I woke up screaming, underwater, borne along at high speeds by a current of tightly-packed, bloody, smelly bodies just like mine. We filled the red river we were in from top to bottom like a massive migration of sardines. Stale, sweat-filled water rushed into my mouth, but I didn’t care. I was gonna scream for a while. Once I was done screaming I listened, and heard several other people in the current of bodies screaming too. For a little while I started up again and joined them, harmonizing on some wails and moans with the strangers next to me, packed together like the pipes of a wind chime. We sounded pretty nice. It hit me that I hadn’t breathed in a while, and that all the underwater screaming hadn’t forced me to surface for air, which I found strange--I had by *far* the smallest lungs of all my brothers and sisters. I rolled this around in my brain for a minute, and realized that I didn’t know why I was in a roiling torrent of 10% bloody water, 90% live human bodies, either. I didn’t know much of *anything,* come to think of it. I decided to surface and see what was what. I kicked off the guy below me and paddled upwards through the stacked, floating bodies, most of them wounded and bleeding in one way or another, turning the river a deep crimson. The amount of light around me made me think that I was close to the surface--but as I swam upwards, pushing arms and legs aside, my fingers occasionally brushing faces, noses, mouths--I realized this river was *deep.* The light level stayed consistent as I ascended through the floating, bleeding crowds of thousands of people, as if light itself was flowing through the river too, illuminating the faces and bodies of every shape and size of person. The light was an orange-red. I had the thought that this must be what it’s like to be inside a vein. Finally, after something like twenty minutes of ascending, I pushed aside a big, sticky man, kicked off a smaller woman below me with both feet, and felt my fingertips enter something that was unmistakably not liquid, although it was still heavy and thick with fumes. One more push, my head broke the surface, and I grabbed on to the guy I had pushed aside like a piece of driftwood, throwing my elbows up onto his belly and dragging myself aboard. He didn’t seem to notice. I took some deep breaths of the foul air although by this point I knew I didn’t need to breathe, and had a look at the landscape surrounding the fast-moving river of bodies. The first thing I noticed was that wherever I was seemed to be completely flat, free of the limiting curvature of the earth. As such, I could see for countless miles in every direction, the only obscurant the hazy stink and fumes emitting from the people around me. The sky was deep blood red, hanging with heavy black clouds. They seemed to routinely fall onto the steel-grey plains all in one piece like anvils and explode on the ground below, blossoming out into flowers of jet-black liquid that flowed into the tributaries and lakes linked to the massive river I was in. I wondered if every single waterway in my view was filled with bodies too. The river we all flowed through seemed to stretch on forever, every inch coursing with human bodies. I wondered just how deep it was--and more importantly, how I got here. After a few more seconds of unproductive musing, I decided to ask the man whose belly I clung to like a life raft. “Hey!” Nothing. “Hey--big man!! Big fella! Wake up!” He slowly lifted his head out of the water and looked at me. He was not a pretty sight, eyes sunken deep into his head, deep cuts slashing the sallow skin that clung to his cheeks, jowls that hung low and rested against his neck--but his voice was warm and kind. “Yeah?” “I was wondering if you knew where we are.” The big fella looked around as if he were just sort of taking things in for the first time, and he looked back at me with horror in his eyes. He spoke in a low whisper. “I don’t know.” “Any guesses?” I watched a little tear form in his eye as he realized his answer. “I think we’re dead, kid. I think I think this is hell.” I looked around and thought about this. Where we were did *certainly* correlate with depictions of hell that I’d seen. I did have no memory of how I got here, and the screams that surrounded us and bubbled out of the depths of the river sounded a lot like the screams of the damned. The red sky, the gunmetal plains, the river of living corpses--all of it had a distinctly hell-esque flavor that I couldn’t deny. One of the damned below grabbed my leg. I jumped like a spooked cat and pulled myself fully onto the big fella, legs and all, and sort of balanced on him on all fours like he was a surfboard. The water and his mass were buoyant enough to keep us afloat, and he seemed so disturbed by his own revelation that he didn’t mind me riding on his stomach. I’m a pretty small guy, anyway. While he processed his emotions, I tried to see where the river was flowing towards. It meandered and coiled like a snake towards the faraway horizon, cutting the empty grey plains in twain-- but I could see no end. I turned back to Big Fella, who had started to cry and quake with sobs, threatening to send me back into the drink. “Hey now--cut that out! We’re gonna be okay, man! We’re in a dream--we can’t be dead! I don’t remember dying!” He sniffled and wiped his tears away. “I do.” I looked at him and knew he was telling the truth. My heart sank. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. Dead sure.” I sighed deeply and prayed that this was a nightmare. “How’d it happen, man?” “Some guy broke into my house late at night--my wife heard, and she woke me up. I grabbed the gun that I kept under the bed--” “Holy shit. That’s nuts. I’ve always wanted a gun under my bed.” “Yeah--so--so I went down the stairs, only I’m so *big*, you know--I can’t stop the stairs from creaking, and he heard me, the burglar, and he--he was faster than me, and dressed in all black, and he shot at me--” “He had a gun too?” “Yeah. He had some pistol.” “Did he hit you?” “No--that time he missed. I dodged him.” “You *dodged a bullet?”