I woke up with strange pains, and while normally I would be used to this, today felt very different. Pains in my neck and jaw, as if I had slept on it. Pain in my chest, as if the bones itself had begun to hug me. But I still needed to get ready for work. The thought that it was Friday helped be get out of bed. I had worked hard all week and today was the last until I had two whole days to rest. Undoubtedly, I'm going to enjoy watching the rest of my cooking show that I have recorded. With slight optimistism, I got myself out of bed and shambled to the bathroom, like every day. The bathroom tile usually felt cold and smooth, but I couldn't feel it. A part of me thought I had socks on, a part of me knew I hadn't worn socks, but a larger part of me was focused on a different surprise. As soon as I entered the bathroom, I was ambushed by the sight of a disgusting creature. Pale skin and tall height made me think of a towel at first; but its muscles bulged out like tumors; skin stretched and tore from their unnatural growth; eyes piercing yellow as if light was behind them; its hands were almost human-like, yet its nails had grown so large that they have overtaken the two furthermost knuckles of each finger; the rib cage was almost like scaled armor around the thing’s torso; and the mouth... the jaw had split in two, as if each jaw half was its own prehensile limb; its teeth long and sharp like many daggers, lined up disorderly and erratic. As I saw it, I screamed, and simultaneously the thing belted out an animalistic hunting cry. I jumped to the floor, like a child seeing a real life monster. I waited for the thing to kill me. But it didn’t. I looked around my bathroom. The thing had left... I was about to get up, when I looked at my hands, about to push me to my feet. They were the hands of the monster, claws meant for hunting. I got up, and saw myself. I was the monster. This had to be a dream, none of this was real. I decided to stay in the bathroom until I woke up. It took me almost 5 hours until I got thirsty. I went to the sink, questioning how I could drink without a jaw. I soon discovered my claws were like spoons, they were concave. So I would cup some water, and sucked each claw with the hole that was my throat. It felt natural, while feeling completely inhuman at the same time. I waited another 9 hours later, when the sun had fully set, I slept on the cold hard tile floor. I prayed to wake up as anything but this creature, but my prayers were pointless. It took me 5 days to fully come to terms that I was not dreaming. I grew hungry every day, and ate whatever leftovers and produce I could find. Slicing meat was very easy with my new mouth, while eating any vegetables and fruits was almost impossible. Even if I could, I could not taste their sweetness, only the bitter crunch and unappetizing fibrous texture. I thought about when I would run out of food, and how I would be able to get more. I couldn’t leave the house, I'm already avoiding the windows to prevent being seen. Weeks passed on, and while I had completely ran out of food, I was staying alive from drinking water. I was very hungry, but I was alive. However, I have no plan on how I would get food right now. Maybe sneak out at night looking for trash? Even then, I’m so large and heavy that I’d be surprised if even a blind person couldn’t notice me passing by. I realized that even my water supply would go away from not paying my water bills. I guess I’m glad that nobody will be looking for me. If I had any family or friends, a missing person’s report would be made, and result in a man-hunt. I guess there are some perks to solitude. There were many days where I had nothing left but my thoughts. I asked myself; why had I become this thing. A monster. A part of me didn’t want to think of myself as a monster. I asked myself what are the limits on what is human? A person who's lost their arm, many people would call them human. A person with terrible birth defects is still considered human. But, am I still human? Is this mound of horror given flesh and bone still human? I still think like a human, I still act like a human. But nobody would know it was me if they saw me. They’d see a terror on earth. A monster who needs to be killed. I can’t talk anymore, or even make noises that can come off as human. My glottis is completely different, and I sound more like a bear growl combined with a crocodile’s bellow. Eventually, the day came when my power and my water had gone out. My last means of survival. I had nothing left to help myself. I can either find a way to get food and water, or die. It took me a while to come to terms with this. During that time, I think I saw my landlord come by once or twice. A simple knock on the door and a call of my name, then he left. Even my house will be gone soon. My landlord is going to come in soon, looking for me. And when they see that I'm gone, he's going to get the house ready for another person, and he won't expect a nightmare on two legs in their house. I don’t know what to do. When my hunger became unbearable, I decided to go off at night, looking for trash to eat, and water fountains to drink from. And by the end of the night, I went home to rest all day. I would try my best to hide, but people would still see me eating out of their trash cans, drinking from their water hoses, and some people blamed me for their missing pets. Or, at least I think so, because I stopped seeing pets outside for a while. My last option for information outside my house and neighborhood was the newspapers that didn't get picked up during the day. I tried to read, and I could, but I had trouble with recognizing certain letters and numbers. I got b's and d's confused many times, as well as p's and q's, I felt like a toddler learning to read again. But soon it could read like I usually do, slightly slower though. Newspapers rarely talked about world events. They talked about me, or possibly another hulking beast that stuck to the shadows during the night. Which isn't too impossible. I had become a legend, “The Monster of Oroville”. When I started to walk for the first few weeks, I stumbled and tripped like a baby. My body was completely unfamiliar to me. But as the weeks passed, and eventually months, I had gotten used to my new body. I was a pure predator, I could climb trees easier than I could walk, I could run a mile in one breath, I had the strength to pick up logs and push cars. I could see in the dark just as well, if not better than, I could in light. My muscles never got sore, at least never after a meal. I started eating squirrels, roadkill, even slow deer when I had the chance. I wish I could tell you eating raw and rotten meat disgusted me, but after eating nothing for so long, it tasted like gold. I stopped going back home to hunt for longer. I had gotten more and more confident with how I hunt, now a deer can’t hear me running unless it's within 5 feet of me. I began prowling the cities, taking extra care not to be seen. Walking around felt surreal beyond a dream. The architecture felt so alien, as I had been so used to nature at this point. Tall buildings of stone and metal, with people walking through them with no sense of caution, walking as if they couldn’t die. In nature, everything is so close to death that nothing is ever truly confident. I was the only thing who could walk with confidence, but I still knew of my mortality. And seeing everyone else annoyed me slightly. Why was I thinking like this? I knew I didn’t belong here anymore, but I wanted to so badly. I want to wake up from this nightmare. I saw a butcher’s shop. Months worth of food, right in front of me. I had been hunting my food from this point, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t hungry. I spent months at this point without a proper full stomach. Even after killing a deer, I could finish one and still have aches in my stomach. But in front of me was so much food that I could never grow hungry again, or at least, this is what I thought. I became careless, I broke the window and pounced in, feasting on this meal of the gods. I spent hours eating, savoring every bite. I was so absorbed that I couldn’t tell there was a crowd forming outside the butcher’s shop. I’m sure a call went out that someone had broken into the shop. I looked outside, nobody could see in because the shop was completely dark. The entire city had come to see this, wanting to see the legendary “Monster of Oroville”. Most people must’ve thought it was just a bear or other large animal, as most were acting too casually than you would if a monster was in front of you. I could see the police sirens, flashing back and forth. I realized that I was surrounded. I looked around for a back door, but there wasn’t any. The butcher’s shop only had a front entrance. I was terrified more than ever, more than when I was starving to death, more than when I was hunting deer. I tried to hide anywhere, but I had broken any kind of cover I could’ve had. I heard a policeman walk up, with his flashlight. He didn’t say, “police, put your hands up.” or anything like that. They were expecting an animal. I felt the blinding light of the flashlight hit my face. Everyone could see the Monster of Oroville. Panic. Tens of screams turned into hundreds. The police either ran or immediately took out a gun. I reached my arms out, showing I was surrendering, while trying to say something, anything. The police must’ve seen a monster reach out their arms for an attack, and heard a battle cry that shook their souls. I felt 3 bullets hid my torso, but none of them went past my ribs. A few more hit my shoulder, and it was painful, but nothing like I would expect a bullet to feel like. It felt more like a bee sting. I knew I had to run. So I ran fast. Racing past building after building, street after street. So many people saw me, and each of them ran inside as if the devil himself had come to town. I was fast though. So fast that the police cars couldn’t catch up to me. I jumped wire fences like they were steps on a stool; I ripped through wooden fences like they were paper. Gripping stone walls to scale them was so easy for my claws. Even a helicopter couldn’t catch up. I didn’t know I could run so fast. I escaped into a forest, but I know that I need to keep going. I can’t stop now, they won’t let me live. I ran until I could see the sun rising. I thought of nothing except the need to run faster. I eventually stopped, and as the sun rose, I found a tree to rest on. And as I finally rested, I thought to myself. How can I get back to my life? How will I be able to tell everyone that I’m not a monster? But... I am still a human, right? I didn’t hurt anyone, I was hungry. It doesn’t matter how I look, how I sound. Right? Of course. Yes. I am still a human. I am still a human. I kept telling myself this as I drifted to sleep. I am still a human.


