO COUPLES. I got fed up and ask Sara out right there and surprisedly She accepted. I leaned down to kiss her,at the split second for our lips to touch I felt an object instead if her lips. I opened my eyes to see the stern librarian had stretched the ruler in between our lips to hinder us from kissing. With annoyance Sara held my hand and said "John let's leave this library". We started walking down the aisles to the door just to see heavy security men locking the doors. We heard the librarian voice " Did you two think you will leave this library without finishing the books you were reading".


I’d gotten used to the flashes of how people’s lives would end - as morbid as it sounds, it didn’t seem to affect me anymore. I suppose that is what happens after 30 years of witnessing such horrors as watching people die before it happens. What was I supposed to do, just live my life isolated from everyone; a life of no human contact? I can’t imagine a more painful and miserable existence - the loneliness would drive me to insanity at best. I’d already been cursed with this sight, I refuse to let myself be cursed with a lifetime of misery, insanity and loneliness. So I learned to make do and suffer through the horror and pain until I was more or less desensitised to it all. No, death doesn’t bother me anymore. Or at least it didn’t until today... Now, believe me when I tell you I have seen some horrific things - I’m talking people being stabbed or gunned down in cold blood or being hit by oncoming traffic. The worst I’d ever seen was the woman pushed onto the rails in front of a train - needless to say I threw up immediately after that one. But even those most horrific images could not prepare me for what I saw today - I’ll explain in a moment, but first I should probably tell you how my sight works so you understand. When I make contact with another person, I see their final 24 hours alive on this earth through their eyes - their las day alive may not be for a few weeks or even for a few years but whatever ending they are destined to have, I witness it. Not the whole 24 hours, just random flashes of the day - usually a minute’s worth - just snippets here and there, always ending with the last few seconds before they die. I’m not exactly sure why I am this way but it has always been this way for as long as I can remember - I honestly think I was cursed with it at birth. I only see it the first time I make contact with that person, so it’s not like I have to spend my entire life avoiding hugs from loved ones and handshakes from colleagues but it is still beyond unsettling to look someone in the eyes and know exactly what wicked plan fate has in store for their demise... I’d moved to a small little town, the kind where everyone knows everyone - as well as every minute detail going on in their lives, although not quite as much as I would I suppose. They’re lucky in that sense. For them, the biggest secret they have to keep from letting slip to Mr. Parks is that his wife is sleeping with their gardener and not that in a few weeks’ time that very same gardener will stab him in the trachea with his rusty shears... Because I can’t intervene - believe me, I’ve tried. But it always ends up happening just as I saw it. As I said before, I was not prepared for today. Not even remotely... It was just an average Saturday midmorning - a beautifull brisk Autumn one at that. The perfect morning for a leisurely stroll down Main Street to get a coffee and some cake, in fact. I glanced out the window at the perfect powder blue sky obscured only by a light dusting of white clouds. A quick check of the pockets of my black trench coat - keys, wallet, phone, check - and I was on my way out the door, greeted by the warmth of the midmorning sun and a soft, cool breeze blowing the crisp yellow leaves across the sidewalk, dancing on the wind. Pure bliss. I hesitated for a moment to take it all in, breathing in the scent of the freshly baked bread drifring along the breeze from the bakery down the street and began to make my way down Cherry Lane towards Main Street. Out of the corner of my eye I observed the strip of almost identical houses with their perfectly pristine vibrant green grass and white picket fences, the only difference setting them apart was the colour of their front doors and window panes. I reachethe corner of Cherry Lane and Main Street, giving a polite smile and wave to Mrs. Parks - not even the slightes bit surprised to see her openly flirting with the gardener in plain sight, almost as if she wanted her husband to catch her. I shuddered as I saw him lean his rusty shears against the hedge as the image of Mr. Parks’ inevitable brural and bloody murder flashed past my eyes. I took a deep breath and continued on my way and pulled out my phone to distract myself from the gruesome thoughts in my head. It wasn’t long before I found myself sucked into endlessly scrolling through my newsfeed seeing post after post from people I really didn’t care for much announcing their pregnancies, promotions and engagements or sharing their uneducated, racist and biased political views. With my face stuck in my phone, I’d barely noticed the street had gotten busier and there were other pedestrians on the sidewalk around me until I collided with someone. Instantly, the flashes began. A phone on the ground, a hand reaching down to pick it up and hand it to someone. A man in a black trench coat with sandy blonde hair, sky blue eyes and a look of pure shock and fear on his face that quickly turned to a nervous smile. A cup of coffee at a small round table and a glimpse of a man in a black trench coat across the room. A park, children running and playing while the crisp yellow leaves drift on the wind - a man in a black coat hovering behind a tree in the distance, watching. Various flashes of different locations throughout the day, each featuring a man in a black coat watching her. And finally, the same face as before with the sandy blonde hair and sky blue eyes only this time covered in a splattering of blood. The flashes stopped abruptly and I stood there in shock. I knew that face, I knew it very well - it was my own. A realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks - this stranger I had just bumped into would die within the next 24 hours and I was somehow connected to their death... I stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock and fear and jaw hanging open as I tried to catch my breath. I could feel my heart beating fast and hard, pounding in my ears louder than a nightclub’s speakers on a Friday night. I’d seen so many deaths in my time that I thought I could never be fazed by death again but this was the first time I’d witnessed a death I was connected to - possibly even responsible for? Could I be responsible for it - how? Thoughts raced around my head faster than a Ferarri and I was failing to keep up. I couldn’t make I was shaken back to reality by a soft touch of my shoulder and the muffled sound of a soothing voice asking me a question. ‘Sir? Are you...? Are you okay?’ the soothing, soft feminine voice repeated nervously. I blinked and found myself back on Main Street facing a young woman no older than her early 20s, her chocolate brown eyes looking up at me in concern. Realising I probably looked like I’d seen a ghost, I made a nervous attempt at a smile to try and calm her concern. ‘Sorry, I was... Somewhere else... I’m fine! I’m so sorry, I just didn’t see you there - I was too busy uh...’ I motioned towards my right hand meaning to hold up my phone only to realise it wasn’t there. The young girl in front of me held out my phone and handed it to me. ‘Here, you dropped this. Are you sure you’re okay, sir?’ I pondered my response for a moment, knowing full well that I was most definitely not okay. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Maybe just a bit shaken by the article I was reading. You have a lovely day.’ I calmly lied with what I hoped was a convincing and reassuring smile on my face - what was I supposed to say? No, I’m not okay - I think I might be responsible for your death? Because that wouldn’t make me sound like an absolute maniac, not at all. She smiled sweetly and gave a small wave before continuing on her way as I leaned against the wall aimlessly tapping my phone pretending to send a text while I watched her out of the corner of my eye. How was I connected to her and more importantly to her death? I needed to know, the confusion and question was firing through my brain at lightning speed. I watched as she continued to walk down the street, her long mahogany hair flicking behind her as she paused to throw a cautionary glance over her right shoulder back in my direction showing a genuine look of concern - whether it was concern for me or concern about me, I was not sure though I would not blame her for either. I hesitated for a moment once she was a considerable distance away and suddenly found myself following her path, my desperate need for answers overriding all sense of reason and logic. I watched, careful to maintain a safe distance between us, as she wandered down the street - her forest green peacoat a helpful visual indicator. She slowed stopping outside the café, peering through the window before looking down at her phone seemingly annoyed. I stopped and leaned against a pole as I watched her make a call. I knew I shouldn’t but it was like I had lost all concept of impulse control and I found myself trying to listen in as she left an unhappy voicemail telling someone she was at the café and would meet them there before hanging up and walking inside. I spent the next minute standing there facing the biggest internal struggle I’d ever found myself in. Conflicting thoughts shot back and forth through my brain as I tried to convince myself not to follow her in. I’d already taken this far further than I’d have liked to and yet I desperately needed answers. ‘Don’t do this, Alex. Don’t be that guy...’ I pleaded with myself, though it seemed my legs and my mind were not on the same page and I found myself heading to the door to the café. I guess I was doing this, then. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath as I entered the café, the warm welcoming of aroma of fresh coffee enveloping my nostrils and a feeling of peace washing over me. ‘At least she chose a café...’ I thought to myself knowing if there was any scent that always calm my nerves even in the most stressful of situations none could compare. I opened my eyes and scanned the room slowly and with a clear purpose, making a mental note of the eclectic and cutesy atmosphere around me - I’d have to remember to return in far more appropriate circumstances. My eyes passed over a mismatched collection of ‘vintage’ tables and chairs, few empty and an abundance of familiar faces filling the remainder - the numerous conversations and laughs all blurring into one big roar. I glanced across the various abstract art pieces hanging across the walls adding vibrant pops of bold colour to the room, my eyes only searching for one thing and one thing alone - the forest green coat. ‘Thanks! Have a good day,’ I heard her newly familiar voice over all the others in the room and turned my head to face the cashier’s desk and saw her walking away with a coffee in hand. My gaze followed her as she sat in a corner near the window. While the aroma of coffee filling the room was all too enticing, I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off her and lose her so I chose to sit several tables away - close enough to seem coincidental but far enough to still see and hear her. For the next half hour, I carefully watched out of the corner of my eye while pretending to play on my phone. She carefully stirred her coffee, only taking a sip at a time in between glances at her phone that progressively made her seem more and more frustrated. As she finished her coffee she raised her phone to her ear, getting evidently frustrated with every ring. ‘Hi Sam, it’s Jodie. I’m guessing you forgot we were meant to meet for coffee this morning? I’m only in town for another day so please call me when you get this. Thanks, bye.’ She sternly said into the phone before pocketing it and grabbing her jacket to leave. I watched as she walked out the door and turned right and counted to 5 before slowly following. I followed her for the rest of the day. She walked next door to the park and sat on a bench watching the children play nearby. I kept my distance and watched from across the park. I couldn’t figure out why but as she sat there I saw her get increasingly more nervous, holding her phone in one hand and clutching her purse in the other. Eventually, she rose and left proceeding down the street proceedingly getting more and more nervous and looking over her shoulder every few minutes. As she reached the corner of a road she needed to cross, she stopped and reached into her purse with her left hand and turned to face me with the same hand behind her back. ‘Why are you following me? What do you want from me?’ She asked me point blank, fear in her voice and I eyes. I stopped in my tracks, frozen and without an an answer. I opened my mouth and stammered before she lifted her hand from behind her back and using both hands to aim a black pistol at my chest. ‘I’ll ask you again,’ she said, all sense of fear having left her voice and eyes only to be replaced with pure anger. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT?! WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!’ My eyes widened with fear and I raised my left hand in front of me to try and calm her down before finally saying ‘I can’t explain how I know this but today is your last day. You will die toda-‘ BANG! Before I knew what was happening, I saw her eyes widen and felt splatters on my face. Then I felt the pain in my hand and looked down to see a hole right through it and felt the blood begin to ooze from my chest. As I grabbed my chest and began to fall to the floor, I watched her drop the gun and start walking backwards. I opened my mouth to try and warn her but no sound came out and I watched as the ute speeding through the intersection ran her down before coming to a screeching halt. As I lay in the pool of my own blood listening to the driver screaming and sobbing on the phone to emergency services, I reminded myself - my visions always come true, I can never stop them.