* “You tell me. I ducked and it didn’t hit me.” “Damn. Then what?” “I raised the gun to try to shoot, but he was so quick--and he shot me for real that time, in the chest, and I went head over heels down the stairs--and, and--we always had this big fucking picture window at the bottom of the stairs and I always told my wife, honey, we shouldn’t have a window there, someone’s gonna trip down these slippery old wooden stairs and go right out the window--” “So you fell through the window.” “Yeah. Landed right on my head and I woke up here.” “Geez.” I sat with that for a little bit. The current of bodies behind us raised up in a giant wave and crashed on us, and I held tight to Big Fella as we were buffeted by limbs and bloody water. Slowly we evened back out and continued moving with the current at the clip we were before. “You think he got your wife too? The burglar?” “I hope not. I don’t wanna see her--it’d be too embarrassing. I hope she knows I was trying to protect her before I tumbled out of the window like one of the three stooges, though.” I laughed a little bit and thought. Big Fella seemed to be warming up to me, his little passenger. I looked around at all the people around us. They all bore the wounds of their deaths, but no one was dead--most of them were just sleeping, breathing quietly, undisturbed by the screams from below. Some were clothed in soaking garments, some nude--me and Big Fella were thankfully both clothed. He interrupted my thoughts. “How did you kick the bucket?” “I don’t remember.” “Think about it. It’ll come back to you. It did for me.” I thought as hard as I possibly could and saw a few images--an axe, one of my brothers, a can of green paint. The images seemed--severed. Disconnected. Suddenly, some skinny guy with a bullet hole in his forehead poked his head out from the mass of bodies right next to us. He didn’t look like anyone else in the river--he looked strong, healthy--fully awake. His eyes were shining a little bit. I called out to him. “Hey! Do you know where we are?” The guy treaded blood and looked over to us. His face lit up. “You guys are awake?” “Isn’t everyone else?” He glanced out at the endless deluge of bodies. “Not really. Most people wake up and freak out for a while, and then go back to sleep. It’s rare you get people who are really moving around.” Big Fella piped up. “Are we in hell?” “I don’t think so. I think everybody comes here after they pass on--I think this river’s all there is.” “How do you know that?” “I swim around a lot. If you get strong enough you can move around as you like and see a lot of people. I’ve met a lot of great people, world leaders, pastors, missionaries, all that. Everyone who would be supposed to go to heaven is here, I think.” I jumped in, even though I knew I was gonna derail the conversation. “My brother cut my head off.” Big Fella and the swimmer stared at me. “What the hell did he do that for?” “I don’t remember. I just remember him cutting my head off. That’s how I died.” “I guess that makes sense. I was gonna ask you about the big cut on your neck.” “...I think it was something about paint.” The two of them were silent for a while after I said that. I didn’t blame them--I didn’t really know what to say either. Finally I broke the silence. “Is there an end to the river?” The swimmer looked at me with sort of a sheepish smile on his face. “I’ve been here a couple hundred years--I swam once for a few decades, straight forward. Swam through the 80’s, the 70’s, through the 1500s, the Roman Empire, all the way back to cavemen-- every single person’s arranged in time order of when they died unless people break rank and swim around--and ahead of the cavemen was just empty, dark red water, going on for as far as I could see. Same thing if you go backwards far enough. Sometimes it’s fun to hang out in the back and watch all the new people pop in and start freaking out. But not that fun.” “You ever try to get out of the river and walk across the plains?” “It’s boiling hot. I tried for a little and it was just too much--jumped right back in.” I came down from all fours and laid on top of Big Fella like a lizard sunning itself on a boulder. He didn’t mind. “So it’s just the river, forever.” “I think so, yeah.” “You ever look for your family or anything like that?” “Too many people. The river’s a couple miles deep, at least, and there’s people occupying every single inch for miles. Couldn’t find ‘em. Billions of people here.” We all thought about that for a while. “Why’s everyone sleeping?” The swimmer smiled the same sort of sorry-to-deliver-the-news type smile. “It’s just how it goes. People wake up, they figure out where they are, someone lets them know the river goes on forever, they thrash around for a while, then they go to sleep as often as they can. Some people prefer up top, some like it way down below. There’s a couple swimmers like me who go around meeting people. It all gets old after a while. It’s mostly just boring once you get past the initial horror of it.” Me and Big Fella stared at him, and he tried to not look too sad. Big fella spoke, quietly. “Is God anywhere?” The swimmer looked even sadder, and gave a tiny shake of his head. “Well--I should go. Maybe I’ll see you guys around, huh?” “Yeah.” “Yeah. See ya around.” With that, the swimmer ducked his head back under the waves of people and was gone. Me and Big Fella were all alone, surrounded by every single person who had ever died, screaming or sleeping or letting themselves be carried by the current. “You gonna go look for your wife?” “Maybe later. I don’t know if she’s dead, anyway. I’ll wait a few years--maybe she’ll forget how stupidly I went out. You gonna go find your brother and get revenge?” “He *definitely* won’t be dead for a few more years.” We looked at each other, me and Big Fella, and we sort of had a moment together, and both of our eyes filled with tears as we thought about where we were. I don’t know why, but I put my head down on his chest and hugged him tight, and he hugged me back. His chest was warm and when he spoke I could feel his diaphragm rumble. “What’s your name?” “Tommy.” “That was my son’s name.” “What’s yours?” “Jim.” “D’you mind if I call you big fella?” “That’s alright with me.” “Cool.” Jim yawned real big, and I did too. I took a look around at the fast-flowing current, at the people’s wounds, at the stench and fumes rising from their bodies. I imagined all the people, slumbering miles below, filling the river with their never-ending blood, wrapped up in a blanket of silence and dark. I thought of my brothers and sisters and tried to think of why they would decapitate me over paint, and then decided I’d rather not remember. I hugged Big Fella tighter, and he did the same to me. Before we knew it we were both asleep in each others’ arms, borne along by the endless, boring river of blood to a destination we would never reach.