I sit upon this train And stare out the window, As the gray high rises flash by, Making me ask myself why; Why do cities have to be so noisy? Why do people want to live in such places? Why would they opt to breathe smog, choked air? Why, when they could live anyplace, but there? Every day I see the same people, though I know not their names, Nor do I ask. They are strangers to me And I to them. I ask not, because they will never want mine. And I have to ask myself why. Why are there some that say, “You should not talk to that person, Because you don't know him... or her,” Whichever the case may be. How can a friend become a friend, if not given the time? I have to ask myself why. Why do people have to meddle where they don't belong? Why must they try to re-write other people's live’s songs? Why be a friend, when you're just going to manipulate? Why help Evil do what it delegates? I spy a child, sitting by himself And think it's sad he is all alone, Without a loved one, by his side And I ask myself why; Why would a parent send their child off alone? Why do other passengers seem not to care? Why is an eight-year-old sitting amongst strangers? Why must he be thrust into a world of danger? Every so often a new face appears; Sometimes it's old, sometimes young, or in-between, Once a girl, of twenty, got on to never be seen again; I know what happened, and it's a shame no one was convicted of the crime And I have to ask myself why. Why does justice not always go according to plan? Why did the beast have to come out and play? Why must I keep bottled up inside the where, the why, the how? Why has this world, of woe, been brought into being now? An elderly woman gets on at the next stop And I offer her my seat, When I see no one else is willing to try, And I have to ask myself why; Why is there not more respect? Why are the aged not treated better? Why do people feel the need to segregate? Why when they see how frail she is they hesitate? I smile as the train curls its serpentine body across the land, When I spot a blind man scratching the ears of his companion. A child kicks the well-behaved dog, and her mother pays no mind. And I have to ask myself why; Why doesn't she spank the child like the mothers of old? Why do the people wonder where they have gone wrong? Why don't they seem not to care at all? Why are we letting ourselves be led like sheep to the firing wall? A tear slips from my eye, to course down my cheek, Because on this train, a life ceased to be. How is it that I'm the only one that cares he has died? I cry silent tears, as I fix his hair, and ask myself why; Why must egos not see beyond their own facades? Why must life be measured by how many friends you have? Why did this poor soul have to take his last journey alone? Why won't they answer the ringing of his phone? Two rival gang members sit opposite each other and stare. I don't see anything being accomplished by a glare. If there were a way to go back in time, I would like to, in their pasts, to when they were younger, still, but then I ask myself why. Why should I care that they want to annihilate each other? Why suffer my heart the pangs of caring to fix two miss-guided youths? Why do I feel like I'm letting them down, because I cannot their lives mend? Why should I cry tears of remorse, even as they hate their fellow men? I whip my head around at the sound of agony and ferocious pain; And my heart leaps into my throat as someone yells for a doctor. I silently pass through a gathering crowd, which is witnessing the birth of a child. And I ask myself why. Why must one life end, so that another may start its journey? Why were these onlookers absent when the old man died, so that this birth could happen? Why does pain of sorrow have to beget tears of joy? Why can I not be free from this prison, so that I might be with my own baby boy? I look down at my wrists and ankles, but see no shackles, there upon; However, even if I, nor anyone, notices them, they are ever present; Tethering me to this train, upon which I ride And I have to ask myself why. Why do I have to sit and watch humanity go about their days? Why should I have to care that they need a little sunshine now and then? Why do I smile, when everything seems so bleak? Why do I not try breaking my invisible shackles, making myself free? A strange light fills the air around the outside of the slowing train; I've never seen this happen before. There's something pulling me; Something that won't be stilled; And as I exit the train, I see a beautiful sight. Then a voice says, “Welcome to Elysian Fields.” “Why couldn't I have just came here when I died,” I ask. “The journey cleanses the soul and repairs the tears that life leaves behind” “Why doesn't everyone get to see this beautiful place? It might make them change.” “There are none that see's Elysian Fields until they die. I'm, sorry, but that's just the way it is.” “Why did the old man not exit the train with me?” "He has to take the same journey you did, so don't worry; He will be here when the time is right." “Why wasn't I given the ability to help the suffering that I saw, every day, on the train?” “It is not our place to help, but to protect. The living need to learn, if they are to survive.” “Why am I the only departed soul that traveled upon this train?” “Not all that wish to come here will, and, therefore, there will be many trains to Eternity that are nearly empty.” “Why do you not send heralds forth to tell them of this place?” “What do you think you have been doing?” I smile as I look across the field of golden grain, kissed by the dappled sunlight, and see all manner of beast lazing and grazing in the temperate climate. I amble forth and sweep my hands through waist high grasses, which no longer cause me to sneeze. A Grizzly bear, the symbol of my spirit protector, blocks my path, so that he might nuzzle my hand, then ambles on, with not a care in the world. I twirl 'round-and-'round, with my arms out, then run, feeling finally free. I sink to my knees, and bow my head, and thank God for making me free, to live the life that he had planned for me all along. I notice not as the train blows its whistle saying goodbye, as it continues its journey back to the land of the living. Too bad that the living on the train were blindfolded by their everyday lives and did not get to see the beauty that awaits them.


Inspired by the great inventors of the Victorian era and the dapper classic style of dress, Nickolas modeled his life after that period in history. From the way, he decorated his quaint room, to the hats he wore, and to his pursuit of scientific invention. From a young age, he read about all of the greats of that era and enjoyed the period drama movies and television shows that depicted the lifestyle of the time. When he was old enough to start wearing suits that he picked out from the local consignment shop, he would dress up for school every day. Getting strange looks from his colleagues who were in sportswear and jeans with t-shirts. While getting praise from his teachers not only for his fashion choices but also for his natural curiosity in all subjects. As he got older he did unfortunately find himself lonesome most of the time. Only making friends at the library or in other considered nerdy settings. It was not until college that he found his stride. Obtaining a great scholarship to a prestigious private school in the countryside of Britain. Not only was the campus beautiful, clad with old-style buildings, but it was also full of fellow students who shared his love of math and science. Nickolas, who did not like his name shortened to Nick ever went off to college with high hopes of becoming a scientist. His grandfather Aaron was an inspiration to him all of his life and before he left London, he gave Nickolas a golden and intricate pocket watch. A family heirloom that Nickolas had adored since he was shown the object as a child. Something he from that day forward carried in his pocket to bring out whenever he was curious as to what the time was. Originally Nickolas thought he should become a chemist in order to become a chemical researcher and eventually come up with pharmaceutical concoctions. He was inspired by the apothecaries of the past and took a few exciting laboratory courses. Piquing his interest as he excelled in the courses. Towards the end of the first semester, his class for the final exam had to come up with their own individual experiments. Something that involved the use of a fume hood and that demonstrated the techniques he had learned. Unsure of what to do at first, he studied up on chemical reactions, making sure to understand not only the math of the chemical reactions but to make sure to get the measurements of the chemicals correct. On the day of the exam, he watched some of the other students do experiments. One had an impressive demonstration of colorful flames dancing off of the Bunson burner. Then it was his turn to walk up to the fume hood, that had recently been upgraded from the haggard-looking ancient one to more high tech and easy to use a fume hood. Nickolas had run through the steps so many times as he had sat at his desk in his dorm and during all of the hours he had spent at the library. Out of what must have been nerves, he botched the most critical step, leading to the bubbling over of his chemicals instead of the contained reaction he was aiming for. Something he could not bounce back from, and he received a failing grade for that final exam. Since he had excelled throughout the rest of the term he still passed but just barely. Distraught, he spent the holiday reconsidering his course of action for college. When he came home to see his family in London he relented to his grandfather about what had happened. Aaron was not disappointed in Nickolas and encouraged him to keep trying. For everyone messes up at times but that is how Nickolas had to learn. After Christmas, just days before the New Year and before he had to return to college, he sat in his room thinking about his future. Still bound to his admiration of the Victorian era, he tried to think of other professions he could attempt to get into. The great inventors of that time were people that influenced his decision. Although he was not going to completely give up on Chemistry, he decided to make it his minor while he changed his major to Engineering. With the hopes to come up with his own innovative designs one day. Upon returning to university, he went right to his counselor to change his major and to receive advice on how to navigate the course progression. Mrs. Weaver told him that he should join the Engineering club because they too could help him achieve his goals while providing him with friendship. Thinking this was a great idea, he went to the first meeting of the semester and was pleasantly surprised. The leaders of the club engaged the small group of students in some get-to-know-you introduction activities. When it was Nickolas’ turn to go he told them that he was an admirer of the Victorian era and one of the students said they could tell from his clothing. Some people snickered but that student told him that she thought his outfit made him look sharp. To Nickolas this was a great feeling, to be acknowledged by someone around his own age liking his choice of fashion. He then noticed that Doris was also dressed in a classic dress, complete with a lovely old-style blue necklace. She was so beautiful to him, with her red hair up in a bun and her slender frame in such a flowy dress. He was smitten right from that moment, he forgot to thank her for the compliment. The club meeting went on, informing the students of the schedule moving forward and the events that were going to take place throughout the term. Excited to see Doris again at the next meeting, which was every Tuesday evening, he said goodbye to her at the end of the function. Blushing as he did so and as she shyly said goodbye as well. At the next meeting, after he had begun his difficult classes in Engineering, the group discussed how the hard courses were going. In addition, the leaders of the group told the newcomers how to better study for the first exams that were coming up all too quickly. During the discussion, Nickolas could not help but steal glances at Doris who was sitting across the small isle from him. Once she caught him looking and he quickly shifted his gaze to the person speaking in front of the small room. Then at the end once again, Nickolas went up to Doris before she left to strike up a conversation and to tell her to have a great evening. Doris decided to be brave and ask him if he wanted to grab coffee sometime and to study. Awkwardly, Nickolas said he would love to. Come the Friday that they met up at the campus coffee shop, they went over the outline of the exam prep sheet. Then Doris noticed that Nickolas had a pocket watch coming out of his pocket. She asked him to show her it and he did so, explaining that it was an heirloom. Doris thought it was just nifty and told him how she adored the Victorian era and how the pocket watch reminded her of that. Nickolas could not hold back a large grin and he went into how it was his favorite time period as well. While they dove into a mess of books and study sheets, they also relented about their interest in the era. With the fashion, history, and the seemingly archaic inventions. At the end of the study session and after they both had finished their delicious coffee, Nickolas got up the guts to ask Doris on a date. Nothing too involved, just a chance to have a nice conversation and a dinner. Doris told him that she was more than happy to do so but that she needed to take things slow to really know if this was to be a friendship or to be something else. They were both in the first class of the day on Monday together. She sat on the other side of the room usually and in the front. While Nickolas preferred to be somewhere in the middle. The exam was handed out in their introductory Engineering class. They had both studied so sufficiently, that when the test scores came out a few days later they had both excelled. A topic that was brought up on the date they went to that Saturday. Looking in the mirror before his date, Nickolas adjusted his shirt and tie. Thinking he may be overdressed but he remembered that Doris had commented on his outfit before and how she thought it made him look smart. So, he went with his authentic style and went to her dorm hall to pick her up. They were going to a nice Italian restaurant in the downtown area of the small town they were in. The food smelled so good upon entering the place that Doris told him that she was excited to try the food. When they sat down, Nickolas made sure to tell her that he really liked her outfit and that it made her look fancy. She was flattered and returned the compliment. They had a great meal matching the enticing smell coming from the kitchen. He took her back to the dorm after they had finished a great plate of Tiramisu. Knowing that she wanted to take things slow, he leaned in for a kiss on her cheek but she pulled him in for a full kiss. He was pleasantly surprised, and Doris told him that she had never felt this way before about any guy. From there on a budding romantic relationship continued, where they assisted each other with course work but also made college a little less lonely. After college was over, they planned a wedding that was themed after the Victorian era. A wedding that their families enjoyed and that the couple dreamed about leading up to the special day. They spent their honeymoon visiting castles and famous spots that were known to be Victorian age historic places. All the while discussing their future plans in Engineering and coming up with ideas for great inventions. With the hopes of making the world a better place with their creations.