He was so cold. He was sitting on the bed that was the only furniture in the tiny room. He was wearing several layers of clothing, two pairs of pants, two sweaters and an overcoat but he still was freezing. He grabbed a blanket and covered himself with it and sat against the wall, as tiny as he could. He looked around the room, he noticed that the floor was dusty, sometimes he should sweep it. He looked up to the low ceiling, he saw spiders in every corner, going about their businesses in their webs. He won't clean that up; he didn't have anything against spiders. Recorrió la habitación con la vista, el piso estaba sucio, pensó que al día siguiente iba a tener que barrer. He fell asleep still leaning against the wall. He woke up shivering,his teeth bouncing against each other outside of his control. He realized it was the middle of the night and he was still in his room. He couldn't go on like this. The wind and snow welcomed him when he walked outside to the street. The cold was worst but at least he was moving. He walked a few minutes to the open 24 hr supermarket. He wandered through the isles searching for a few things he needed. Candles, a steak, a knife, some chalk. Once he had all those things he went to the self service checkout and pretended to check the items. He didn't have money to pay for them. He concealed the items in his clothes and calmly walked out. No one followed him. He walked back, he stared at the building from outside, it was falling apart. It was an old abandoned building. It was walled up but that wasn't an issue for him. He squeezed through a little gap in the wood and he was in. Inside most of the rooms were useless too broken, bits of the walls and ceiling everywhere. But he found a room that was ok with a bed and moved in a couple of months before. At the time he wasn't expecting the cold that he was suffering from. Back in his room he searched in the pile that were all his belongings and got a book, very old and warned out. He went through the pages until he found what he was looking for. With the chalk he drew a pentagram on the floor and placed all the lighted candles around it. He put the steak in the middle of the pentagram. With the knife he cut himself in his hand and let the blood soak the meat. He repeated the enchantment that was written in the book. A couple of seconds later the pentagram caught on fire and the flames from hell illuminated the room. A demonic shadow stood up over the flames and spoke in a language impossible to translate “Easy demon, you are trapped by my spell, you can't fight it. But i don't need much for you, just stay there until sunrise” He said and lay on the bed warm from the flames of hell and at last he slept .


From Mud’s back, Ana could see everything. The column stretched for a quarter league on the narrow, country highway. Soldiers clad in leather and plate formed a moving stream between the tall elms on either bank. Men flowed around one-horse carts like water around stones. Boots crunched on cobblestone and wheels creaked under heavy loads. Ana pitied those who had to walk on the ground. Giants were a much better way to travel. Mud stood as tall as a two story building. Each lumbering step shook the earth below. A quiver of arrows swung from his hip for the massive war-bow he carried in his hand. Ana rode in a basket on Mud’s back, rocking from side to side with the giant’s slow gait. Even in the tightly packed column, soldiers kept a safe distance away from them, not wanting to be squashed underfoot. Yes, giants were a better way to travel. Unfortunately Sir Gadriel wanted her to do more than just travel. The older knight, nominally Ana’s mentor, rode through the sea of men to come alongside her and Mud. He looked up to Ana’s perch and shouted. “Good morning, Ana. Mud.” He nodded to the giant. Mud made no move to reply. “Beautiful weather we’re having, don’t you think?” The morning sky was overcast. Last night’s dew was only just beginning to dry. The column was headed toward a dreary day of marching. “Sure.” Ana shouted back, over the thunderous sound of Mud’s walk. “Reminds me of home.” This climate in no way reminded Ana of the dry, coastal city where she had been raised. Sir Gadriel apparently understood the humor and laughed along. “Quite right child. Now, have you practiced your heartseeking this morning?” Sir Gadriel had an annoying insistence on daily training. Ana had thought retreating to her basket during the journey would help her avoid the bearded knight and his constant demands. Sir Gadriel, however, had no fear of Mud, nor did his horse. Much to Ana’s dismay. “Ana. Don’t think just because we haven’t reached the temple that you can ignore your training. You need to practice your abilities if they are ever going to prove useful.” “Can this wait?” Ana called back. “Do you think the Hotaki will wait for you?” Sir Gadriel asked. “Do you think the Empire will delay until you are ready?” Ana let out a strong exhale. The old knight had a point. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Ana leaned forward, bringing her head to Mud’s ear. “The faster we do this, the faster it will be over.” The giant grunted in acknowledgement. Ana felt the deep rumbling sound reverberate in her core. A giant’s grunt could scare most men. Their laughing could deafen entire villages. “Very good. There’s something in the forest.” Sir Gadriel continued, “I won’t tell you which side. Find it.” Ana had grown bored of these listen-and-point drills, but Sir Gadriel insisted they were the best way to learn, even if she had practiced them a thousand times. Ana leaned her head on Mud’s back. She let her hearing broaden to the world around her. She heard Mud’s heart, big and strong, and her own, small but defiant. She heard Sir Gadriel’s next to her, pumping on as ever, and his horse, just as steady. She heard the soldiers before and behind her, the horses hauling carts, and their drivers just above. Their steady, relaxed rhythm gave no indication of danger. Ana tuned those out, as she had learned to do as a child. They would only cloud her true objective. There were more heartbeats around them. Ana listened to the quick, soft fluttering of a bird high above them. She listened to it swoop and dash through the sky, not needing her eyes to follow it. There were more birds in the trees. Ana listened to an entire flock watching patiently in the trees as the column passed below. Down in the bushes, larger, stronger hearts darted in and out of cover. Those would be squirrels and other small animals. “There are many animals in the forest,” Ana called. “Which one do you want?” “Oh, you’ll know,” Sir Gadriel smiled, “You’ll know. Keep looking.” Ana bent down again and concentrated. She heard the soldiers around her and the horses and the birds and the squirrels in the forest. She waited, listening for something else. There. On the right, about 50 feet out. It was soft, delicate, hidden. Too large to be a squirrel or a fox, but smaller than a bear. The heartbeat sounded worried, wary, but curious. “It’s a deer. 50 feet behind the treeline, on the right.” “Very good. Now tell Mud.” Mud had heard and understood every word. Although Mud’s vocal cords denied him the ability to speak the human tongue, his ears did not inhibit his ability to understand it. Sir Gadriel was simply referring to a different kind of tell. Ana placed her hands on Mud’s head. That’s where they said connection would be the strongest. Ana’s hands were only the size of Mud’s ears, but that didn’t matter. Ana reached out and felt the giant’s mind. It felt like a great stream. Deep, powerful, mysterious, and unyielding. Mud was focused on the ground in front of him and the soldiers closest to his feet. Ana found the direction of the heartbeat in Mud’s mind and pressed gently. She felt the giant’s focus, like a large hazy cone, follow her prompting. Ana guided the center of the cone onto the heartbeat and stopped. Mud raised his hand and pointed out into the forest. “UGH.” Sir Gadriel smiled. “Very good. You win again.” The knight reached into his saddle bag, pulled out a rock, and threw it into the forest. About 50 feet from the road, exactly where Mud had been pointing, a deer jumped out from behind a bush and pranced off into the woods. “You should get in the habit of always listening,” Sir Gadriel called up. “Continue your heartseeking. Tell me if you find anything else out of place.” Ana groaned and slumped forward in her basket. They said skill in heartseeking grew with experience. Just listening, even without practicing any of the more advanced techniques, could improve one’s abilities. Ana had not yet developed the stamina to listen for hours on end, like she would one day be required to do. Right now, seeking out heartbeats drained too much of her energy. Listening quietly for a long period or intently for a short period made Ana unfathomably tired. It was easier to practice in the city, where there was always something to hear, something unexpected that Ana discovered only through her abilities. But out here in the country, there was nothing to find, just dumb animals that scurried away. She might as well be deaf. But it wouldn’t always be like that. When she got to the temple, her abilities would grow, as would her responsibilities. Soon the time would come when people would trust her with their lives. She would have to be ready. And it didn’t make her *that* tired. Ana stood up in her basket. Now was as good a time as any. She would listen for as long as she wanted, then rest. Ana closed her eyes and listened to the world around her. The soldiers and the horses on the road. The birds and squirrels in the trees. She tried to pick out individuals, then fade them into the background. The forest was quiet, especially as the column passed, but Ana listened anyway, waiting to pick out anything that approached them. At one point, she thought she heard something in the forest far away. It didn’t feel like a deer, maybe a bear, but it faded out shortly after. Ana kept listening, hoping the sound would return when something in the air caught her attention. It was a heartbeat, far off, very far off, but even at that distance Ana heard its size. It was big, and slowly getting louder. “Sir Gadriel. There’s something in the air. Something big.” “Something in the air?” Sir Gadriel looked up at the overcast sky, his brow furrowed in confusion. The heartbeat grew louder. Ana watched the realization and terror wash over his face. “EVERYONE! GET DOWN!” She heard it first. The deep, rumbling roar. A column of swirling fire dove out the clouds and landed among the vanguard of the column. Heat blasted Ana’s face and the light forced her to squint. A great flapping sound, like enormous fans bellowing in the sky, descended over the