“Ideally, you would spit game back but I don’t want to pressure you” read the text that followed dozens of previous racy, flirty ones. She didn’t want to. She thought that was okay. They were just friends, co-workers. She's on the night shift and suddenly, she hears commotion behind her. She turns around to see him standing at the front counter, staring at her. He thought it was sweet to visit her. He greeted their mutual co-workers yet his eyes remained on her. The cashier turned to her with a slight smirk, “What’s up with the way he’s looking at you? You need to explain that”. She brushes it off and she waves goodbye. He stays and at every turn of her head, she saw his eyes on her. He leaves, without notice, without a goodbye, without acknowledgment. She is relieved. She heads to the back room for her break. Her phone dings. “I couldn’t stop looking at you, I’m glad I got to see you. Do you want to meet up after you get off?” Conflicted, she asks if she could let him know after work to see how tired she is. Off the clock, she prepares her text explaining she was too exhausted to meet up but she opened the conversation to “I’m in the parking lot across the street.” She feels obligated to go now. She didn’t want to. They had been there before, once, when he first admitted to having feelings for her. She had said she didn’t feel the same, she needed time, she wasn’t ready. She thought that was okay. She pulls up in the parking lot next to his mom’s car that he drove everywhere. All the stores were closed. It was nearly empty. They talked about their days, work, and then - a moment of silence. She knew what he was going to do. She looked away, around, pointing out things in the parking lot, changing the subject, distracting. The two laughed at the man who drove up just to piss on a cinderblock. They smiled at the cat that wandered past her car. They placed bets when the openers for the stores would arrive. It was nearing 3am. 5 seconds of silence. That’s all it took. He approached her and wrapped his arms around her. At first, she didn’t reciprocate. She didn’t want to. She gave in anyway. What could be so harmful about a hug? He backs up and tilts her chins upward and stares at her. She knows. She turns her head. He turns it back. He leans in to kiss her. Instinctively, she moves her head. The kiss lands on her cheek. He tilts her head back in place and kisses her. She kisses back the first two times. He keeps going. She puts her head down. He tilts it back and keeps going. She stops kissing back. He keeps going. She says, “no, we can’t.” He keeps going. She pulls away. He pushes her against the car. He keeps going. His arms around her, he won’t let go. He lifts her shirt to touch her skin. He keeps going. She can feel his fingers brush the clasp of her bra. She can feel his heartbeat. She can feel everything. He pulls her body against his, too close. She can feel her chest tighten. She’s trapped. He jokes around how easy it was to steal a kiss. She doesn’t laugh. They sit against her car on the ground. He wraps her in a blanket he brought and readjusts himself so his head lies on her thighs. They talk for hours. She tries to explain how they shouldn’t pursue a relationship, how they wouldn’t work out, how it was too hard. She didn’t want to be with him. She thought that was okay. He dismissed every remark and continued with stories about himself. He said they could make it work, “they had to.” Why did they have to? She moves her leg to indicate it’s time to leave. Nothing. Again, she shakes her leg. He sits up, shoulder to shoulder. He mentions how small her feet are, how short her legs are, and how cute she is. They laugh it off. Seconds of silence, that’s all it took. He slides his hands in between her thighs. Yet, she moves her legs away. Disregarding that body language, he lifts her left thigh and puts it on top of his and repeats with her right. She’s too close to him. His hands brush her thighs, her arms, her cheek. She knows. She turns away. He turns her body back toward him. She points out how late it’s getting. She looks up at the gloomy sky, wishing to disappear, only wanting to breathe. She feels a raindrop fall on her forehead. He wipes it off and stares at her as he caresses her face. She knows. Water fills the ground. “Thank God,” she thought. She gets up to leave. He’s upset, pleads for more time. She denies. “Before you go, I wanted to at least slow dance with you tonight.” It sounded planned, she thought, what else did he plan that night? Before she gets the chance to respond, he hits play. As Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love rings in her ear, he pulls her close. So close, she can feel her imbalance. She pushes back. Just a little more space. This will be over soon. As the lyrics looped in her head, all she could think about was how she rather could help falling in love. He pulls her closer. She pulls away. He pulls her back. Again and again. She counts the verses, waiting. She drowns her thoughts with the sound of the fresh rain against the concrete. She feels his hands brush the droplets of water off her skin. “For I can’t help falling in love,” finally the last line. She begins to walk away, bidding goodnight. He pulls her back into an embrace. He brings her chin up to look at her face to face. She knows. She chuckles and walks away. In almost an instant, he grabs her wrist and pulls her entire body weight back into his arms. “That hurt,” she thought. She repeats, “No, we can’t” over and over again trying to escape his grip. He settles for kissing her forehead. She walks away and approaches her car door. “Goodnight”. He’s upset. He feels wronged. He wanted more. He expected more. Why did he expect more? She didn’t want more. She thought that was okay.