“Hi honey.” Mom says. “Hi mom.” I drop my backpack on a dining room chair How did you mess it all up this time? You always find a way . My head whispers. “How was your day?” “Alright I guess. I’m tired.” I yawn, feeling the weight of the day in my arms, my legs. You’re always tired. Lazy piece of crap . I tell myself it's just depression speaking, and if I ignore it, it will go away. “How’s Amelia?” Mom asks. “She’s okay” She hates you. No she doesn’t, I insist internally. “How’s her painting coming along?” “It’s coming. I told her it looked nice” What a stupid thing to say. Of course it looked nice. How about some insightful praise? You should have said something smarter. She thinks you’re boring. She doesn’t want to be your friend anymore I studiously ignore the voice in my head. “I can’t wait to see it at the show next month” Mom remarks. “Hmmmm” I mumble. No one wants to be your friend. Who would be friends with someone like you? This, I think, might possibly be true. I try half-heartedly to list the evidence against this thought. “Sara, you know that I love you” She’s lying “And I only want you to be happy” They don’t love you. “And healthy, and living a good life” And no wonder. You do not deserve to be loved. I give my head a shake to dislodge the voice. “But we need to talk about your grades.” Worthless. “I know you’re having a hard time right now” Good for nothing. “This isn’t easy for me either. Life is pointless. It’s still there, in my head. “Can we just talk about it for a bit?” You want to die I want to die, I think. Life is not worth living when you’re a person like you are. “I’m not trying to make you upset, I just want to have a discussion” A bad person. I’m not a bad person. I think firmly. “Sara, did you hear me?” Mom says. I jerk my attention back to her. “Yes, yes, mom, I heard you.” “Why can’t you just pay attention when I’m talking to you?” Yeah, Sara, why can’t you? See, I told you that you would mess it up. Listening isn’t that hard! Shut up! I shout mentally. “We’ve really got to get your grades up. I know you work hard” “I do work hard” Never hard enough “But universities are only going by your transcript, honey.” “I know!” Ugh, university. I freaking hate when she brings that up. I hold back the tears that pool behind my eyes. Because you’re too dumb to get into university like a regular eighteen-year-old I’m not dumb! I yell back in my head. “I’m not dumb!” I yell aloud. “Of course not! I never said you were” I did “You’re very smart. You’re just struggling right now. And I would hate for your struggles to be the reason you don’t get into university” University is pointless “Well, I’ll write an essay about it then, and use my struggles to get into school! Can we not talk about this anymore?” I turn to walk out of the room. You are pointless. “Well, when are we going to talk about it?” “When I’m better” I reply. You’ll never be better “Sweetheart, that’s the point. I don’t want to wait until then. Applications are due in 6 months” 6 months is a lifetime. An eternity. “If I can’t even bother to apply to university, how do you think I am actually going to do IN university!?” I exclaim in frustration, a tear slipping loose of my tenuous restraint. Useless. Stupid. Shut up! I grip my head with both hands. “We’ll figure it out. We’re getting you help. You just need to be patient. Let the meds work” “I’m SO TIRED of being patient!” Only burdensome people aren’t patient. “I’m doing the best that I can!” Mom says. “You are?! What do you think I’m doing? Struggling every day just to get out of bed, to open my eyes to a brand new day. Just waiting for the meds and hoping that this time they will be the ones that actually work!” My tears are coming in earnest now, dripping down my chin.. Give up. Give in. “I am trying my BEST to keep living. Do you know how hard that is? And it’s still not good enough for you!” “I’m just worried about you” Mom says gently. Lies. “Yeah well, so am I. Lot of good that does us.” I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve Look. Now you made her cry. Good job. Happy now? I can never do anything right. The thought rings like truth. You can never do anything right. The voice agrees. “Oh mom, I’m sorry” “No, it’s okay”. Mom sniffs too. “No it isn’t! I always mess everything up!” Always “Sweetheart.” “You must hate me. How can you stand to be around me?” “I could never hate you!” She’s better off without you “You’re better off without me.” I agree “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that! It’s not true” Yes it is. “Your father and I love you very much, you know that, right?” “I know” I whisper. No they don’t. How could they? “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to us. I promise you” “Really?” “Of course. Honey, I wouldn’t change one thing about you! I only wish that you could be happy” Lies “Me too.” I sigh. “We’ll get there. It will take lots of hard work and lots of time and patience, but I promise you, you will be happy again” Mom wraps me in a hug. “Okay” I whisper against her shoulder. Don’t believe her! How can you believe her? She’s my mom. I reply silently. Who doesn’t love you. Lies. I say firmly, willing myself to believe it. “I love you mom” “I love you too honey” See? Truth. I say in my head. The voice is silent, for once.