terrified pedestrians below. Ana watched an enormous shadow cross over the column and fly off into the distance. When the fire cleared, there was nothing left of the vanguard but a black, smoldering pile of ruins. Then the screaming started. Men panicked. Horses reared on their hind legs and tried to break free. Sir Gadriel shouted out orders, attempting to form a coherent defense and prevent the column from routing. “Soldiers! Assemble the scorpions. Everyone else, stay clear and get to cover.” Mud pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it in his war-bow. Ana’s eyes refused to blink. The stench of burning flesh wafted over the forest. Drivers struggled to keep their horses under control as the turmoil unfolded below. There was nowhere to run, no way to fight back. They would all die in scorching fire. “Ana! Look at me.” Ana broke from her stupor. She bent over the side of her basket and looked down. Sir Gadriel was looking back up at her. She saw a deep determination in his eyes and only an ounce of fear. “Your training is over. This is real. Focus, or we all die.” In that moment, she didn’t need to think. He was right. Sooner than anyone anticipated, lives had fallen into her hands. These men were counting on her. “Come on, Mud. They need us.” Mud did not grunt. He relaxed, waiting for Ana. Ana listened to the sky. Far off, she heard the heartbeat again. It was turning in a large, slow arc, steadily coming back to the column. Ana reached out to Mud, willing him to follow her. Mud turned, gazing up into the sky. Ana guided his attention to the heartbeat, but the cone was still hazy and unfocused. Mud drew his war-bow, raising it to the clouds. The bow made a cracking sound as the timbers bent under the strain. Ana felt the giant’s aim in his mind. Mud was leading the shot but his point of aim wobbled up and down across the heartbeat’s path. Ana flared her concentration on the heartbeat, willing Mud to focus. “UGH!” The arrow sailed through the air like a bolt of lightning and disappeared into the clouds. Ana heard the cry, a great roar of anger and fury, but the heartbeat stayed its course. It turned to fly directly over the rear of the column as the terrible flapping sound grew louder and louder. In the distance, a wide column of flame descended from the clouds and tore across the earth. The rear guard was caught in its path. Ana watched them disappear into the swirling flames, only to reemerge as charred corpses. They had missed. *She* had missed. And now people were dead. All around her, the men tried desperately to survive. Soldiers were setting up scorpions, drivers were running their carts off the road to make space. Some squads had already assembled their siege weapons and were now scanning the sky, hunting for their impending doom. With such little range, against such great speed, their actions were less than futile. Some threw down their weapons, ripped off their armor, and fled into the forest, hoping to find survival in concealment. The column was trapped, its two routes of escape cut off. They would be massacred. “Ana!” Sir Gadriel called her again. He no longer looked the part of a defiant soldier. Sir Gadriel spoke with the firm care of a father. “Breathe. Do not let the despair of others distract you. Focus. Work as a team.” His eyes had softened. They were more worried, but deep down his determination had not wavered. “You can do this. I know you can.” It was their only hope. Ana closed her eyes and forced her lungs to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. *One more.* Ana leaned forward, resting her head on Mud’s back. Far above her, she heard the heartbeat turning, lining up for another run. It was maneuvering to take them head on, straight down the center of the column. One more pass to incinerate them all. *Breathe*. Ana directed Mud to the heartbeat. He turned and raised his war-bow, drawing another arrow. The timbers creaked with the strain. Ana centered the cone centered over the heartbeat, but it was still unfocused. Mud’s aim wobbled. *Like a river over rock. Like a river over rock, child.* Ana imagined herself breathing, a gentle breeze flowing from her core. She imagined a great stream, turning in the wind, a stillness over a steady current. The cone became smooth. It tightened, converging onto a signal point. Mud’s aim steadied. \**Thwap!\** Mud loosed his arrow. For a moment the entire column stood in silence as the missile streaked into the sky. This time, there was a cry of pain. A dreadful moaning filled the air as the thunderous flapping broke into a pathetic fluttering. The beast cried out as it plunged through the clouds, its reptilian body turning over and over, floundering as it fell. Ana watched as the wounded beast crashed far away in the trees, kicking up dust and shaking the ground. Across the column, men broke out in cheering. It was a joyous, delirious, intoxicating sound. The cries of men who had just been saved, delivered from the jaws of certain death. Men shouted into the sky and pumped their fists in the air. For the first time that day, Ana smiled. She looked over the basket and found Sir Gadriel. There was pride in his eyes. “Well done, child. Mud, follow me. I fear this business is not yet over.” The soldiers made a path for Sir Gadriel and the giant. Where once Ana had seen fear, she now saw hope, wonder, and joy on the faces of those below. The slayers were cheered as they passed. “Look at his bow! It must weigh as much as a house.” “Did you see that! Right into the clouds. I tell you, that was magic.” “She’s a heartseeker. A real heartseeker. We’re saved!” Sir Gadriel rode off the highway and into the forest. Mud followed closely behind. Sir Gadriel displayed expert horsemanship, bounding around trees, jumping over bushes, and ducking under branches. Mud simply pushed aside any trees that were in his way. They set out toward where the beast had fallen. Ana listened to the column’s heartbeats. During the panic, they had been loud and fast, not that she had time to notice. Now, finally, they were beginning to slow. With every second, the men relaxed and their heartbeats grew quieter and softer. Ana continued to listen. Those men were alive because of her. The column grew quieter as Mud tread further into the trees. In its place, the sound of another heartbeat grew louder. When Ana had first heard it this morning, the heartbeat had been proud, defiant, almost to the point of arrogance. It was that of a beast who could not be touched, could not be defeated, could not be brought low. A beast that would crush and burn anything in its path. Now, that beat battling to stay alive. Ana heard the muscle waver, struggling to force blood through a crippled body. The beat was shaky, broken, desperate. Ana could almost sense its pain, its fear. Sir Gadriel found the trail first. The beast had crashed through the treetops before it hit the ground, leaving a large gash in the foliage. It had slid across the forest floor, knocking over trees and clearing a trail, before finally coming to a stop. Sir Gadriel and the giant walked into the artificial clearing and turned to face what had made it. It was then, standing in her basket, watching over Mud’s shoulder, that Ana finally saw it. The dragon’s skin was covered in thick scales. Its long tail hung lifelessly over rocks and branches. The beast lay on its side, supported by a bed of upturned grass and dirt. Mud’s arrow was stuck in the dragon’s chest. Red blood trickled down the exposed shaft and fletching. The thin, skin-like flesh of the beast’s wing had been pierced by the tip of the arrow, pinning it in place. Not that it would move much anyway. The long, thin bones which supported the delicate membrane were broken in multiple places. The wing was bent in on itself at an angle that was painful just to look at. The other wing, on the other side, was not visible, however Ana could not imagine how so much weight could not have crushed it. Mud lumbered toward the felled beast as its eyes turned to watch them. They were filled with nothing but hate and spite. Mud walked up to a nearby tree and closed his massive hands around it. He pulled and tore it out of the ground, snapping the roots one by one. The beast cried out. Its once defiant cry was racked in pain. The roar broke into a pitiful moan. Mud lifted the tree, trunk down, above the dragon’s head. Ana ducked down and shut her eyes tight. Mud slammed the tree into the ground. The dragon’s skull split open with a wet snap. A moment later, the heart stopped, and all was quiet. Mud tossed the tree away and turned back to Sir Gadriel. “Thank you, to both of you. That was excellent shooting.” Mud grunted. “Ana. Are you alright?” Ana pushed herself up in her basket. She noticed that her legs were shaking. Her fists had closed tight on the edge of the basket. Her palms were sweaty. “I think you may be in shock. It’s not every day that you kill a dragon. Mud, let her down for me.” The basket lurched as Mud lowered himself onto one knee. Sir Gadriel rode up behind him, bringing himself face to face with Ana. “You did well today, aye?” Ana took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “Aye. Thank you.” She felt the beginning of a smile, but the image of blackened corpses crossed her mind. The smile died. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it on the first try.” “That’s alright, young one. No one could expect so much from you and these men knew the dangers. Focus on what you still have. There are men who will go home to see their families, because of you. Don’t forget that.” Ana nodded. She wouldn’t forget. Sir Gadriel kicked his spurs and rode around in front of Mud. He peered into the forest, as if looking for someone. “If they’ve sent a dragon, they know where we are. They are likely tracking us, even now.” Sir Gadriel turned to face Mud. “The column can no longer protect us. The events of today have proven that much. We will be safer if we travel alone.” Sir Gadriel turned his horse, facing the direction they had been traveling on the road. “I left instructions with Sir Morkan, in the event we did not return. Now, follow me.” Sir Gadriel kicked his horse into a gallop and set off into the woods. Mud stood up and followed after him. They disappeared into the safety of the forest. Mud’s feet pounded against the forest floor. Stray branches whipped against his skin. Now that the excitement had ended, a great feeling of exhaustion swept over Ana’s body. She felt tired, more tired than she had ever felt in her life. She collapsed in her basket, sensing the fast approach of sleep. Ana let her eyelids droop down as the giant’s swaying rocked her to sleep. She was not the young woman she had been just this morning. Ana of Castriem, heartseeker, dragonslayer.