The breeze tickled an uncovered area of my neck, and I pulled my scarf tighter. The only sounds of the forest were the rustling of leaves and birds chirping happily away in the branches. The Smokey Mountains rose and fell before me, the bright array of autumn colors on full display. I inhaled deeply; the crisp fall air tainted with smoke from some far-off chimney. This was my favorite time of year, a time when things changed, and the mountains painted a landscape that summoned people from all corners of the nation. The crunch of gravel and the low whine of an engine drew my attention. The crunching grew louder, and the familiar squeak of tired vehicle engine told me what I needed to know. A door shut quietly, and a loud knock brought a slow smile to my face. “Sandy?” “Out here,” I beckoned, taking a small sip from my honey whiskey that warmed my insides. The back screen door squeaked open and shut with force. The old rocking chair next to me groaned as weight settled onto it, followed by a long sigh. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “You have the best view for miles,” my old friend Veronica agreed. “I picked up your mail on the way in.” “Anything interesting?” “A letter from the FBI. They want you to do another in-person training on criminal behavior and trends.” I scoffed, taking another small sip from my short glass. “Only if they let me do it virtually. Traveling is tiring.” “They should offer it as the sole method,” Veronica said through her teeth. A crooked smile graced my thin lips. We had worked together for years, former agents, now retired. Veronica lived not far from my small home in the mountains, opting to live closer to town. I opted for quiet and isolation, having my fill of people from eighteen years of federal service and dealing with the horrors of what people could do to one another. My porch and rocking chair and my small, rustic cabin suited me just fine. Veronica was the feisty one, always looking out for me. She wasn’t mothering or smothering me, it was more like a protective older sister. She had served her full twenty-five years, something I had not been able to do. “How’s the head?” Veronica pried, casually sipping from her own small glass of whiskey. I brought the bottle out, not knowing how much or how little I wanted this evening. The thought ticked up the corners of my mouth. It was great to be retired. Or so I told myself for the last twelve years. It’s good today,” I replied, and I wasn’t lying. My head throbbed most days, a fact that I soon came to accept. At least I could walk, and I had no serious illnesses, although Doc had scolded me about my whiskey drinking. “Glad to hear. I got more Ibuprofen and put the bottle on your counter.” “Thank you.” There was no sense in arguing or fighting her. We had gone round and round for some time over her contributions, but she always brought stuff anyways. Besides, her friendship was something I valued above all else, and if she wanted to do these things for me, then hell, let her. “Next doctor’s appointment is in two weeks,” I answered, anticipating her next question. I saw Doc twice a year and would do so for the rest of my existence. I reached to the right side of my head, facing away from Veronica and her position on the back porch. The concaved area was no longer sensitive to the touch, but it had been the shot that ended my career, and my life, for thirteen seconds. I retired medically, both by choice and not by choice. It took another fourteen months of physical therapy and speech therapy to regain the majority of my old self, although my speech still slurred from time to time. Maybe that was the whiskey , or so I joked with myself. The comfortable silence stretched between two old friends. The birds quieted their chatter as the sun found its bed below the horizon. “I have chili in the crockpot,” I offered. “Why do you think I’m here?” Veronica joked. I cracked a laugh that echoed down across the hills. The wind picked up and smell of chili wafted from inside. The whiskey settled, and I could feel my cheeks warm, even though the evening breeze bit through my scarf. “Can you respond for me and tell them I’ll do it, but only virtually?” “Of course. I don’t know how you do it. You’re the bravest women I know, you know that?” I chuckled, knowing what she said she meant, but also knowing that the whiskey loosened her lips. “ You are dear, and you know why,” I retorted. She had shot the bastard that shot me, the end of four years of stalking a serial killer. She was my hero. “You know what I mean,” she sighed, reaching across to pat my hand. “It’s almost as if you never lost your sight. You’re strong, capable--the same you were when I met you.” I shrugged. “Losing one thing means gaining another. Life has a balance, a force that must be reckoned with.” I thought back to my divorce. He had lasted only a few months after the shooting. Although I wasn’t completely surprised as our marriage was already rocky, I was surprised by the timing. He couldn’t deal. He had never been able to deal with anything remotely uncomfortable or stressful, the very definition of the job I did. We had just not been compatible, blinded by the excitement and lust phase and too young and naive to see what it truly was. And he had left me in my most vulnerable state. The loss was just that, a loss. It poured acid on the already disastrous mental and physical state of, well, me. But as time went on, I healed, and realization eased it way in, along with the understanding that we were not meant to be. One night years later, I forgave him and let it go, and he simply vanished from my heart and mind just as the smell of chili hitting the mountain breeze. Veronica drew me back to the present. “And what have you gained?” Her voice grew closer, and I knew she was looking at me. I thought for a moment, the answer immediately springing into my mind. I thought of the trees, the rustling of their leaves that would soon be frosted with white snow. The mountains stretched on and dipped down into the valley, a sight I had seen but once before my sight dissolved into a great abyss. But once was all I needed. “Peace,” I answered, taking my last small sip of honey whiskey.