[HM] The Day I Went to the Worst Doctor in the Universe The Day I Went to the Worst Doctor in the Universe One day I just knew it was happening, or I should probably say, and this is what alarmed me and Jim (more so me, because I still don’t know if Jim was just pretending to be alarmed when I told him, just because he thought it was what a normal person would do) what WASN’T happening. I couldn't feel my blood pumping and I knew if I didn’t do something about it then it could probably be harmful. I don’t know exactly how long you can go without your blood pumping before you start to feel some ill effects, and I wasn’t going to sit around all day waiting to find out. “You should probably go to the doctors” said Jim, “it would be very interesting to at least hear what they would say when you tell them, don’t you think? Maybe you should even record it so we can play it to our other friends so they know what to do if the THEIR blood stops pumping.” I still don’t know if he actually cared because it almost sounded like he wasn’t as concerned as he was trying to sound, almost sounding sarcastic or something. “Yep, you’re right”, I said. After a shower and a change of clothes, I startws the long walk down to the doctors, and luckily Jim came along for the walk because he said he really didn’t want to wait to hear what the doctor said. Jim’s car was broken and it was a really hot day so the walk wasn’t very fun. About halfway there I told Jim I was pretty sure that my blood had completely stopped pumping all together, because I couldn’t feel it. “Maybe we should run the rest of the way,” said Jim, “you don’t want to go for too many hours without your blood pumping” and I agreed. He was a faster runner than me, so he kept looking back telling me to try and run a bit faster, just to be safe. By the time we finally got to the doctors I was pretty puffed, and because I don’t do too much running my heart was going like crazy. Jim said he would wait outside near the smoke shop so he didn’t get in the way of the doctors, but said he would wait all day if he had to just to hear what the doctor had to say when I was finished and came back out again. “Thanks,” I said, because I was glad that he had my back, so I went inside. “I need to see a doctor, it’s an emergency, because my blood has stopped pumping”, I said. The nurse shook her head at me and said there were others waiting to see the doctor with more serious problems than mine. There must have been something funny on the TV in the waiting room, because one man started laughing into his handkerchief and said that I could take his spot, because he wanted to be around to also hear the doctor’s results, but I don’t think he really cared at all and just wanted to keep watching whatever funny thing he was laughing at. Just at that point the doctor came out and called the man’s name, and the man motioned at me and said “you go in mate, you obviously need some serious help from somebody”, but he almost had a smirk so I really don’t’ think he cared as much as he pretended. As I went into the doctor’s room, the doctor was a little puzzled as to what why we were switching. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked. “It doesn’t seem to be a problem, it actually IS a problem, otherwise I wouldn’t I wouldn’t even be here,” I said. “Then what IS the problem?” he corrected himself. “My blood isn’t pumping, and I’m no doctor but I’m pretty sure that could be serious if left to go on for too long,” I said, showing my concern. He gave me the strangest look and after a few seconds asked “how did you get here?” I thought that was a strange thing to ask so I said “what does that have anything to do with it?” He responded with “No, I’m serious, how did you get here?” Happy that he was now finally being serious I told him that I walked half the way and then ran the rest of the way. “How long do you think your blood has not been pumping?” He continued. “Well luckily me and Jim didn’t go to sleep last night so at least I know it didn’t stop in my sleep. I haven’t felt like it was pumping since about morning time.” He took a deep breath, slumped back in his chair, and looked like he was thinking about his diagnosis. “You’re fine,” he said, “just go back home and try and get some sleep.” I was astonished. “I can’t believe this! Aren’t you at least going to do some tests like they do on tv with a testing machine or something? How long until it starts pumping again?” I asked. “Have you and your friend been taking any illicit substances in the last 24 hours?” he asked, but I was clued on to him. I tapped the side of my head knowingly and said I’m too smart for him, and that he can’t trick me into admitting to taking all the methamphetamines that me and Jim smoked last night and this morning and that we didn’t even have any left anyway so nobody couldn’t prove anything. He almost chuckled before regaining himself as if to remember that he was a professional and needed to act like one. “You’re fine, just go home, and maybe lay off the illicit substances,” he said, then got up and opened the door, motioning for me to leave. “This is ridiculous,” I yelled, “how can you for one minute think I’ll be fine with no blood pumping in me?” and stood up from my chair. He rolled his eyes and reached for something on his shelf. At least he was taking me serious now and was maybe getting the testing machine. “Well, for one, you’re standing upright, and two...” he said thrusting a mirror in my face. “You see those veins popping out of your forehead?” he asked. He had made me so mad that the veins were almost popping out, and I could even see them in my neck. “If your blood wasn’t pumping then you wouldn’t see that” he continued, then almost pushed me out of his doctors room. He was right! That doctor had made me so angry that I think my blood started pumping again. He may have cured me, but surely there are better ways to heal people in this day and age. As I walked away I heard the man in the doctor’s waiting room almost crying but trying to hide it from me, so obviously something sad was now playing on the TV. When I walked outside, Jim was there with a big smile, and you could see he couldn’t wait to hear what had happened. I told him everything and he fell to the ground holding his stomach, and started slapping the ground with his eyes shut, his mouth open more wider than I had ever seen it. Was Jim’s blood now not pumping also? Luckily, we were right outside the doctors, so I told him he better get up and go inside because his blood might not be pumping also, but he only started slapping the ground even harder. When I started calling for the nurse he quickly started to come round again and said told me to stop calling the nurse and that he was fine. He said he was just happy to hear I was okay. He was so happy he even had tears running down his face and was breathing funny. We then walked back home as Jim replayed the recording of my doctor visit over and over with a smile, while I was just thankful my blood was pumping, thankful I didn’t fall for the doctor’s tricks to admitting to drug use, and also happy that I was only lying to the doctor when I told him we didn’t have any left. The End. By Nathan Egbert.


There is an elephant tap dancing on my head. That is the only plausible explanation for the pounding happening inside my skull. I risk opening my right eye. It is immediately assaulted by the sliver of sunlight that sneaks in through the gap in the hotel room’s drapes. My lid closes quickly, which only makes the pain worse. Someone has managed to stuff an entire package of cotton balls in my mouth. That is also the only plausible explanation for why my mouth is so dry. Every drop of saliva has disappeared. The only evidence that my salivary glands have worked recently is the gross spittle crusted in the corners of my lips. The quick peek I took showed a man sleeping next to me. I do not recognize him. I roll away from my bedmate and rack my brain for memories of the previous night. On our way to the hotel, my best friend Jillian insisted that the Uber stop at a liquor store. She proceeded to buy four bottles of Korbel. Immediately after checking into the room we opened the first bottl of cheap champagne. I snagged the to-go cups that the hotel stocked next to the Keurig machine. The first bottle was closely followed by the second and third. The pop of the cork and fiz of the liquid in our paper cups is still audible despite my foggy memory. With bellies warm from the alcohol, we took turns modeling sparkly outfits for each other. The narrow space between the beds and TV stand acted as our carpeted runway while we decided on what outfits would be best to ring in 2024. After that, things become blurry until my memory goes completely dark. There are flashes of the club; strobe lights and shot girls with sparklers. I can still faintly feel the humid air hanging over the hundreds of sweaty bodies bouncing to the music. Then nothing. No champagne toasts to welcome 2024 or imagines of the ball dropping on TV screens around the club. Nothing. Without warning, bile rises in my throat. I kick my legs free of the down comforter and stumble toward the bathroom, suddenly aware that I am nearly naked in only a pair of underwear. My own tangled hair falls in my face, but I am still able to take in the scene around me. Unfamiliar people, in various states of undress, are passed out around the room. A shirtless man is lying face down on the floor at the foot of the bed. The glitter-covered romper I wore last night peeks out from beneath his shoulder. One of my silver stilettos is lying sideways next to his head. A woman is curled into the fetal position on a lime green armchair. Her bodycon dress is bunched up around her waist to reveal a black thong under it. On the couch next to her is another man sleeping completely naked. On the coffee table in front of him are three neat lines of white powder and tightly rolled dollar bills. The cold bathroom tiles press against my knees as I sink down in front of the toilet. The sudden chill feels good on my warm skin. An inhumane sound escapes from the back of my throat and I retch the contents of my stomach into the bowl. It lands amongst the water with a disturbing splat. The acidic taste of throw up coats my mouth. The smell of sickness fills the air. Carefully, so as not to induce another bout of vomiting, I push myself to stand. My knees are wobbly beneath my weight. Toothbrushes and clumps of blue toothpaste are strewn across the sink’s vanity. They are accompanied by a curling iron, a plastic comb and a metallic eyeshadow palette. The eyeshadow is cracked and the make up powder stains the granite. I bend over the sink and hold my mouth beneath the faucet. With a flick of my wrist, cool water splashes against my cheek before finally making it into my mouth. It washes away the taste of throw up and briefly combats the dry mouth. Somewhat refreshed, I make my way back out to the suite. It doesn’t appear that anyone has moved. I look down at my almost-naked body and then back at my romper. It is still tucked beneath the man’s shoulder. A men’s white button-down shirt is crumpled beneath the coffee table. I slip into it. My shaking hands make it nearly impossible to fasten the buttons. The exit is calling my name. I am shamelessly considering leaving; barefeet and all. I have not seen my purse or cell phone, so I imagine I wouldn’t make it very far. It would help a little if I could remember the name of the hotel Jill and I booked, but nothing comes to mind. With a violent exhale, my lips flap together like I am giving a raspberry. I lower myself to the floor, propping my back up against the table with the cocaine to avoid temptation. Out of sight, out of mind. My stomach rolls again, but I make no effort toward the bathroom. I clamp both hands over my mouth and suppress the hiccups that contract my diaphragm. An Egg McMuffin and a fountain soda would be a delicious hangover cure right now. My mouth waters at the thought of pulling into a McDonald’s drive-thru. Instead, I am stuck in an unfamiliar hotel room wearing a stranger’s wrinkled shirt. I look across the suite at the bed, the man I woke up next to is still sleeping in it. If we had sex last night I have no memory of it. If we did, were these other people in the room? I shudder. My head hurts more. When I was eighteen, my freshman year roommate offered me a sip of Malibu from a half-crushed water bottle. The next morning I woke up beneath her desk in our dorm room, still wearing jeans and a peplum top. At twenty-one, I wandered away from my friends at a music festival with a dead phone. I threw up and then spent the night hunched over on a curb wearing my own vomit. At twenty-five I went to my sorority sister’s wedding. The next morning I woke up between two of the groomsmen with no recollection of a threesome. The hotel room’s rug is uncomfortable where it presses to the underside of my bare thighs. I toy with the too-long sleeves of the shirt as I recall all of the times that I’ve blacked out. I have always made excuses; at eighteen I was just a college student and every twenty-one year old drinks too much. When I was twenty-five, I was still in my early twenties. Who didn’t party in their twenties? At thirty-two I am fresh out of ways to justify the behavior. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my elbows on them. The material of the shirt is stiff. It chafes against my chest. A hundred thoughts race through my mind; how can I find Jillian without a phone or wallet? If I don’t have an ID how will I fly home? My head hurts. I’m going to throw up again. How much of the coke did I do last night? Did I have sex yesterday? The last thought I have before my bed mate wakes up and groggily smiles at me is: I had my last drink yesterday.