A man with wispy white hair and paint-stained fingers burst onto the bridge. “I wish to speak to Captain Wendroll--immediately!” The ship’s first mate, Ming, stepped away from his controls. “Good to see you, Lon-Der. I’m afraid the captain can’t be bothered. I’ll do my best to handle the matter myself. If needed, I’ll mention it to her in the officers’ mess this evening. What’s troubling you?” “No, I will only speak to the Captain. As the *Raymond*’s chief creative officer, I have as much a right to interrupt her as you bridge lurkers.” The look of amusement slid off First Mate Ming’s face like an egg yolk on drywall. “That’s impossible. And, for the last time, being the only artist on this ship doesn’t make you an officer. You might be a specialist in your field, but you have no authority to take the lift up here and bark orders at me.” Lon-Der’s eyebrows downshifted. “I may not have any pins on my robe, but I am a leader on this ship!” “You’re not.” “I may not have a blaster, but there are many forms of power. One is referent power, the ability to influence based on personal relationships and respect.” “Do you even respect yourself?” That remark hit Lon-Der like a slap. His mouth fell open, and his tongue wandered around for awhile, aimless and confused. “I want to speak to the Captain.” “She’s occupied with important matters.” Lon-Der took a step toward the captain’s study. He was intercepted. This continued several more times. “I think we need to reset here,” Lon-Der said amiably. “Maybe you can help me.” “I live to serve.” “My room is inadequate.” “All the berths are filled.” “Would it be possible for me to swap with someone?” “Why is your room inadequate?” “You see, I’m an artist.” “My room is the same as yours. I find it adequate.” Lon-Der waved his arms, accentuating a set of four billowing sleeves. “I need light. I don’t have any portholes. If I’d wanted to paint off of pictures, I could’ve stayed on my home planet.” “Is that all?” “I was brought along on this mission to study the effects of long-term space travel on creative output.” “Yes, how has that been?” “I’ve been struggling to stay productive. It’s always the same thing on the observation deck. A black void with shimmering dots. Sometimes, they bleed together when we speed up.” First Mate Ming’s face twisted into a malevolent smirk. “I see your problem. Would you like there to be more trees and religious symbolism floating around out there? I’m sure the Captain will get right on that.” “No, no, you idiot!” Lon-Der’s eyes flew open like the shutters on an exploding house. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if the Captain would consider doubling-back when we pass interesting sights--planets, nebulas.... Could we at least pass them more slowly? Art takes time. As it is, we zip by everything so fast, I usually end up with a colorful smear.” “What’s the difference?” “I see. Yes, ha! A joke. Good one, Ming.” “Officer Ming.” “Right....” “Say it.” “... Officer Ming, I don’t pretend to know how these technical monstrosities operate, but those requests sound simple enough. The voyage was slated for two years. You can’t tell me the schedule didn’t have a bit of padding factored in.... Please, my time on this ship will be useless without these accommodations.” “We all have to make sacrifices, Lon-Der. Maybe you could invert a few of the smears. Black dots on a white background.” Lon-Der muttered, “That’s not half bad.


Tall, with steely blue eyes and messianic features; he walks with a commanding presence. An aura of intense charisma surrounds him. His name and personal details aren’t important however. He doesn’t seek fame or fortune for his mysterious deeds. His sole mission is to heal others and take away their lingering pain. He possesses the true gift of love and wholesome empathy. One day he walked up to a lady and stopped. She was startled that such a handsome gentleman would even notice her. She assumed he needed directions or assistance with some mundane matter, but the truth was far more complex. He asked her how she was doing. She studied his eyes. It was a sincere question. Her heart fluttered. She had self-image issues after a lifetime of eating disorders and disappointment in life. Her first instinct was to say she was ‘fine’. It wasn’t true, but it was the ‘polite thing to say’ when asked. People generally don’t care. It’s just an generic greeting. “I’m... not...happy.”; She answered truthfully. It felt good to be honest for a change. It seemed like he really wanted to know. What came next was more than she bargained for. He smiled and looked directly into her eyes. His smile widened. She followed suit. The man’s caring nature was contagious. Her heart began to beat faster. It was all she could do, to steady herself while their personal experience was taking place. “I know.”; He said matter-of-factly. “Would you be uncomfortable if I touched you on the shoulder?” It was an incredibly unusual request but she felt safe with him. Even relaxed. At that moment she didn’t doubt his motives at all or worry about his intentions. There was trust in his eyes. She consented. Then he reached over and lightly touched her on the shoulder, just as he requested. The moment the skin of his palm touched her upper arm, she felt an unimaginable energy source course through her body. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable. In fact, it was like the most soothing, loving touch she had ever felt. Her eyes watered up. It was just as pure of a sensation as a mother caressing her newborn child. The lady openly wept like a baby. It was a spiritual experience that she couldn’t begin to understand but it made her feel alive and at peace with the universe. It was amazing. Then he spoke to her. “I saw your pain from a great distance, and I know it’s source. You were touched inappropriately by your father as a child and the only remedy for such horrible abuse is to be touched with genuine love. You’ve erected a wall around yourself to subconsciously avoid any sort of attention. You’ve sabotaged every relationship you’ve ever had because you convinced yourself that you deserved the abuse. You didn’t. Before others can love you, you must learn to love yourself. I’m freeing you of this pain. Now you can love yourself and be open to accepting life. Goodbye my friend.” The lady trembled in fear. The tall stranger already knew more about her than she realized about herself. She was finally free. It was like 200 pounds of self-loathing was cast off of her body from a simple touch of a stranger. He smiled at her again and was gone. The lady wiped away her fading tears and continued on her way as a new person, full of life and hope for the first time. The healing had only cost her a moment of trust and a touch from a gentle stranger on an earnest mission. The tall stranger approached a young man crouched in an alley. It was a dangerous part of town and it wasn’t wise to travel in those places alone or unarmed. The young man in the alley was a lifelong criminal. The alley was his ‘turf’ and he waited for unsuspecting people to make the mistake of walking past him. The tall stranger acknowledged the other man’s presence before the ambush could take place. Instead of running away or avoiding the confrontation, the tall stranger walked directly up to the mugger’s hiding spot. “Can I speak to you sir?”; He asked. It was so unusual for a potential mark to know what was about to transpire, that he stepped out from behind the dumpster to see what he wanted. It was a curious situation. At first the mugger adopted a defensive pose but the tall man’s lack of concern was genuinely disarming. In only a matter of seconds, both men stood face-to-face in neutral terms. “You grew up without a father figure or decent role models. Your brothers and their friends bullied you many times and pressured you into doing things that you aren’t proud of. You feel as if your life is cast in stone and you have no ability to leave that lifestyle behind but I’m here to tell you, that’s not true. You can be a better man. You can offer your own son a decent role model and pass on the positive affirmations. All you have to do, is embrace me and then walk away from this meaningless life.” The tall man held out his arms to affect a full body hug. At first the young man in the alley was taken aback. It was the most outrageous thing he’d ever heard. Who was the guy to offer lifestyle advice? His first instinct was to curse the crazy man with fiery blue eyes asking him for a hug. It was bizarre, but the tall man possessed a calming demeanor and offered words of encouragement. It was strangely tempting. As crazy as it seemed, he finally accepted. The moment the two souls embraced, the young man started shaking. It was the most powerful thing he’d ever felt. The hug was unconditional. It was warm and offered with pure motives. It presented him a chance of redemption and real change. He didn’t want to let go. It didn’t even occur to him that he was hugging a stranger in the alley. At that moment nothing else mattered. The stranger didn’t let go until all of his anger and hardness was gone. The stranger smiled and walked away. Another hurting person was healed. The tall man continued his journey down the city streets. He touched every single soul he encountered, just as they needed to be. He saw into their eyes and drew out their buried pain and misery. Some he held by hand. Others he put his arm around their shoulder or cradled their head against his chest in intimate support. He knew just how to help each suffering person along his purposeful path. He is a healer with the greatest gift. The gift of unconditional love and the power of loving touch.