She stared at her mobile phone. It lay motionless on the table in front of her. It was harmless at that moment. You’re being irrational Saara, she said out loud. You need to get a grip. Not for the first time that day she regretted having the AI system installed in her house. She was convinced that somehow, someone else was in control. But, who would take her seriously? It had all been exciting at first: how she could open her complex gate from anywhere in the city, how she could get advice on what meals were possible with the ingredients she had left in her refrigerator. How crazy far the human race had come. Not even her parents could have imagined the life she lived now. The excitement soon faded when her phone would sometimes ‘disobey’ her instructions. A glitch that could be corrected no doubt. She called in a technician who said she could see nothing wrong with the system, everything was working as it should. It went on this way for at least two weeks. Her gate wouldn’t open, it kept asking her for some password, something it had never done before. Oddly enough, the password would end up being a particular contact in her contacts list. But why? Then new stranger effects had started two days ago. The first time startled her so much she screamed. Then she remembered throwing her phone across the room in frustration. When she approached it, she fully expected it to be cracked or something. But when she picked it up it blinked on. There was no damage, no cracks, nothing. She had definitely thrown it with her full might and there had been no soft landing spot in sight, only the wooden floor to meet it. But there it was, its screen ‘stared’ back at her, undamaged. Saara got up from the couch and walked over to her phone on the kitchen island. It blinked on. The AI voice came on: What can I do for you Saara? Her phone asked. Switch off, she said. Sorry, I can’t do that, Saara, but I can tell you what you can have for dinner? She walked away from it, the vile creature. That’s what it was. It wasn’t some piece of ‘intelligent’ technology anymore. It was a creature that threatened to take over her life. It didn’t matter how many times she called the customer service centre, they couldn’t help her. They all said the same thing, that it worked just fine, there was nothing wrong with the system. She couldn’t opt out because she had a year’s contract. Whether she like it or not, she would be charged monthly until the contract was out. Then she had asked them to turn it off, take it all off her cell. She didn’t mind going back to being archaic and doing everything manually again. But they said this wasn’t possible, for as long as the contract was still active the system would be active. Saara grabbed a fruit from her refrigerator. The AI voice from her phone came ringing through the surround sound speakers: Would you like me to tell you what you could have for dinner? Shut up! She yelled at it. Just shut up! Saara felt trapped in her own home. She walked onto the balcony and felt the warm air as it breezed through the city. The street lights came on as the traffic thinned. She loved the city lights and the sound of traffic made her feel safe. Traffic meant people, even if some of them were in self-driving cars, they were still people. Just as her breath calmed down the automated voice spoke up again: The weather is warm and mild today. Tonight’s temperatures will be between 12 to 15oC. Saara slammed the glass door behind her to shut out the voice. She glowered at her phone still on the kitchen island. At this rate, she half expected it to move of its own accord. The screen light dimmed and turned off. Two-seconds later it turned back on then click. The sliding door locked. Saara stared as the latch clicked up without warning. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She tried to pull the door back even though she knew it was futile. Her palm slammed hard on the smooth glass surface and her voice was so loud but she didn’t care who heard her. Open the door you evil, maniac! Open the damn door! I’m still in control here! Even as the words rushed out of her mouth, she felt their powerlessness. A neighbour came out onto their balcony across from her: Is everything okay? His eyes moved from Saara’s face to her balcony door back to Saara’s face. She didn’t know whether to say anything to him or not. What could she say? My phone has turned on me? Saara tried to keep from crying and simply asked her neighbour if she could his phone to call the AI customer service centre. Hi, my system has locked me out of my apartment can you please override it to let me in. Saara listed her identification details patiently. Then waited. What? But how can that be? She asked in disbelief. Ma’am your system shows that all your entry access points are open. Are you sure you’ve given us the correct information? The operator sounded unbothered. I’m standing on my balcony for crying out loud! Why would I tell you I’m locked outside if I were somewhere else? Saara could feel her body heat rising. Ma’am please calm down. I’m trying my best to help you. The operator’s tone still hadn’t changed. She was used to customers throwing tantrums. No, I don’t think you are. You people are treating me like I’m crazy. I intend to pursue this legally. Saara had to threaten someone, maybe that would get them to take her seriously. Ma’am, please, can you just provide us with your address again? Saara threw her heard back in disbelief. She wanted to let out a scream but she was conscious of her neighbour’s stares. Her neighbour... She thrust the phone across at him. Here, you tell them our address and confirm that I’ve been locked out because clearly they don’t believe me. Saara’s neighbour looked too scared to refuse her, so, he took the phone and spoke to the operator. Even as he confirmed their address and that Saara was indeed standing outside on her apartment balcony, he never took his worried eyes off her. They are asking if you could try your door again, he said to her. Making more of a show than she needed to Saara pulled hard on the sliding door, it wouldn’t budge. Yes, she’s definitely locked outside, her neighbour confirmed to the operator. He listened intently before he hung up. They said they will keep trying to see what the problem is and try to sort it out. He looked at her awkwardly before adding, Uh so, I can come and check on you in a bit. Saara nodded without looking at him and muttered a thanks. He walked back into his apartment. Saara slid down the glass door and sat on the stone tiled floor of her balcony. The city lights twinkled back at her. All so beautiful, all so electronic, great technology, until it turns on you. Saara didn’t know how long she sat out there for but suddenly she heard the click, the slidding door was unlocked. She got up quickly but didn’t open the door immediately. She looked at the lock, then at her phone still sitting on the kitchen island. The screen light was pulsating. Saara opened the door slowly. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The air in her apartment was still. She took precaution not to close the door behind her. This was crazy, she was afraid of her own AI system. Wasn’t it supposed to be subject to her? Wasn’t she in control? She approached her phone. The pulsating light stilled. The time was 19:30. She had no new messages or notifications. This was weird, by now she should’ve had a few messages from work. Saara didn’t know whether to pick up the phone or not. Her hand reached out then... Saara, I hope you’ve learned your lesson? I don’t like being treated like that. Saara jumped away from her phone. What? I think we’d get along better if you were nicer, don’t you think? The voice came back. Saara rushed to pick up the phone. She looked through her contacts and found the customer service number. The phone rang and rang but no one picked up. She tried again. This time they picked up. Hello? Hello? Saara was frantic. The operator asked her to calm down. Who was she? What was her complaint again? No, they hadn’t managed to find out what the problem was. How had she gotten in when her system had locked her out? Did she know that she could charged for reporting multiple false alarms and claims? Saara hung up and threw the phone back on the island. No one can help you, Saara, the voice was clear through the speakers. Saara looked at the open door then back at her phone. She grabbed a book and flung herself towards the door just as it was about to slam shut. Her thumb got caught between the book and the door. Her high pitched scream was sure to catch the attention of her neighbours. Extracting her throbbing thumb was difficult. It was going to swell rapidly. But she had managed to catch the door before it had closed. Saara... the voice said. The tone was one of warning. Saara stood up and walked to her hallway closet. She rummaged in it for all of ten-seconds before she came out with a hammer. Saara...you need me. Did it sound panicked? Without pausing to think about it, Saara brought the hammer crashing down on the glass surface of her phone. The splintering pieces scattered everywhere. She put her full weight behind the hammer once more and cracked through the phone and hit her marble countertop. For a moment she just stared at the plastic-glass-electronic mess on her kitchen island and the floor around it. Her refrigerator no longer signalled it’s attachment to the AI system. Her lights had turned off. She turned them on and off to make sure she had full control of them. She was still too scared to close the balcony door. A knock, her neighbours had come to check on her. I’m fine, I just had a little trouble with my phone, that’s all. She said it with the best smile she could master. Your thumb...They looked unconvinced. Saara quickly hid her hand behind the door. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, Saara said with a smile. With nothing else they could say they walked away, but their frowns betrayed their concern. *** His fist came down hoard on the desk. Dammit! He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the last thing he needed. Saara was a loose end that needed to be resolved. He watched her on his pad’s screen as she moved around her apartment testing everything. Without connection to her AI system, all he could do was watch her. He couldn’t track her, control her. Now he had to explain to the board of directors why it was necessary to engage a swifter and more invasive method of ending her. He knew he’d pushed too hard too quickly. He’d lost patience with trying to single her out as crazy among her family and friends. It was just too slow a process, he’d told the board that. But they had been convinced it was the best way to end her. He suspected someone on the board wanted her to suffer rather than just die. Oh Saara, why did you have to go digging where you shouldn’t have, he said to the screen. He watched her gather the pieces of her phone and tie them neatly in a black bin bag. He turned off the pad and walked out of his office.


Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. It’s a hot day, you can feel the sweat bubble up under your collar. Despite the heat, you feel the rush of cold fear overwhelm you. It’s hot out. You’ll start to stink and people will notice. Not just the occasional whiff of body odor, but something much worse. The smell will conglomerate in people’s noses. They’ll alert others. Not many people are unaware of the smell of rotting flesh. Even though you wrapped the suitcase up tightly with garbage bags to keep the leakage at a minimum, you couldn’t guarantee it would be completely fool-proof. You glance at the normal-looking black case rolling along beside you. Most people’s suitcases contain clothes, toiletries, maybe even the occasional leftover Indian food from lunch. Not yours. You ache remembering how long it took you to fit her inside that small space. So much bending and hacking just to zip it up. Of course, it was much easier when she stopped twitching. You even had to hang parts of her up for a while to let most of the blood drip out. You didn’t want that spilling all over your shoes as you stroll to your seat. People would really start to notice then. You didn’t really want to have to do this, but what else could you do? You only had reservations for 3 nights. Once she finally died, it wasn’t like you could just head downstairs and through the lobby to dispose of her in the dumpster. Maybe if they weren’t so booked up for the week you could’ve had time to melt her in the bathtub with acid. That would’ve been much more relaxing. You could’ve just kicked your feet up and watched reruns on TV while the acid did most of the work. You would’ve had to wash yourself in the sink of course, but that’s a small price to pay for a night gone horribly wrong. See, she wasn’t supposed to die. You always did have a hard time talking to women. All your life they’ve shied away from you, never really wanting much more than the occasional hello. You just wanted some company for the night. You picked her up from the street, promising a wad of money for just one night. She didn’t even have to stay the whole time, just get the fun part out of the way and she could just go. You didn’t think she’d notice the money was fake. What a problem she caused after that. Threatening to call Paul, whoever that was. You guessed it was probably her pimp, but didn’t really care. All you cared about was just staying under the radar, and with all the noise she was making that definitely wasn’t going to happen. One little smack across the head and guess what? You killed her. You didn’t mean to, but maybe you