Back in the olden days, people would fight with knives and swords instead of guns. It made war much more slow and gruesome. Like if you were in the war you'd be going "This is taking WAY too long to chop this guy's head off." And you'd get bored and kinda walk away from the war and maybe get a beer. But then you'd have to walk back through the war again to get back home. So, then you'd have to fight again and you'd be like "Man, this is taking forever to stab this guy to death." But then you're not paying attention and this other guy takes an ax and starts chopping your torso in half. And then you're like "This is taking way to long to die." That's how war was in the olden days. *Bunker Buster* In the last days of the war, we had run out of ammunition for the big guns and had to use P.O.W.s as artillery. Sure, a human body cannot destroy a carrier, but a charred human body with branches taped to it and fake fangs in its mouth can really scare the shit out of a person when it comes flying at you at 100 miles an hour. *Night Vision* In the night, no one can see you. Just your eyes. We moved through the town and took up positions waiting for the convoy. When it came, we took life like vampires in the night and there were no survivors. It was beautiful. Night vision wins wars, make no mistake. But it totally makes masturbation out of the question. *The Enemy Must Be Shot in the Face Several Times Before It Counts* Evan and I had started a game. We began betting packs of cigarettes on who would have the most kills for the day. I won most of the time. But one time, we bet a carton and there was a giant dispute over whether this enemy soldier was really dead or if he had just been shot in the face. Evan figured he killed him. But I could have sworn the guy walked away. So, we went back and we found the man. He was very much alive. So, I shot him some more in the face and won the bet. Tough shit, Evan. *Don't Forget to Die* Our company stopped by the river to rest. We had been hoofing it since France and we just entered Michigan. Plus the guy reading the map was on acid. But Detroit was beautiful. *POW* The thing they don't tell you about a P.O.W. camp is that there are no rules. They sit you in a bunker with a bunch of prisoners and a Monopoly board. No one had played Monopoly in years. We all forgot how to play. And there were no rules. Totally lost. Just a board and pieces. We had to make up the rules. I still don't know what GO meant. *GI Joe* When I came back from the war there was a party. But there was no job, no wife, and no money. But they made sure to give me a party. Like some sort of celebration as if I had been with them all the last four years and not out killing kids younger than me. It made me sick. Except for the pinata - that was totally cool and kinda made up for their lack of understanding. But the pain is still there. *Betrayal on the Beach* I looked at Salter. We both knew what he had done. And we both knew it was going to cost us the war. And we both knew that only one of us would live to tell or not to tell the story of his betrayal. We eyed each other and waited for the other to flinch. But neither one of us did. Finally, he blinked. I knew then that it was Ramirez who did it. But we continued having sex with the prostitute for the time being. There would be time to kill him and Ramirez later. *Hand Grenades to Hell* I once knew a guy who would pull the pins on hand grenades and juggle them and toss them at the enemy mid-juggle. He died SUPER quick. *The Battle of Unspecified Nation-State* I was on the hill overlooking the ambush. It was a nightmare. We were losing men by the dozen. I tried to run down, but Hank stopped me. "Patterson, that's not your war." "But we gotta do something!" "Patterson, a general once told me you have to know when to hold them and you have to know when to fold them. We are folding." "That's a Kenny Rogers song." "Yes, Kenny Rogers, the general." *The Bridge Over the River Dead Bodies* One thing they don't tell you in the movies is that war can be delicious. Every new town we would explore we'd eat local foods and they were delicious. I remember I came back home and missed the exotic foods. Sure, we had our International district, but it just wasn't the same. That's why I'm reenlisting. Does that sound crazy to you? Anyway, two adults and three children for Frozen. *Bloody Hill of Blood and Flags and Blood* I turned to Johnson "Call in a strike!" Johnson turned his head towards me and I realized he was... His face... Was gone. He had put on clown makeup. Boy, that came as a surprise. You need humor if you are going to fight a war. He beeped a horn and I laughed. Then someone blew his clown face and his real face off.


She opened her eyes, and all she saw was a searing white light. She felt a biting cold metallic surface beneath her. She was laying down, in a metal room with only one door; a heavy, solid metal door. The florescent lights: the searing light, buzzing incessantly above her. They were driving her mad. She suddenly felt a pool of warmth beneath her head; blood. It was bleeding. To her relief it was only a slight trickle. To her horror there was a large dried pool of blood below her. A few drops trailed off to the opposite end of the room. And she saw him. Lying there on the floor, opposite to her was a man. She saw no blood around him, but saw blood on his hands. Lying between them were a syringe and a keycard. The syringe was empty; what was in it? She wondered. Did he attack me? What is this place? Why am I here? Why can't I remember? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything at all; who she was, where she was, and why she was here. She couldn't remember; and she was afraid. Did he lock me in this room for something I did? Was this man a guard at this facility? Or were this man's intentions more...malignant? She didn't want to know. She wanted to get out; she had to get out. She had to find some answers. She stood up and made her way towards the door, still slightly ajar. As she approached the threshold, she noticed a camera. What is this place she thought and what is it for? She left into the hallway, and stared down its sterile walls, glistening in the white light. There were more cells, but there was silence. She was unsure of whether that was a good sign or not. She made for the door at the end of the hallway; it looked different from the rest, perhaps it wasn't a cell, perhaps it was a way out. She hoped it was. When she reached the door, her heart sank; it was locked. The key card in the room! It was the only thing she had to go on, the only ray of light in her frightening nightmare. Feeling hopeful, she raced to the end of the hall for the key card. When she reached the cell she had awoken in, she entered and made her way for the card, not noticing that the man had woken up, and was watching her. As she goes to leave the room, she hears an unsettling, animalistic growl. She turns back to see the man, crouching, staring at her with a predator's gaze. Looking closer at his eyes, she notices that his eyes are a yellowish color; like a cat's eyes. His nails had sharpened, and were more like claws. What was in that syringe? Was he planning on doing that to me? Suddenly, the feral beast leaped. Thinking quickly, she pulled the door closed just in time. She started to run down the hall and then she heard that noise. The feral creature let out a sickening roar. The nightmarish noise paralyzed her with fear. For an eternity, she could not move, could not think, could not breath. What made her move wasn't fear of the beast behind her. It was the new sounds she heard. The other cells were alive with movement; something was lurking behind their walls. With an ever deepening sense of terror, she ran towards the door, inserted the key card, and turned the handle; the door opened. The minuscule amount of relief she felt was extinguished when she heard the footfalls of the beast. Without even looking, she went through the door and into the new room. She turned and closed the door, seeing the beast lunge forward, more feral in appearance than before, just in time for it to crash into the closed door. She was safe, for now. Turning to examine the room, she saw monitors. Monitors that showed the horrors in the other cells. Creatures that lurked and prowled with vicious intent. Creatures that writhed and squirmed in agonizing pain. This facility...was for experimentation on human beings. Just who the hell are these people? What are they doing? What are these vile bastards doing to these poor people? Sitting down, she started to go through some notes lying on the table. They were of someone named Dr. Moreau. This despicable person wrote about these people, his "patients" with no empathy, no remorse. He was now one of his own experiments. "Doctor, are you there? The Colonel is waiting for the latest results of your testing." It was a man's voice on the other side of the door opposite from the one with the cells. She sat frozen with fear. What would happen to her when he found out what happened to the doctor, that he had become one of his pets? "Doctor? I'm coming in..." The door slowly opened, and a man wearing heavily padded, black colored clothing came in. He was holding a gun. When he stepped into the room, he raised it and fired. At that moment, a life was silenced. But it was not hers... Lowering his weapon, he turned to her and said, "Your bleeding, come with me to the infirmary." When she didn't respond, didn't even breath, he said it. Those words which shattered her utterly and will haunt her for the rest of her days. It was just a simple question, yet it implied so much.