Down on his luck again, Phil was in his study pacing, how he usually spent his nights. Having lost another investor, he knew this was the death of his beloved family business. He didn’t know what else he could do. He had already lost his wife, was on the verge of losing his business and eventually his house. He poured himself a drink and swigged it down quickly as he tried to think about what he could. It was a calm night. No rain, no breeze. Eerily quiet, but a beautiful moon to light the outside. He walked by the window and stopped, having seen what looked like a man standing underneath his tree. His eyes fixed, the figure remained motionless. They seemed to share a staring contest, before the figure raised his hand to Phil, motioning for him to come outside. He knew better, but was intrigued enough to begin walking downstairs and to the front door. Opening the front door, he was met by the figure. An average sized man, fit in a nice suit with a modest smile stretched across his face. “Good Evening, Mr. Hutton. How do you do?” Phil was obviously a little off-put by the late visit by the stranger who had no reason for knowing his name. “Little late for a vacuum salesman to be here huh?” The stranger gave a small chuckle to his quip. “Oh, Mr. Hutton. I’m here to offer you something much more valuable than a vacuum.” “Wait, how do you know my name?”, Phil replied. The stranger ignored him. “I’ve got quite the bargain for you. How would you, Mr. Hutton, like to have everything you have lost returned to you?” Phil is taken aback by this. “What?” “I can give you back everything you’ve lost. Your wife, your business, even help prevent you from losing your house.” “How did you know...” “Oh, I know a lot of things, Mr. Hutton. But all that is for another time. I’m on a tight schedule tonight, several other stops to make, none of which affect our business. I hope you understand that I’ll need an answer at this moment.” Phil stammered. He was skeptical, as he should be, but also greatly intrigued by the man. “I’d need some time to think on it, could you stop by tomorrow?” “Oh, Mr. Hutton, unfortunately this is a one-time offer. And since you don’t seem receptive, I’ll just be on my way.” The stranger turned to leave, but Phil wasn’t about to let that happen, no matter how implausible this all seemed. “Wait!” The stranger returned his gaze to Phil, who nodded fervently. The stranger now wore that same modest smile he began their conversation with a simply replied, “Splendid.” There was a second of mutual silence as the stranger dug through his suitcase. Phil was becoming uncomfortable. “So, what do you need from me?”, he asked the stranger. “Your soul.” Phil looked at him in shock, but the stranger just started laughing. “I’m joking, Mr. Hutton! People always think that’s what we want for these grand deals, but that’s not the case. Well, at least not always the case.” This didn’t ease Phil’s nerves. “We?” “Yes, Mr. Hutton. We. And what we need right now are homes.” “Oh, well I have plenty of rooms here. And it’s just me right now.” The stranger started to laugh again. “No, Mr. Hutton. I don’t think you understand.” Their eyes met, and Phil came to the realization of what the stranger meant. “I see...and exactly how many ‘homes’ do you need?” “Well, that depends on how the rest of my night goes, Mr. Hutton. But I think it’s fair to ask for yours and the missus.” Phil nodded. “And how long before you...come ‘home’?” “10 years is the standard deal, but when it comes to realty, we like to extend it to 20 years.” “That seems fair to me.” “Oh, believe me, Mr. Hutton. That’s a real bargain.” The stranger put a piece of paper in front of him and handed him a pen. Phil stopped short of signing it when something struck him. “One more question: what happens to us when you...you know?” “Ahh, fantastic question, Mr. Hutton. What would you like to happen?” “I’d like for me and my wife to go to heaven.” The stranger chuckled. “That can be arranged. But it’ll cost you ten years.” “Deal.” Phil signed the paper, handed the pen to the stranger and shook his hand. The stranger smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Hutton. You’ve done a great thing.” Phil went to speak, but found himself breathless. He was choking. He gasped for air, but to no avail. He fell on the ground, the stranger still wearing that same modest smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Hutton. I forgot to mention that it costs you ten years...per home.” Phil tried to curse him, but failed to squeeze out any sound. The stranger watched as he struggled, before he finally died on his floor. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hutton. We’ll take good care of the missus.


TW: Horror, seizure-like behavior, blood, and gore. The eighth grade school day was sweltering hot, and James was fast asleep on his desk. Even in sleep, he muttered unintelligibly, fingers twitching and brow furrowing. His teacher didn’t bother to wake him, fearing the behavior that would surely ensue. James was a strange child, and was often the victim of relentless bullying and teasing. The mutterings grew louder, until some of his fellow classmates shot him nervous sideways glances. He had been diagnosed with Schizophrenia at a very young age, it being the closest possible explanation for the things he heard and saw. Even though the simple explanation brought comfort to those who knew him, it was obvious that the diagnosis was a mere guess. The doctors had been utterly confused by James. There was a sort of... unsettling feeling about him. Something inexplicable. A sort of... staticky feeling. He never smiled, and spent most of his time staring and whispering. He had fits sometimes, body seizing and eyes rolling. The doctors diagnosed him with Epilepsy soon after the first seizure, but they knew that wasn’t quite right either. After an incredibly dull lesson on square roots, class ended. With the rusty ting of the afternoon bell, James awoke, sitting straight up in his chair with a hiss. He hated sleeping in class. Today was the twenty-seventh of May, and he couldn’t afford to sleep. He couldn’t afford to miss the opening. Robotically, James hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the classroom, blank eyes flickering from student to student, looking for the twins. He didn’t have to wait long. The classroom’s exit suddenly darkened, blocked by two hulking figures. They were the school's two largest and most cowardly bullies, Jacob and Hunter. The pair were twins, equally rich in wealth and stupidity. “Why the rush, Jamie?” said Hunter with a smirk. They always called him by that infuriating pet name. James merely watched, cocking his head. “Off to see the ghosts?” mocked Jacob. “Little shit. Did you forget? You owe us allowance,” he finished, holding out his grubby hand expectantly. James never had money, and the twins knew it. His failure to pay was merely an excuse for them to beat him. But, this time was different. The twins could feel it, a certain... staticky feeling, brewing in the air. James could feel it too. It was time. The small, no, miniscule window of opportunity had arrived. A chance to turn the tables. A chance to reverse the curse. He grinned, an unsettling sight. The twins had never seen him do such a thing before, and they stepped forward, balling their meaty fists in fear. “No funny business, Jamie. Remember what happened last time you tried to scare us? Wasn’t so fun, was it?” Hunter teased, lifting his chin with pride. The jab had the opposite effect, and James’s horrific smile grew wider. He remembered that time clearer than day. It had almost worked, and was worth the brutal beating he’d gotten afterward. The staticky feeling grew more intense, urging him to hurry. Holding up his hands in submission, he said something entirely unexpected. “I have the money,” James said with a gleeful giggle, pointing outside, past the school yard. The unsettling grin stayed plastered on his face. The twins narrowed their eyes in unison. “Follow me,” James giggled, now practically jumping in excitement. The pair stepped aside, following James as he stumbled down the stairs. He beckoned once again, giggling raspily. Hunter and Jacob followed, smirking. They gave each other a knowing look. The pair was ten times stronger than him. If there was money, they’d take it. If there wasn’t, they’d have fun. Simple as that. Wherever James took them, it wouldn’t give him an advantage big enough to prevent them from taking what they wanted. They strode after James, hardly caring as he walked miles past the school, past the suburbs, and into a large, abandoned wheat field. It was this moment when the two bullies realized something was off. The itchy wheat rubbed against their skin, leaving golden hairs covering their shorts and t-shirts. They could hardly see James any longer. The stalks were uncharacteristically tall, and seemed to grow taller the farther they walked. The staticky feeling grew, making the hair stand up on their necks. An unsettling chill settled on the pair, despite the heat of the day. Jacob started to panic, realizing that James had gone missing. “We said no funny business, James!” Jacob shouted, tearing through wheat stalks, trying to find James. Hunter was more cautious, and carefully tip-toed through the field, trying to find an explanation for the supernatural feeling which had enshrouded the area. Much farther in the field, James’ grin widened, making his face hurt. They felt it too, he thought. The static. The scratchy, haunting feeling. The voices would surely come next. He’d done it. Jacob and Hunter searched, panic increasing. It wasn’t until the first voice rang out, however, that they truly began to lose their minds. A shriek sounded, making their ears ring. The two stopped in unison, trying to find the source of the noise. When there appeared to be none, the two went berserk, voices of all sorts swirling in their heads. “JAMES,” yelled Hunter. “JAMES, WHERE ARE YOU?” screamed Jacob, insides curdling in fear. A new voice caressed his ear. Hello, visitor. Has James brought you? Good for him. Good for him. I always liked that kid. The voice cackled. Possesed by pure terror and adrenaline, Jacob blindly sprinted, running faster than he ever had before. “JACOB, WAIT!” cried Hunter, tearing after his twin. After what could have been hours, or possibly only seconds, they reached a small, circular dirt clearing. Panting, scared, and covered in itchy wheat, the pair was furious, especially when they saw a clean and complacent James sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing, fingers tapping a short and impatient rhythm. “Late-late-late-late-late,” muttered James, now twiddling his thumbs. Enraged, Jacob ran at him, scratching shoes making red puffs of dirt. Then, just as Jacob drew back a fist, James opened his mouth, his tongue lolling and pitch black. Jacob stumbled back to his twin, repulsed. “Now, dear, I think they’re actually slightly early,” said James. But, the voice wasn’t his. It was an old, scratchy woman’s voice. “Bah. Might as well get the whole thing over with,” said a second voice, this time the deep sound of a man. “Take? Which take?” muttered another, this time James’ own voice. “Now, James, you know how to check,” said the woman again. Hunter and Jacob stood, frozen, watching James’ mouth in horror and fascination. Then, there was a horrible ripping noise, and Jacob and Hunter howled, clutching their arms. The flesh on their left forearm had been, well, unzipped. But instead of blood, all that oozed out of the wounds was a thick, muddy substance. Hunters’ was a sickly, grotesque mustard yellow, and he stared at it, terrified and transfixed as it dripped down his arm. But, Jacob on the other hand, began to shriek. His wound oozed black. A frightful, horrendous black, which crawled and dripped like hundreds of newborn spiders. “There you have it, James dear. It’s him,” the crone said. She clucked her tongue. “Good thing you got him in time. It’s so rare to find a specimen like this one on time,” she finished. Then, with a sigh, James collapsed, mouth shutting. The wounds on Hunter and Jacob’s arms disappeared with a dark flash. “What did she mean, Hunt? What does she mean, it’s me? What do we do?” Jacob babbled, panicking. Then, behind them, James began to convulse. His eyes rolled back in his head, the red veins sharply contrasting against his ghostly pale face. He collapsed to the ground, body jerking. Then began the screams. Oh, the screams. They were as high pitched as a whistle, and as freakish as a pig’s squeal. “I don’t-I don’t-what do we-” stuttered Hunt, unable to get a hold of himself. The staticky sensation that had shrouded