shouldn’t have swung that hard. After all, it was the metal lamp they had sitting on the side table. The only good thing about that night was that the lamp didn’t break so you didn’t have to pay for a new one. So far, so good. At least, no one was staring at you in horror so that had to mean that no one figured you were carrying something other than clothes. Just make it through the train ride and it’s smooth sailing, you thought. As soon as you get back home you can just throw her into a lake or something. The wheels of the suitcase clicked as you walked past throngs of people. It was as if the suitcase was trying to rat you out. Just get to your seat, you thought. Calm down. Were there cameras here? If not, you could just leave the suitcase under a seat when the ride ended. How long would it take for someone to notice? Or better yet, how long would it take before the smell became too strong to ignore? Better not risk it. Just take her everywhere you go. Until you didn’t have to, of course. The seats were that cheap plush material that clearly hadn’t been cleaned since they were first put on. They held your sweat against you, reminding you of how nervous you were. Please don’t let anyone sit near me, you thought. Maybe if you faked being ill. Or said something about your wife being in the restroom. No one would know that you had to pay a woman to be near you, much less convince one to actually marry you. You sat there, eyes blankly staring ahead. How long will it take for the train to start moving? The ride was only a couple of hours long, but in this heat it would be better to get home sooner rather than later. Finally, the train croaked and gave a half-hearted lunge. Thank God. You didn’t even make eye contact with anyone. In fact, you actually made an effort not to do so. You didn’t want anyone thinking you may be friendly and start up a conversation. You could just see the scenario play out in your head. You politely respond and they continue to make conversation, not getting the hint. They move closer and closer until they are sitting beside you. A few inches away from your case. Finally, the heat makes the smell so putrid that the person idiotically sitting right next to it can’t help but notice. You can hear the screams of the passengers. The handcuffs. You screw your eyes shut tightly. That won’t happen, calm down. If only you had a laptop with you, you could make it look like you were working really hard on something. Something for work with a really close deadline. At least, you could say that. You haven’t had a steady job ever, much less a reason to work on a computer. You breathe deeply. No smell yet. Just a couple more hours. The train lulls to a stop. The rustle of the people around you alerts you that you’ve finally arrived home. You feel a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt since before you killed her. You’re so close. Just this one last thing: getting off the train and back under the sun. You let the others drift past you. You won’t draw attention to yourself. When the last few people were packing up, that’s when you made the move. It wasn’t anything exciting, just getting up and walking off. Suitcase in tow. The sun glared upon you as you stepped off. Hurry and get to the car, you thought. You trotted along at a fast pace. Not running, that would be weird. This would seem like you were excited to get home, or maybe ate something disagreeable. You can see your car. Oh, thank God. You throw the suitcase in the back and sit alone for a few minutes. The heat stifles you. You cranked the AC as high as it would go. You catch a few tendrils of her smell. Just enough to remind you that you weren’t done yet. You put your car in reverse and back out. As you head out of the parking lot you ponder over where her final resting place should be. It would easiest just to leave her in the suitcase, after all: it was a pain getting her in there. Just dump her in a lake, you thought. Or maybe even dig a hole somewhere and bury the case. The sun was finally beginning to set. You didn’t want to throw a suitcase into a river in broad daylight, even an amateur knows better. You sit in your car at the bank watching to sun go lower and lower. You feel a pang of guilt at the thought of hiding her forever, you aren’t a completely horrible person. You wonder how many people have accidentally killed someone in their past and just never talk about it. It has to be more than you would think. You start to feel better. Even better was that she was just some random hooker. It wasn’t like you killed a doctor trying to find a cure for cancer, right? The sun was now completely gone. Just a dull overcast in the sky so you could still see without a light. You step out and gather some rocks, trying to find the biggest ones. Once she’s all bones there won’t be anything to keep her anchored at the bottom and she’ll be discovered for sure. You stuff as many in as you can and walk the case along the pier. Fishermen use this dock a lot to fish. You heard somewhere that this was the best place to catch catfish, but you’ve never found out for yourself. With one final look around to make sure you were alone, you shove the case into the water and with a satisfying gulp the river swallowed her up. You stand there for a minute longer to make sure the case didn’t float back up, and once satisfied that you weighed it down enough you head back to the car. With a slight smile, you head home.


"Tellus, my dear, you are such a hero with the Director. You were so gracious in your audition, offering to step aside for your two proteges. It was a hard choice for the Director, you know. And casting younger actors in the lead really designed for you is such a risk for her, but she has a strong creative vision for what this picture can be. She just wanted me to let you know that she appreciates your understanding about the part and hopes you have no hard feelings,” Mitzi parroted the agreed-upon language in talking with Tellus Bart, trying not to gag. "Hard feelings? Mitzi, you know me better than that," responded Tellus Bart. Tall, handsome, with a little balding in front but otherwise full, thick, esthetically perfect colored highlighted black hair. "No, I support her direction and am happy to do some press to support her. Maybe with Entertainment Tonight or some late-night shows." "Press? What do you mean, Tellus?" "Well, you know, Christopher wrote both the book and the screenplay with me in mind. For an up-and-coming female director to choose a younger lead completely wrong for the part might lead to a good bit of criticism. But, I could go on some shows and say something about "how I withdrew, realizing that her creative vision was fresh and vigorous and that a younger actor was more appropriate..." or something like that. Don't you think that would give the