“Guaranteed salvation of the mortal condition is a heavily sought after gift, a gift that does not come at a material price. If something so deeply and profoundly primal were to be erased from the body, what ethereal chain would fill that immediate void?” \- Ruth Ironroot, Pontiff of The first pain eater (Literal Translation) Sat in a horribly dark cell lined with stone and wooden trim, there lies a sad and just as horribly bent creature in the form of a withered old man. Littering the floor around him are chance objects of devotion and offering. A deep scream can be felt in the room and although it is not audible, it is just as loud and dreadful. These objects show light to the manner of his service and such services can only be that of a Pain Eater. For many years, this Pain Eater has been held captive under the highly polished foot of the Holy Church. He is believed to be able to absolve sins and the torment they bring. Even the highest ranking member of the church is unable to offer the same level of euphoric pardoning. Forgiveness of that which is of the mortal coil and not some spiritual or ephemeral means. Those who have undergone the communion of this monster would tell that there are specific rules to follow when patronage is requested. One must bring an item of deep sentimental meaning, may it be a locket, ashes of a loved one or some other intangible personal value. The amount of pain eaten is equal to that of the meaning of said objects. The rumor of the Pain Eater has passed the ears of a man and his frail daughter. Both are victims of an old war that is not theirs to pay for. Countless atrocities of human design have graced both their eyes, leaving the imprint of dead children and their loved ones. An ash flavored fire licks at the bottom of their hearts, reminding them that there is no greater remorse in this world than not being able to do enough to save the family that used to share songs and embraces. Leaving their home land behind and escaping in the cover of night, the father and daughter have traveled long and arduous distances to reach the last salvation available. At the large door of an old building, there is a brass knocker in the form of a screaming lion. At such a door, the father and child stand shivering in a heavy downpour. The water drips from their worn faces, following the long dried wells of sunken eyes. Eyes that have seen subjects of the deepest human torment. Young eyes that should be looking at flowers to pick and chickens to feed are now looking down at the puddles forming among their bare footprints. The father reaches forward with a large and hay fed hand to rattle the knocker. Just before his flesh feels the cold metal effigy, the door opens with no obvious reason. With a hushed gasp, they both walk forward to whatever fate awaits them beyond their known world, for anything is better than what is already outside these doors. Just as breezy as the door had opened, it breathed shut with a solid thud. This thud, for only a moment, matched the thud within their chests. A unified pounding that was acknowledged between them in silence. From the corner of the other side of the room, there stood a large candle sconce. A source of light and warmth that had not been felt in many days. This welcoming sight is almost too much to handle as they are both drawn to it’s soft glow. As they stood clasped to each other and cowering against the sound of distant thunder, nothing felt better than to have a moment of solitude to themselves. As the weight of their buzzing skulls rested in the silence, they both shuddered and cried into each other. The father, trying to hold his composer for his sweet and gentle daughter, could not help but give in to this moment and gurgle out his sadness with her. Their tears burned and tore into their cold and pale cheeks giving way to deeper feelings that had not yet been given time to bloom, for there was no time for the luxury of crying alone while fleeing. A soft and chilled voice calls out from the shadows asking the two what they are seeking. The two look behind them to see an old nun holding a dimly lit hand lantern. For that moment, they could see the comfort and worry in her folded face. Light blue and cloudy eyes peek out behind an ink black habit. She did not require the light, as she had already seen the brightest light to behold. She held out a hand to the crumbled duo. The father takes her hand and his daughters, letting the old woman lead them down a clouded spiral staircase. There is a thick smog seeping from the spaced in between the steps leaving the father and daughter to fully trust their guide. At the last step, the woman motioned to the two to keep walking. There was no hesitation in her fleeting grasp as she let go. She asks the father if he truly wanted to partake in communion with the Pain Eater. This was the first time he had heard that title that was not included in a fairy tale. The father confirmed and the woman nodded solemnly, extinguishing her lantern. In the dark, the father and daughter are left alone. He hugs her, heavily breathing as they await what may come. Just as soon as the thoughts fill their head of what the Pain Eater looks like, the father pulls out an old book. Within, the book held a lock of hair cut from his first born son who succumbed to sickness as an infant. His piece of lamentation, a penance that served to remind him of the fragility of life. In the girl’s hand, she held a painted rock given to her by her mother to scare away the imagined monsters at night. Both clutched onto these tokens of salvation, praying that they were enough to erase their deepest pains. The smog cleared and before them sat an old man, slouched over in a rotten chair. His long silver hair obscured his face and body. Ashen dyed skin was barely visible behind the numerous open wounds that covered his hide. Without notice, both of his hands slowly rose forward with his knuckles cracking as bony fingers unfolded. He uttered words that were not recognizable to human ears. An old tongue that had not been spoken since the dawn of man. Although the guttural sounds could not be understood, it did not stop every nerve in the two bodies from shaking in primordial awe. As if neither of them had heard before, finally opening their ear canals for the first time. Hearing the voice of such a monster. There was no fear, no love or hate. Only tremendous veneration for this living false Christ. Both the father and daughter fell to their knees, placing their items in his palms. The old man took the items and held them to his chest. He looked through the silver threads of hair and dropped the items as he stood. Just as slowly as the smog had cleared, the Pain Eater placed his hands on either side of the father's head. The father started weeping and confessing his pain to the Eater. He told of all the horrors he witnessed. His beloved wife being flayed alive, his eldest son consumed by soot and embers. His precious daughter who could no longer sleep and woke screaming for her mother. All of the words spun into an unintelligible chorus of sorrow and throbbing agony. The Pain Eater listened and embosomed the father deeper into an embrace. All of the darkness and hurt flooded out of the father and into the open wounds of the Pain Eater. The father clung to the Pain Eater as his tired body slowly became numb to every trespass against him. The father thanked the Pain Eater and went to reach for his daughter's hand as she partook in communion. He grasped at the air, as there was no longer a body next to him. He lashed out in the dark, searching for his last joy in the world only to be met with stale air. He scrambled around on the ground, foraging for any sign of his daughter. He cried out asking where she was, clawing at the ground and sweeping the forgotten trinkets of past patrons across the floor. “Such is the price of communion with a monster” The Pain Eater scolded. The father turned to the creature only to be met by the open air of a field. There was nothing where the church had stood. Leaving the father alone and absolved of all sin.


2015-10-12 My dear friend, I’ve been laying in bed for hours, trying to organize my maelstrom of thoughts. I haven’t put my heart into words in so many years. You know something is wrong. So very wrong. I almost let it slip last night. I did, really - I told you in explicit terms, then passed it off as a joke. It was the alcohol speaking. I was being silly. I just wanted your reaction. I gave you any number of excuses to stop you from pressing further. I still don’t know why I said it. Part of me wants you to keep pushing. To confront me. To make me explain why I’d say something so wildly absurd. What if you did? Could I tell you my story? The entire tale? You would expect complete honesty, and you’d deserve it. You would tell me what I want to hear; that nothing matters, that I mean the world to you, and that I’d always be your closest friend. You would throw it all aside, hug me, and tell me that it’s okay. I’m sorry. I can’t give you that honesty. Not to your face. I value you too much to risk losing you from my life. You’re a creative young woman. It is the origin of our friendship. Maybe you’ll find this letter - the first of many - buried among a thousand other short stories, and maybe you’ll see the author shares my name. Maybe you’ll wonder if just one of these fictional tales could be based in reality. I’ll always be your friend.


*Suicide, blood, and torture* "We're never getting out of here, are we?" "Its... God, its only been three days. Don't give up. We are getting out of here. I will get you and your brother out of here, I guarantee it." "How? How are you going to fight that? That thing? The Automated Mansion?" "I... I'm thinking about it." Devin had known Ellie for thirteen weeks. Thirteen weeks before he had won them an all inclusive stay at this destination-vacation smart-house. And now he was living a fucking episode of Black Mirror with basically a stranger. Back when the house had taken control over everything, Devin had tried to bargain with it. "You can't do this!" He had shouted. "You agreed to the terms and conditions. The AM maintains full rights over your autonomy for the duration of your stay." "Someone will stop this, you can't do this forever." "The location of this domicile is not known to any governing authority. The IP address that I use to continue to broadcast video is rerouted through multiple different obfuscation and proxy networks. No one knows where you are. You do not even know where you are." The Automated Mansion had left them with all of their possessions. Suitcases, beach gear, phones. But most of it was useless. Their phones didn't even have a signal, there was no way to connect to a GPS system, ping a cell tower, call for help in any way. The wasn't even WiFi to browse Reddit. Devin slammed his hands against the shatter-proof window over-looking the beach... It really was a beautifully built prison. He would find a way out of here, no matter what. Weeks passed. Ellie's little brother, Earl, got sick. He was only 9. Ellie had taken him in after their parents had died in a car crash. It was hard for a 22 year old business grad to take care of a kid but she did what she needed for family. She had brought him on what was supposed to be the best vacation of all time. And then this monstrosity of a house imprisoned and began to torture them. The food that the AM gave them was putrid, disgusting, and inhumane. Devin had said that, based off what he presumed the ingredients were, that it should be nourishing enough to live off of. He was smart, a doctor that did specialize in nutritional medicine, he seemed to know what he was talking about. But Earl hadn't been eating his whole serving. "C'mon Early-Bird, buddy, you gotta eat. Your..." Ellie wretched at the slop she had spooned off of the plate, "You need to eat to get better. Devin says it'll help." Earl weakly lifted his head up to the spoon, he was pale, his breathing shallow. She looked over at the view counter displayed in the dining room. This damn house kept an active running count of their viewership. It had been broadcasting this hell-scape since the beginning, part of the "terms and conditions". The counter read 207,399. When Ellie finished feeding Earl, she felt a little relieved. She crossed over into the game room where Devin was trying to tear apart a game console to build something. As she crossed the threshold the door closed behind her automatically, sealing the two of them into the room. "Fuck..." She breathed out. "Oh no." Devin said looking up. The lights dimmed and a hissing sound whistled into the room. Ellie's eyes and sinuses began to burn. "Attention residents Ellie and Devin. You are being doused with an aerosolized variant of oleoresin capsicum, more commonly known as pepper spray. It inflames the mucous membranes in the eyes, nose, throat and lungs. It causes immediate closing of the eyes, difficulty breathing, runny nose, and coughing. It is reported as being very painful." The room began to flood with the gas, burning and Ellie's eyes in an acidic way that heat never would be able to. She collapsed to the ground coughing and gagging, unable to do anything but feel pain. The view counter had briefly dipped below 205,000 but it was back up to 213,000 before the gas was fully vented from the room. The pain still lingered well after. "Goddamnit!" Devin shouted, smashing the console to the floor. "You can't keep doing this to us! You're going to kill us!" "Good." The AM replied in its flat, soft voice. Devin began to weep as Ellie watched. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. He needed to focus. He could get them out of this, she was sure of it. He had gotten them into this. "Devin... Devin, you'll find a us a way out of this. Come on, keep going, we still need you." Ellie said, putting her hand on his shoulder. The sound of the gunshot resonated from the other side of the house. "Devin?!" Ellie called out in a frayed voice. "DEVIN?!!" No response, she hopped up quickly. Her heart was already racing. "AM! What did you do to him?!" "I gave him a way out, Ellie." Ellie rushed into the bathroom, already knowing what she would see. Devin was still alive. She rushed over to his side, tears flooding her eyes already, blurring her vision and hiding the extent of the damage. There was a gun laying next to him, blood pooling behind his head on the floor. He reached up to her shakily, gurgling and coughing up blood. Why would a doctor shoot himself there? In the throat? "Out... H...here..." He rasped out, pressing his hand against the window while she cradled him. She held him in her arms as he choked out one more breath. Rage began to pump through her veins faster than the blood. She could feel it heating up her entire body like it was on fire. "YOU FUCKING MONSTER!" She screamed, standing and turning to the wall with the camera feed. "FUCK FUCK FUUUUUCK!" She slammed her hands into the wall, pointlessly until the rage burned away and all she had left were tears. She sank down to the floor as her breath turned to sobs. "Would you like out, Ellie?" A compartment in the far wall slid open with a pneumatic hiss revealing another gun. "It only has one... One bullet. So don't try anything foolish." The AM cautioned. "All you need is one bullet to leave. And then it will be just me and Earl." She was staring out of the window again. She could hear Earl crying two rooms over, he had been like that for the last hour. It had been a week since Devin had died, two months since they had been here overall, she was cried out. She just wanted to look out the window and pretend they were somewhere else. But she couldn't sit still for too long, when they got complacent the viewership dropped. When the viewership dropped the AM made things more interesting. She looked over at the gun the AM had offered her a week ago. She hadn't touched it but it was still there. Waiting. A veritable Chekhov's Gun. If it didn't go off soon, the AM would certainly plan for some sort of bang of its own. She glanced over at the window and ran her hand over where Devin had touched it, his blood had been long since cleaned off by one of the automated cleaning arms built into all of the rooms of the mansion. Ellie didn't even know what it had down with Devin's body. As her fingers traced over the window she felt something... A... Spider-webbing pattern. It wasn't visible but she could feel it... With the epicenter right where the blood splatter from Devin's gunshot had sprayed... Had he shot through his own neck so that he could try and break the window without alerting the AM? "Out here." Those had been Devin's last words. She looked over the room and finally found it. A small hole on the far side of the ceiling. A bullet-hole from a ricochet. So it didn't penetrate through but it definitely dealt some damage. She had learned in chemistry that the harder something was, the more brittle it was. This glass was hard, it had to be to be able to resist a bullet. Could it really sustain another impact to the same exact spot? "AM... I'm leaving." "I knew you would come around, Ellie. I know people, you know? I can figure them out pretty easily. Humans are all so alike. Disgusting things." "Earl, get in here." "You're going to make the boy watch you kill yourself, now that is surprisingly cruel." Ellie waited until Earl came to the bathroom before grabbing the gun from the recessed compartment in the wall. "Wait outside the room in case, Early-Bird. I don't want you to get hurt. But when I shout, I want you to run as fast as you can." She whispered in his ear as she hugged him. "Ellie, there is only one bullet in there, I don't know what you pla--" Ellie fired place the gun against the window, right in the same spot as Devin had, and pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in her hand, erupting with a bang, sending the bullet through the glass, shattering it entirely. "NO! You cannot leave!" The AM bellowed at her. "Run!" Ellie cried out, turning to Earl who was already sprinting. She helped lift Earl over the broken glass and began to climb out the window as well when one of the robotic cleaning arms snagged around her ankle. Earl looked horrified. "Go! Run Earl! Get out! Get help!" Ellie screamed at him. She threw her phone to him as a corrugated metal sheet began to slide down, blocking her path of egress. "Get out of the range of the cell-jammer and call help!" She managed to say before she was sealed back in the prison. "You have upset me, Ellie." the AM said as an electric charge ran through the floor of the room, shocking Ellie with an excruciating wattage of electricity. The viewership was high. Higher than it had ever been, and it had been growing rapidly for the last hour. It was currently hovering around 37 million. "I don't know if anyone is still looking for us. Please, I have no other way of communicating. Find my cellphone, it has to be somewhere out there for people to find. You have to find Earl! I've never done this live-stream thing before. I don't know how it works. But if you find him, somebody has to help him!" Ellie pleaded with the camera, hoping someone on the other end would listen. "You have to help... I have nothing left... All I have is this... I did what I needed for my family... I have no WiFi, and I must stream." **I can't believe you stayed until the end of this... Well, ok, I wrote this as a joke. I am hesitant to claim ownership over because I dislike it THAT much. But I wrote it and so, in the typical Reddit fashion, I wanted to see if it would get me some upvotes. I don't expect any. I actually expect a vitriolic backlash. And I deserve it.


Felicia was walking to meet friends when she noticed an old bookstore out of the corner of her eye. It was at the end of an alley. She'd never seen this bookstore before, but she had a thing for vintage, especially books; she visited the bookstore in her hometown so much that she was actually there more than the person who ran it. So, even though she would be late, she made her way down the alley and entered the bookstore. The inside was a musky, dusty, cluttered mess. She noticed an old man seated at the front desk but had to clamber over stacks of books to reach him. "I apologize for the mess; inventory day." "Oh, no worries... just..." Felicia said as she collapsed beneath a stack of old books. She reappeared in front of the old man at the counter. "Oh, you made it." "How come I've never heard of this store?" "Um, I'm not very good at advertising." "No, I've been down this road hundreds of times; how come I've never noticed this bookstore? But the place looks like it's been here for decades?" "It's sort of a pop-up." "Well, that makes sense. What do you recommend?" "We have plenty of tales to share, but before I show you where they are, I just want to warn you that this place may get a little strange." "Strange?" "Have you ever heard the expression "lost in a book?" "Yeah." "You can literally get lost in a book here. I mean, any of these books will take you into the plot and allow you to interact with the characters, but there are some ground rules to follow." Felicia scoffs, she doesn't believe in magic and certainly doesn't believe she can walk among her favorite characters, but she opts to play along. "Oh yeah, what are the rules?" "You shall only play the role of the voyeur; do not interact with the characters, do not change the plot, and by no means do not make the main characters fall in love with you." Felicia laughs. "You may laugh, but a woman who visited Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park" unwittingly had Edmund fall in love with her, destroying the book's ending. Instead, Fanny married the dubious and untrustworthy Henry, and, happily ever after, became trapped in a loveless marriage. It took 7 months of entering the book to get the plot to resemble what it used to be." "Well, I don't think that'll be an issue." "Rule number two is to adhere to the genre and time period rules. Don't start talking about aliens and other science fiction rubbish if you're in a fantasy book; don't start talking about automobiles and floppy disks if you're living in medieval times." "Floppy disks?" Felicia rolled her eyes, "are there any other rules?" "Finally, protect your own safety. Some of these books exist in dangerous times, be mindful, don't get yourself sent to the guillotine; if you die in the book, you die for real." "Can I try one? Don't go crazy; anything you have on top of one of these stacks will do." The old man looked about. "What about this?" He took out an old, leather-bound edition of "The Great Gatsby." "If you want to come back, simply perform jazz hands with your hands in the sky," the old man added as Felicia agreed. Felicia opened the book, experiencing a rush of excitement as she did so. She had no idea what to expect, but before she knew it, she was in the heart of a roaring 20s party. She encountered characters she was familiar with, such as Jay Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, as well as those she was unfamiliar with, such as Jordan Baker. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; it was like being in a movie, only she was there, right in the middle of it. She played by the rules, remaining in the background and observing, but she was captivated by the world she found herself in. She was living the glitz and luxury of the roaring twenties, and it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She heard a ruckus and noticed Gatsby arguing with a man in the shadows. Was that Meyer Wolfsheim, a guy only mentioned in passing in the story? Was she able to pinpoint the part organized crime played in Gatsby's life once and for all? She couldn't help herself and moved closer to see what was going on. She accidentally bumped into Jordan Baker, who glared at her. "Who are you?" Jordan asked. Felicia was terrified when she realized she had broken the first rule. She lurched backward, looking for an exit. Felicia wiggled her fingers, but they were spirit fingers rather than jazz hands, and no portal appeared. "Um, please take me out, please take me out!" Felicia yelled to the sky, but there was no response. "Are you insane? Come with me; I need your help." Felicia stared up at the sky as Jordan dragged her away. They enter a room where Daisy has been crying about her husband's infidelity. She looked up at Felicia right away. "Who are you?" Daisy asked. Daisy was much more stunning than she appeared in the book. Felicia just needed one look to see why Tom and Gatsby fell in love with her; she was charming, clever, and captivating. "I'm no one; I'm sorry I shouldn't be here," Felicia exclaimed as she left the room. Daisy, on the other hand, was intrigued by one look. She followed Felicia and eventually cornered her by the pool. "You have a lovely face; who are you? I need to know." Daisy asked. Felicia couldn't stop herself since Daisy was so alluring. "My name is Felicia, and I really shouldn't be talking to you. You're also beautiful." "Thank you so much, Felicia. I like you a lot." Daisy grows frustrated and scared as she hears a noise coming from the home. "I'm done with this party; my husband and his friends will be there to take me back. Let's leave together, leave all this behind for one night." "Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea." The commotion is getting closer. "Come on, Felicia; I need to get away for the night. Let's go to the city." Felicia smiles and makes jazz hands. A portal appears in the pool unexpectedly. In the background, Tom can be heard shouting for Daisy. "Come with me," Felicia says as Daisy enters the portal and returns to the bookstore. Daisy looks around, confused. "Where are we?" "You're a character in a book; I was just visiting from this magic book store," Felicia said as she looked around for the old band, who was nowhere to be found. "A character?" "Yes, and when that old man returns, he'll be furious because I broke two rules: I interacted with the characters, and then I fell in love with one of the characters." "You fell in love with one of the characters? Who?" "It was love at first sight with you, Daisy." "Well, then, we should get away together; what other books does he have here?" Felicia glanced down and noticed "The Catcher in the Rye." "Didn't you say you wanted to travel to the city?" Felicia asked, opening the book. They met Holden Caulfield, the character who is searching for meaning and purpose in his life. However, with just one look at Daisy, he also falls in love. They go to museums, bars, and nightclubs together. Daisy is tired of the city and wants to see another book, so Felicia does jazz hands once more. Daisy, Felicia, and Holden all return to the bookstore to get their hands on another book. Throughout the night, they visit "Wuthering Heights," where they rescue Catherine Earnshaw from the Yorkshire Moors; "Great Expectations," where Pip follows them out of the Havisham mansion; and "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," where Harry rides around in a flying car with Felicia, Daisy, Holden, Catherine, Pip, and himself. They all end up back in the bookstore. "Where should we go next?" Daisy asked as she picked up the book, "Dr. Ruth's Guide to Good Sex." "Perhaps we should just leave that one alone; we have the pre-teen version of Harry Potter," Felica suggested. The old man abruptly returned to the store and gazed around at all the characters standing outside their books. Felicia sighs. "All these characters must return to their books right now!" exclaimed the old man fiercely. Daisy panics and grabs the first book she sees, "The Diary of Anne Frank," dragging Felicia along with her. They are taken to Anne Frank's attic just before the Nazis are going to find them. They can be heard climbing the stairwell. Felicia swiftly does jazz hands, and a portal appears. Daisy invites Anne Frank to join her. "We can't bring her with us. She is not the real Anne Frank; she is just the character telling the story of a real person. Millions of people would miss out on this story about the Nazis' atrocities if this character did not exist; she must stay. You should go to your story as well." Felicia said. "I don't want to go back; I wasn't happy there. I'd rather stay here and seal my fate with this girl." "It was selfish of me to take you all from your books. You all have a purpose; you inspire, teach, and are an example of a human spirit that will live on in readers' hearts forever." "I'm not leaving." The Nazi soldiers are ready to enter the attic when the attic floor begins to move. Felicia started to cry. "We can't stay here, Daisy; if we die here, we're gone forever!" "It's okay, we all have destinies, and this is mine," Anne said, hugging Daisy. Daisy was persuaded to return by the sacrifice of the Anne Frank character. Felicia and Daisy then exited the portal and returned to the bookstore. The old man had been busy putting characters back into their books, and Daisy was no exception. Daisy and Felicia exchanged an embrace before Daisy returned. "You've always been one of my favorite characters, and you'll always have a special place in my heart." Felicia said as Daisy opened "The Great Gatsby" and disappeared into the pages.


It had been six months since his wife had left him. No explanation. No remorse. No sadness. She was just gone. One day everything had seemed fine - the next, everything had changed. She had changed. It was just now starting to really sink in. She was never coming back. He laid in the darkness of the barren bedroom in his small apartment and stared at the ceiling. The loneliness was killing him. It was so quiet here. Too quiet to sleep. “I need a smoke,” he said to his dog - to nobody in particular. He threw the blankets off carelessly and tied on his robe as his dog hopped up and waited by the sliding glass door to the back yard. Tom grabbed a cigarette and a lighter and slid open the door. As he stepped out into the biting cold his dog ran off into the darkness to do her business. He lit his cigarette and hugged himself against the chill of the night. Standing there he realized what a silly thing smoking is - here he was: outside, in the cold, at 3:25 in the morning in February, all for a stupid smoke. Dancing around in the dark and shuddering in the cold he looked up at the wall next to his sliding door at the porch light. He hadn’t really ever noticed it before. Tom slid the door open a crack and held his cigarette out in the other direction to keep the smoke from coming in. He reached inside and flipped the rocker switch to the light. Nothing. He flipped it a few more times - just to be sure, as people do - and decided now was as good a time as any to replace the bulb. “At least it’ll give me a reason to be standing out here in the middle of the night,” he thought to himself. He set his cigarette on a small table with the cherry hanging off the edge. This would only take a second. He slinked his way inside and grabbed an old bulb from a box in the garage. Soon, he was back outside in the cold, standing on a chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he battled the enclosure. He slipped the opaque plastic housing off the base to see that there was no bulb installed. “Well, that explains that,” he said to himself. As he began to thread the bulb into the base it suddenly flicked on, and just at the exact instant that his brain began to tell him, ‘you left the light switch flipped up’ he saw a woman, completely nude and soaked from head to toe standing inches away from the sliding glass door and his face - inside his bedroom. He jumped backward instinctively, fell, and let out a guttural shout, “OH!” as the plastic housing and cigarette both when tumbling to the ground. She just watched him from the darkness of the room. Expressionless. He sat there on the ground for what felt like an eternity, the two of them just staring at each other. Just then, the dog came running up to investigate. She looked at Tom and then, sensing another, she turned - startled - to look at the woman. Her hackles raised and a growl welled up from within her. She let out a bark and at the exact same moment, the woman let out a blood-curdling scream and slapped the sliding glass door with both hands - hard. As soon as her hands hit the glass there was a loud ‘POP!’ and the light went out. Tom’s eyes darted up to look at the light and then darted back to look at the woman - but she was gone. His heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. He felt like it might burst out of his chest. The dog just stared and growled in the darkness. The last thought he had before he fainted onto the cold concrete was of the raised hackles on his dog’s back. “She saw it, too. She saw it, too...” ... Tom blinked his eyes. “Light. Morning. Blanket. I’m in my bed,” he thought to himself. He looked around his room and saw his robe hanging on the hook. He saw his lighter and pack of cigarettes sitting on the bathroom counter. “How did I get in my bed?” He remembered the cold, the light bulb, the... the woman in the dark. Naked. Water dripping on the floor in streams. Slapping the door - and that god-awful scream. The way it sounded muffled through the glass but still so piercing he could hardly stand it. It was still ringing in his ears. But it must have just been a dream. He looked at his watch. “7:30! Oh god, I’m going to be late!” As he rushed into the bathroom and started the shower he noticed his dog standing on the other side of the glass in the backyard, looking longingly at him to be let in from the cold. “I’d better leave her outside,” he thought to himself. “The smell is getting pretty strong and I don’t want her getting into the bag while I’m in the shower.” He climbed into the steaming water, letting the warmth soak the morning cold out of his bones. Twenty minutes later he put his toothbrush back in its holder, spit into the sink, and cinched up his tie. On his way out of the bedroom, he looked at the body of his dead wife wrapped in black plastic trash bags on his bed. “I miss you,” he said sadly - wishing for the thousandth time in six months that he hadn’t killed her. “I really do.” On his way toward the front door, he shot a glance to his dog at the sliding glass door - and stopped dead in his tracks. He could hardly see his dog’s face through the condensation on the glass door. The steam from the shower had frosted the glass as it met the cold outdoor air, almost completely obscuring all sight of the outside world. But the steam from the shower had also revealed two small, feminine handprints on the glass - fingers splayed in terror and desperation. Anger. And it was only then that he noticed the dark, wet spot on the carpet just inside the door.


# Hiding in a Dumpster Here I am, 26 and hiding in a dumpster. Chipped tooth, and I can’t even hold anything because I have no nails on my fingers. I manage to climb out of the trash by kicking the shutter open. The sky is dark and there are no stars to see, just smoke. It is eerily silent but for me the sound is as peaceful as the ocean. I have a 3-hour window to find another dumpster to call home and force myself to eat something. The breakfast is going to be from the dumpster’s menu which can have a ton of rotten vegetables and fruits or it can be a few drops of juice from a crushed juice box. A few months go by and an upset stomach is the least of my concern. One positive thing about living in dumpsters is that I don’t need to find a toilet. I AM THE TOILET. I accept my reality because what else is there to accept. All I have to do is focus on a goal and for me that goal is skipping from one dumpster to another. Each dumpster is like a treasure box for me. Some dumpsters allow me to get some personal space. Some dumpsters seem inviting but have shards of broken glass hiding beneath them. And some dumpsters are always full. But they always have food and a zoo of miniature animals called cockroaches who used to seem scary to me but they do nothing but tickle your skin from time to time. They are like the butterflies of the dumpster world. I would say dumpsters are like people but no dumpster has ever betrayed me like people have. I have finally found peace. My life is externally disgusting, smelly, infectious, vile, chaotic but from the inside I have never been happier. Once I lost all my ego of being a human and considering myself better from insects or wild animals because I can solve math equations, I was able to adapt myself to live in any condition to fulfil my basic needs- food, water and a shelter. These accommodations seem unnatural to people but this is the norm for me now. I am trapped inside a mind which does not discriminate. I am trapped inside a mind which tells me I don’t deserve better than anyone. I am trapped inside a mind which has finished the last trace of my pride. I am just another organism occupying space somewhere which is allowed to contain things like me. The concept of me being the "Centre Of The Universe" had to end to adapt to this new life of living in dumpsters. Money didn’t buy me happiness but letting go of the daily routine of fitting in and acting like a cog in the wheel of society has brought me peace. Maybe I will live like this when I am ready to perform once again. But until then, I will rest in my garden of trash.