the field seemed to grow stronger, until it was an audible buzzing. Hunter and Jacob swatted at their ears, panic overcoming their senses. They were so panicked, in fact, that they didn’t notice as James’s body went limp. They didn’t notice as James stood, like a puppet on strings, and raised a trembling hand in Jacob’s direction. They didn’t notice until a wailing, horrid shriek of a thousand voices sounded. “FREE!” screeched James, pointing at Jacob, eyes and face whiter than a sheet. The static turned to a roar, and Jacob screamed. He screamed, and kept screaming. He fell to his knees, begging, gabbling unintelligibly. All Hunter could do was stare in horror. Time stood still as James froze, a horrifyingly triumphant expression pressed into his face. Thick, dark liquid began to pour out of James’s mouth, trailing down his shirt and pooling in the clearing. He retched, and more fluid poured. The sickly black liquid didn’t end, continuing around the dirt trail. It boiled, burning the edges of the clearing, but couldn’t seem to pass the soil of the circle. Coming to his senses, Hunter yelped, jumping into the cover of the wheat. He moved to grab Jacob’s arm, but quickly yanked his hand back. Jacob’s skin was burning hot, at least one-hundred and fifty degrees. So, all Hunter could do was watch yet again as the dark puddle reached Jacob. Slowly, it crept up his shirt, soaking his body. It burned, ignoring Jacob’s pitiful whimpers as it pooled in his mouth. He swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, until there was no black left. And, just as the last drop disappeared down Jacob’s throat, the two in the clearing collapsed. Hunter cried out, running through the field. Tears burned in his eyes, and he hardly noticed as he sprinted for at least a mile to the twins’ house. “It’s- It’s Jacob, he- they-” Hunter blubbered, sobbing. His parents, shocked at the display, tried to calm him. The only thing they were able to get out of him were a few words. He repeated them over and over. Jacob. Burn. James. Voices. Liquid. James. Voices. Liquid. Burn. Jacob. Now hysterical, Hunter’s father and mother told him to lead them to Jacob. He did, leading them back to the innocent golden field. The window had passed, and the staticky feeling and the voices were gone. Upon seeing the field once again, Hunter screamed, and took off in the opposite direction. Exchanging terrified looks, the pair trudged through the wheat until they found the clearing. The mother shrieked, her voice carrying across the wheat field. There lay Jacob, asleep, muttering and twitching. James knelt next to him, patting his back and whispering soothing words. “How did he get this far?” screamed Jacob’s mother, collapsing on her knees. Jacob’s dad ran out of the field, undoubtedly trying to find help. “I told him, with his Epilepsy and all, that he wasn’t to leave school without an adult! I can’t- I can’t believe this,” she said shakily, looking at James. James stood, looking ashamed. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let him get far. I sent Hunter to get help, but-” he started, looking mournful. “Don’t worry dear, I’m glad you tried to help. You can go home now, I’ve got it from here,” she finished, dismissing him with a wave. He stayed, however, watching Jacob mutter nonsense and convulse with an air of confusion. He stayed all the way until the ambulance came, where he caught a ride back home. His parents embraced him immediately, crowing with pride over his heroic actions. He took their praises in stride. But, once he was alone, he sat, furrowing his brow. He couldn’t remember the last three hours. He couldn’t remember much of anything, really. Only his friend group, soccer practices, and birthdays. Important things. Had he hit his head? Feeling around his hair, he found the small, circular bruise that was beginning to appear from his violent seizure. Of course, however, he had forgotten the occurrence. Relived, he stood. Yes, that must have been it. He’d hit his head. Shaking off the panic that had begun to rise, he returned to the kitchen and the happy embraces of his family. The only individual who remembered the entirety of the situation was the unfortunate Hunter. He lost his mind in the following years, becoming almost as utterly insane as his twin. The unfortunate pair, they were called, recipients of pity wherever they went. James, meanwhile, lived the life of a normal boy. The only remnant of the past he had lived was the black, thick blood which pumped through his veins, freed of its inhabitants but inescapable.


# Happy (early) Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This week it’s all about Aside from the very meta fact that this is the very first post for Serial Saturdays, let’s talk about how we start serials. Here at /r/ShortStories we’re embarking on a journey to a brave new world of work-shopping serialized story arcs. Each week we’ll be focusing on a story element, theme, or constraint to address in **500 - 750** words within our individual stories. Having trouble landing the plane or sussing out what your characters really want? We’re here to help you whip all your great ideas into shape. Serial Saturday is open to first time writers as well as the grizzled veterans from /r/WritingPrompts! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # First time you’re thinking about starting a long-form story? You’re in the right place, **Beginnings are hard, y’all.** So much of our story, characters, and goals can change in the evolution of a serial. Not to mention, often TT serials start with the inciting action, but rarely do we get to see what came before. TT Serial writers, consider this your second first impression. Do you wish you had a chance to make some adjustments, or write an addendum to the beginning of your serial? You can take this opportunity to write a flashback, dream sequence, or prologue. Do you want to start all over with a new concept and universe? That's ok too! *To be fully clear, this is absolutely where you can continue your ongoing serial from previous TTs!* The end goal of this specific installment is for you to think about your serial’s origin story. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * E**ach author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # Get out your notebook! Questions to think about when starting a serial: * How many narrative arcs do you intend to include? Do you know how you’ll weave them together? * This bit can be hard if you have a grand plan in mind. Make sure that your story arc is one you can tackle without feeling like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew or that you’re always writing yourself into a corner. * How much time does your plot span? Are we talking days, weeks, months.... Years? * Some stories move fast! No matter how much in-universe time has passed, pacing is important to think about. * Do you have an idea of where you’re going? What are the end goals of your characters? Are the answers to those two questions the same thing? How do you plan to land the plane? * Part of writing longform stories is still being able to keep your eyes on the prize, both for yourself as an author and for your characters. When you’re writing down your goals for your story, it’s good to know what your characters ultimately want, what starts them on that path, and how they’re going to achieve their goals (or fail miserably, but with style). * Is this a story you can be flexible with? * Let’s face it, a serial with a tight wordcount and constraints sometimes isn’t the right format. While sometimes unavoidable, constraints in any given week can make even the most adept serial writers sweat. Consider whether your plot can allow for the wiggle room needed to meet the challenge every week. * Do you like the story/characters enough to stick with it? * Unless you’re a glutton for punishment, you want to enjoy the story and characters you’re writing, and you want your audience to as well. **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 8/15, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. This week being the very first week, you're getting a little bit of a head start to plan.** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # New to /r/ShortStories and Serial Saturday, but want to join in the fun? We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! * Leave a story from your original self-established universe, between **500 - 750** words here in the comments. * Leave at least 2 comments on other people’s stories mentioning at least one detail on each that you liked. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. **Join us for Serial Saturday’s Campfire!** * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** * There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! Reminders: * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post. Join to chat with prompters, authors, and readers! Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


I look down to the crib and there is Aishling, quietly napping with her minuscule hands covering her face, just as I had left her 5 minutes ago. You’d know the feeling if you’re a parent. The first few weeks can be summed up to awkwardly watching the baby sleep while thoughts and emotions overload your being. Fear, that it’ll choke on its own saliva. Wonder, about having contributed to the birth of a living entity. Speculation, on its health and acquisition of sensations. That’s how my mom would describe the first few weeks of my birth. I can’t imagine the overwhelming situation that they had to go through. Today, I stare at Aishling, and none of these emotions or thoughts come to mind. I love my daughter, but it is her development that intrigues me. I could hear Christine’s soft steps approach me. She gently wraps her arms around me from behind, peaking at Aishling from the side. - “How much do you love our little daughter” She asked as she joined me in contemplating the baby. - “Hah, words can’t describe my love for her, I already told you.” She reaches her hand into the crib and caresses Aishling’s fingers. - “I feel she’s a bit cold.” - “Yeah, I’ll turn up the heat in a bit” Christine holds me tighter around her arms. - “I think we made the right decision, going for this option.” - “Yeah, I agree.” Silence filled Aishling’s pink bedroom, but the thoughts going through my mind were almost deafening. It was the same kind of silence which loomed over every sitting with my wife. That is, every sitting we had as a couple, ever since the day the doctor had diagnosed me with low sperm count. We both loved children and couldn’t wait to have our own. We shared intrigue and excitement about being able to raise critical thinkers, who’d defy the nonsense of everyday conversations, and lead fulfilling lives. The stillness of the bedroom reminded me of how much infertility had at some point strained our marriage. That time when the house, in its entirety, stood quietly still, only interrupted by the faint weeping of Christine in the bathroom. Whenever I brought up the subject of my infertility, she would always say that “its ok” and expressed her unconditional love for me. But I could still feel the void that grew between us. Since the day she made her way into our home, Aishling filled that void with tenderness and love. - “You know, she really looks like the baby I always imagined I’d have.” - “I’m glad.” I answered. - “When do you think she’ll start crawling?” - “I don’t know? 8 months?” - “Hm, and when will she start walking?” - “Should be around the 12 months mark.” - “Ow, that’s interesting. And when will she pronounce her first word?” - “It’ll be a year and a half into her life. The word is going to be mama.” I tweaked the setting. - “Haha! That’s adorable.” Christine’s smile lit up her face. - “You still haven’t asked the most interesting question.” - “I just saved it for last. When will she gain consciousness?” - “The factory has that setting hard wired into the Bio-robotic brain. It takes the AI approximately 2 years of gathering and analyzing data.” - “What data will it gather?” Christine asked. - “Virtues and morals we teach Aishling, as well as our own behavior and habits.” - “Why does it gather our behavior and habits?” - “It allows the AI to create Aishling’s personality. It’s basically a simulation of how a human child would have developed if we had raised him or her. It needs to gather the personal characteristics of its human parents to create a unique individual.” - “I can’t wait to see how she develops. Listen, I’ll go check on the meatloaf. Make sure to unplug her from the power socket when she’s fully charged” - “I will, don’t worry. Soon enough, she’ll be doing it on her own.


Hello. My name is Emily Judith Fuller-Elms. I was born at 5:15 AM on October 26th, 1988. And when I was born, my parents didn’t ask the doctor if I was a boy or a girl, or if I was healthy. Instead, they asked, “What’s the number?” The room braced for the doctor’s answer. My parents held each other close both openly crying as they prayed for good news. “Her number is...” started the doctor, flipping my right wrist over and reading the black numbers that spread across it. “152310232048.” My parents cried in relief. I would live a good life. I had a good number. You see, in my world, everyone is born with a 12-digit number on their right wrist. What does the number mean exactly? Well-- the number gives us the day we will die. Think of it like the expiration date you see on a jug of milk. After the expiration date, you throw away the milk, right? Well, that is what the marks on our wrists mean. We obviously don’t get thrown away in the trash, but we cease to exist after that date. And just like that jug of milk buried in some landfill, we too will be buried in the ground. My number is 152310232048. This means that at exactly 3:23 PM on October 23rd, 2048--my heart will stop. The first time I realized the impact a person’s number has on their life, I was 5 years old. It was my first day of school, I was in kindergarten, and I’ve never really interacted with any other kids besides my older cousins. I was nervous, so when recess was called, I decided to go to the swings. Anyone who liked swings as much as me--well, they were cool in my book. On my way to an open swing, a wild boy with a dinosaur shirt and brown eyes full of mischief performed a backflip off the swings and nearly knocked me over in his crash landing. He jumped up, dusted off his pants and smiled at me and said, “My names Devon, and I am going to live to be 57.” It was such a typical kid way of introducing themselves. Adults tended to be more secretive about their numbers. Wearing watches, or long-sleeved shirts to cover up their numbers, but five-year-olds--we didn’t understand the concept of subtlety. Clearly. Another body quickly landed next to him, this one thankfully on their feet. It was a red-haired girl, with two perfectly braided pigtails. “My names Fiona, and I’m going to live to be 62.” Another body landed next to her. He stumbled a bit on his landing, and his glasses fell down the bridge of his nose as he found his balance. “Hi, I’m Oscar,” he smiled, shaking his long brown hair out of his eyes as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m going to live to be 17.” Mind you--we were in kindergarten. We were literally learning our ABC’s, learning how to tie our shoes, and zip up our coats, but the concept of numbers--that we didn’t need to learn. Our parents made sure we knew what our number was, and what their number was, and what grandma’s number was--numbers were literally ingrained into our minds, much like the literal numbers that adorned our wrists. Which meant even at 5 years old, I knew that Oscar--well Oscar, had a bad number. It must have shown on my face because the boy--a boy who I didn’t even know, hugged me. And as he squeezed me, he said, “It’s okay,” before pulling back and smiling. “My dad’s say that seventeen is plenty of time. They said it is isn’t about how high your number is-- but it’s about what you do with the number you get. Looking back now--I’d probably say the same thing to my child if they were born with a bad number. What else can you do? You can’t change your child’s number. You can’t give your child more time, no matter how much you wish you could take the numbers off your wrist and place them on theirs--you just can’t. Your job as a parent is to protect your children, but you can’t protect them from the inevitable, so instead, you give them something else. Oscar’s dads gave him hope. His dads were great people. I grew close to them as we progressed through school because obviously, Oscar, Fiona and Devon and me--we became best friends after the day on the swings. We called our group “The Swingers,” much to the embarrassment of our parents. We didn’t understand why they didn’t like our group nickname when we were young, but we finally understood when we were 15-- and thanks to the internet, we learned exactly what “swingers” were. But even after learning the sexual nature of our group nickname, we still kept it, because honestly, what teenagers didn’t like tormenting their parents? “Courtney where are you going? It’s late!” “Dad said I can go to Oscar’s house!” “And what will you be doing at Oscar’s house?” “God mom--we are just having a swinger party, can I go now?” The look of embarrassment on my parent’s face was always perfect--especially in public. Speaking of Oscar’s house. His house became the “hang out” spot for us four. Mostly because his dads had an awesome basement, and his dad Jerry was a professional Chef, which meant we ate well there. But back to Oscar’s dads--they were awesome. They adopted Oscar when he was just an infant. His mother gave him up when she saw his number. It was an epidemic in our world. Foster homes were full of children with bad numbers. But Oscar’s dads, they didn’t see his number. They just saw this happy, intelligent, beautiful blue-eyed child who just so happened to be destined to die young. They didn’t see his number--instead, they just saw Oscar. Devon, Fiona, and I--we only saw Oscar too. Most of the kids in our class didn’t really attempt to get to know Oscar, because honestly, what was the point? He wouldn’t be around for long. So, it was the four of us--for as long as we had the four of us. We laughed. We cried. We fought. We loved. We had our hearts broken. We got drunk once--never again. We got high--more than once. We just lived. The swingers lived every day to the fullest--until the day came when four was about to become three. Oscar’s number would be called just a few weeks before our Senior graduation. We always knew his number, but it never seemed real until it came so close to the actual date on our calendar. Oscar took accelerated courses so that he could graduate before--his number came up. The school planned a graduation ceremony just for him the day before his number. His dad’s and his extended family filled the stands, the rest of his class sit in their chairs, the very same chairs that we will soon fill in a couple of weeks when the class of 2007 would all walk together. The principal called out Oscar’s name, and he stepped up to the microphone. Oscar was the school Valedictorian. He stayed late after school, he studied well into the night, he worked hard--so hard, that his dedication to his studies really got in the way of swinger time. One day, after another late night of not seeing Oscar because he was studying for a Chemistry test, I yelled at him. “It is just a Chemistry test, Oscar! If you get a B, it won’t be the end of the world!” Oscar barely blinked an eye at my outburst, instead, much like that day in front of the swings--he pulled me into a hug. “Look, this is the only time I have to be great,” he said. “I don’t get anything after this. So, if this is all I get--I’m going to be the best.” And he did. He became the best. A 4.0-grade point average An SAT score of 1560. And he never filled out a single college application. Oscar cleared his throat in front of the microphone, garnering everyone’s attention. “ Thank you to everyone who came today. It means a lot to me. Very much like my life, I’m going to keep this speech short.” Gasps echoed through the gym, and Oscar smiled. “That was not meant to be a joke. Please don’t think that I am making light of the fact that tomorrow is my number. Instead, I say that I will keep this speech short--because I think the world tends to greatly underestimate the power of something small.” “My mother gave me up for adoption when I was only 1 minute old. As soon as the doctor read my number, she signed over custody of me to the state. I always wondered, how can I be judged of my quality of life, before I’ve even taken my first shit.” Laughter echoed from the students, gasps echoed from the parents, and grumbles of disapproval echoed from the teacher’s and administration. But Oscar just smirked, as he looked back at the principal. “Feel free to give me detention this weekend for cussing,” he joked. “She was wrong--by the way,” continued Oscar, his gaze going back out to the gym. “ Anyone who ever stared at my number, and looked at me with sadness--you were wrong. I have lived--not as long as our parents and not as long as you all will live--but make no mistake, I have lived. My life may have been short, but it doesn’t mean it has been any less significant as someone who lived well into their Taking a breath, he gave his parents and then the swingers a shaky smile. “Every second of every single day for the past seventeen years--have been lived to the fullest because simply, I didn’t have the time to waste. Every moment of my life has been counted, cherished and loved--can you say the same thing about yours?” Oscar died on 2:13 PM on March 16th, 2007. Like his number said, he lived to be 17. He had a bad number But he didn’t let his number define him.


It was the year of 1982. The people of the Indian subcontinent witnessed a phenomena known worldwide by the name of ‘Skyquake’. It was named by the author James Fenimore Cooper. Apocalyptic noises started coming out of the sky. There were no signs of any lightning in the area, there was even no rain that day. Some people were giving the opinion that it could have been the earthquake. That theory was dismissed soon as the Richter scale picked up nothing. With both thunder and earthquake out of the equation, people’s superstitious beliefs started coming as an explanation to these strange haunting sounds, seemingly, coming from the sky. The sounds were almost like a lion’s roar mixed with the loudest of thunder you can imagine. The media was trying to pass it up as a govt experimenting with some kind of weapon. It was a plausible theory but truth be told, even that was far fetched. Each person had a different theory as to what the noises were, or what their origin was but on one point everyone had the same opinion, whatever the sound was or whatever its origin, it didn’t bode them any good. Many independent investigators, along with the officials, set upon the case. There were quite a few unusual facts about the Indian subcontinent Skyquake ( in short, ISS quake). Firstly, the sounds were strong around the coastal areas, which was bringing in another round of theories. It was possible that the sounds were coming from the sea, experts laid down many theories, stating the ways the noises could be coming from the Bay of Bengal. Secondly, it happened only in the daytime, when the sun was up. The noises would come down almost every day but only during the daytime. Third point, many species of the animal kingdom, such as birds, monkeys, even elephants, could detect the noise before the humans. Many people had correctly guessed the timing of the noises by seeing the animals. Another interesting fact was that whenever the Skyquake, the birds would fly away from the coast. No matter where they were, the birds would always fly away from the coast. This strengthened the theory of many experts who were of the opinion that the Skyquakes were coming from the sea. Situation escalated when reports of various sea creatures sighted in the Bay of Bengal. Fishermen who had their livelihood in that area. They refused to go to the sea. The export of fish played a huge part in the economy of the Indian subcontinent nations, so it was after the boycott of the fishermen, that the governments decided it was to get into the matter. Before that they were not really interested, yes, it was mysterious but it was not hurting anybody. But then, after the fishermen boycott, it became a big problem. The sightings were nothing substantial. A couple of murky photos and about 20 odd witnesses were not enough to prove anything, but given the situation that was, everyone was on the edge, it just needed a spark which was provided by the supposed sightings. Paranoia was in everybody’s head, the frequency of the skyquakes had dropped down but still it was happening, and people were afraid, they were really afraid. Saleh Ahmed Selim, a photojournalist for BTV( Bangladesh Television) was sent to investigate the case of ISS quake on 6th March, 1981. The channel wanted to make a prime time story of the issue. Saleh, an ardent young man 24, was sent with the hopes that he can capture the Truth or at least something controversial on his camera. BTV was not known for serving spicy stories or giving fuel to conspiracy theories. But here, they had a reason. The people, the normal folks, will be much interested in a mysterious case such as the ISS quake. The govt was recently caught in rather shady businesses, so what BTV were doing was to divert the attention of the public towards something else. In this case. The ISS quake mystery. Saleh had already arrived at Cox's bazar. He would start his job from there. His job was simple, just observe, be vigilant, anything unusual, catch it on the camera. And also if the skyquake happens again, he should record it with a video camera. Mr Saleh was certainly the best in his business. The equipment given to him was not given to many during that time. He had everything the job needed. Athletic, smart, observant, careful and had a knack for mysteries. In Cox's bazar, he found there about a dozen specialists sent by the government to investigate the ISS quake. The specialists were part of a joint operation conducted by the nations of the Indian subcontinent. In total there were 5 nations which took part in it, Srilanka, India, Bangladesh, Myanmar and Maldives respectively. Also, the US, Russia, UK, China, Germany and Japan gave their help. Saleh knew that there would be a team to investigate the case. Saleh, with his dashing personality and smiling face, went one evening to have a small talk with one of the specialists. His name was Hussain Khan. Saleh had a long chat with him. He jotted down the information he got in his notebook after the chat ended. He was only a photo journalist but he certainly knew the job better than an actual on field journalist. He sent the information to the BTV headquarter. The information was given like this in his letter.... “A test has been conducted by the ST ( special team) which has led to some findings. The sound or the skyquake is actually coming from somewhere in Barisal. It is either coming from above the sky or in the waters. They cannot determine whether it is coming from the sky or from the water, though tests and research show that the noises are coming from inside the Bay of Bengal. The alleged sightings of sea monsters are not considered a joke anymore. During the tests, they discovered a lot of information and signs, all which point out that there might actually be something Big inside the Bay of Bengal. Saleh didn't need to send a detailed report. He just gave them an idea, the channel would then send other journalists to inquire and pursue the inside news he gave them. After sending the letter, he decided to go to Barisal himself and see if he could find anything. He couldn’t find anything in his short stay at cox’s bazar, nothing happened, apart from him getting the information regarding the special team’s finding. Their investigation was not something top secret, in fact, as Saleh suspected, they could just have been set on to show that the govt was doing something. Though they certainly did their job with all the enthusiasm, which showed that whatever the government’s interests were, the team were genuinely on the job. It took Saleh a whole day’s journey to reach Barisal. He quickly went into the coastal areas, the last that he wanted was to miss something while he was on his way. He reached the place on 17th march 1981. It was a sunny day. The wind was blowing fine. He had taken the bus to reach the place. Suddenly the sky exploded. He had heard the skyquakes before, but after hearing this one.. They all seemed like tiny squeaks. He understood then that the ST were probably right, the skyquake sounded louder and more ominous here in Barisal than it did in other places. He brought out his recorder and recorded the thunderous roar that had erupted from the skies. The people around him, however, were running for cover like it was doomsday. After the skyquake had finished, everyone returned to their work. Saleh was exploring the place a bit. He was walking down a road he liked. It was nice, with green grass and trees covering the road on both sides. The sunlight was falling on the road, giving it an ethereal look. He decided to record the place. He brought out his video camera and started recording. He continued going down the path. More he went down the path, the more beautiful it became. Suddenly he came to a stop. There was in front of him a 20 feet wall. He was surprised, the place was a rural area and you don’t just find a wall in the middle of the road. Then it came to him that it could be a wall of a local landlord’s mansion. That would also explain the beautiful road he was treading on. He looked at the wall and noticed there was a door in the middle of it. The wall was old, very old, so he thought it was perhaps an abandoned landlord’s mansion. The landlord might have died, and without anyone to look after his mansion, it fell into decay. He decided to explore what was inside the house. He opened the door and went inside through a dark tunnel. After a brisk 10 minutes walk, he came out into the sunshine but lay in front of him was something he never expected. The road led to a staircase, a big,finely made staircase, a staircase fit for a wealthy king. He went up the stairs and then he noticed the strangest thing he had noticed so far. The stairs led into the sky. It actually led him into the sky. And on both sides of the stair, about a 1000 feet under was a big blue sea, as deep as the deepest ocean, which could be deducted by the colour of the sea, which was the darkest blue you can imagine. As he went higher, he could see the sea even clearer. Remember that he was recording it all in his video camera all that time. He was walking for about 2 hours, even though he was very athletic, he got tired, but just as he gave up, he saw the top of the stairs. The last flights of the stairs were quickly done by him. When he reached the top, he saw the wonder... A single road lay in front of him, about 200 metres in width, the road was the same as the one he had tread on before going through the door. But what was the strangest thing in sight was this huge castle , almost a castle that would dwarf any castle that he had seen on TV. He was curious when he saw that, so he went ahead to get a better picture of it. As he got closer, he noticed that the ground was shaking. He found it very strange but when he came to the castle itself, he was thunderstruck. The castle had four towers on four corners of the castle, towers that really could perhaps touch the stars, so tall they were. The castle was ancient, it had become gray by the years. One look at it was enough to tell that. At the front was a huge iron clamped door, though he could see through the bars what was inside. Suddenly the sky had turned red, something large, very Large was coming to the iron clamped doors and then it came to Saleh’s mind what the castle was, It was a prison. At that very moment a big eye looked at him through the iron bars and then it roared, it roared so loud, so loud that Saleh couldn’t hear anything for the rest of his life. The ground shook like it was being thrown across the oceans. Saleh quickly took to his heels and ran like there was no tomorrow. While he was running, the monster kept roaring and stamping, each creating earthquakes. Saleh was found unconscious by a group of villagers on 20th march. He was taken to a hospital, where he found that he could not hear anymore. He was distraught by this tragedy. After spending a week in the hospital, he decided to go and give the recording he had to the ST. The recording was said to be lost during a fire at the ST office that year, or Saleh reported. After getting out of the hospital and stepping out on to the sunshine, he realized one thing, Humanity didn't need to know this.