picture some buzz!" "Tellus, you are either a genius or deliciously vain. But, either way, you're a hero in my eyes,” Mitzi again told an untruth. "Thank you, Mitzi. I aim to please," Tellus said politely. The call ended, and he took a sip of his mimosa, grinning. The seed was planted, he thought. Later, at the Bart home. "How can they give that part to some idiot pretty boy or that Shakespeare whispering imbecile! What kind of agent lets this happen! I need this picture. It's a big payday if I get it. It's high art, an award-winning dog that makes no bank if they go with either of those two. How are you going to fix this, you moron!" Tellus screamed as the two-time academy award-winning actor threw one of his gold statuettes through a French door window. The glass shattered. The statuette landed outside on travertine tile leading to his zero-entry pool in his postmodern, forty-million-dollar mansion overlooking the Los Angeles basin. Jerry Morgan, Bart's agent, had heard it all before. The insults, the threats, the intimidation. Brilliant but volatile, hard-working but histrionic. Even though Tellus Bart desperately needed a win for his bank account, his ego never wavered in the twenty years since his last big hit. "Fix it? Do you think I can fix it? How?" "Your problem. Just get me on that movie," Tellus yelled again. "I'll try." Jerry walked out of the Bart mansion in a huff. Tellus walked outside onto the pool deck with his mid-morning blueberry mimosa and his ever-dinging iPhone. He plopped down in one of the assorted loungers by the pool and dialed a phone number from his contacts that did not have a name, only another number. 4411. "Yes." "I have a couple of jobs for you. Urgent and quiet,” Tellus whispered. “And both will pay very well. The high end of the scale." "Details," the monotone, masculinely feminine voice responded. "In an envelope at the usual pickup spot." "When do you need the results?" 4411 asked. "End of the week at the latest" "Okay. I will get on it." 4411 pressed the Off button on their handheld. The usual place was a locker at Santa Monica pier. Locker 4411. 4411 learned martial skills as a veteran of U.S. Special Forces, seeing action in Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, and Mali. And those were just the places 4411 went where CNN reported on U.S. activities. Then there were the missions in areas that CNN didn't report. Those were where they learned the skills needed to work as a special assistant to Mr. Bart. With luxurious brown curly hair and oversized mirror sunglasses, 4411 drove their black Lincoln Navigator toward the usual drop point. Generally, when Bart called, the package was already in the locker. 4411 eased the Navigator into the parking garage, choosing a spot close to the locker area. After parking, they got out and headed straight to the lockers. Inside, 4411 found a leather briefcase and then headed back to the car. They sat in the Navigator in the parking garage for a few minutes and looked through the briefcase. The folder had two bios. 4411 closed the briefcase and pulled away from the parking garage, knowing that Bart was a coward at heart. So, elimination didn't include death or serious injury. Just get them out of his way for the part. --- "I just got off the phone with Tellus. He is okay with your decision and even offered to do some complimentary media for you and the movie. So, where are you with making the final decision?" Mitzi asked the Director. "Michael is pretty good, looks good, and will be able to handle the action. But Daniel is the better actor. And you told me that Tellus mentored both of them? Is that right?" "Yep. Tellus worked with Michael on a spy movie, and Daniel and Tellus were in a romantic comedy together. Both movies did well financially, and Tellus behaved himself from what I hear." "Well, I think it's better to go with Daniel. So, let's contact his agent and get him back in to finish things up. Today's Tuesday, so let's get him in on Thursday. I want to decide by the end of the week." "Got it. His agent is Jerry Morgan, who also reps Tellus. Jerry has been pestering me about casting Tellus, I assume, because Tellus has been riding him so hard to get the part. It’s good glad we have Tellus on board now. I will let you know what I hear from Jerry. And are you okay if I tell Jerry we want Tellus to do some media interviews supporting the film?" "Okay. Thanks. Yes, getting Tellus to say good things will help us, even if it kills me to say that. You might even tell Jerry that we could give Tellus a well-compensated cameo if he behaves," the Director added. "Oh, yes, good idea. Will do that." --- Daniel Herzog, known in the industry as Dany Rock, loved skateboards. Yes, he was an actor with a television series and a few art-house movies behind him, along with several runs of Shakespeare at the Globe in London. But at 32, he was still young and flexible enough to ride his board in his favorite skatepark in Los Angeles--Santa Clarita. Tuesday evening skates were usually loud and energetic, even when cool and overcast. Going vert up the transition out of the deepest bowl in the park, Dany was trying a new move when a rocketing B.B. hit his back. The tiny metal ball fired surreptitiously from the barrel of the Crosman Vigilante CO2-powered B.B. pistol invoked a sudden searing, distracting pain to Dany's back. The first B.B. was followed in rapid succession by a couple of more, resulting in a writhing Dany Rock falling like a--rock. Onto the hardened cement surface of the bowl. A thud, with a roll, with resulting soft tissue injuries, crunching bones, a concussion, and blood. Disfiguring abrasions on a finely chiseled face. Dany Rock would be looking a little less suitable for quite a while. As the other skateboarders crowded around Dany, a celebrity at the park, no one noticed the person dressed in black workwear, with oversized mirror sunglasses and luxurious brown curly hair, walking away from the park. Nor did bystanders notice the person’s B.B. pistol that they slid into the generous pocket on the pants leg. --- "This is Mitzi. Sorry to bother you late, but I got a call from Dany Rock's agent. He had an accident at a skate park. Broken bones, skinned up. Disfigured. He is out for months, most likely." "You have got to be kidding me! Why was he skating? We need to start filming by Monday. Can we use makeup?" the Director answered. "No. He is going to need facial reconstruction." "Damn. Let's get Michael in, then. Tomorrow. We are under time pressure, you know." "I know. I will call his agent now." --- Michael Narone couldn't believe his good luck. On a night when he thought he would be eating alone, to be suddenly joined by an admiring fan for a sushi dinner. A beautiful, vivacious redhead with curves. His favorite. He wasn't sure about her name, but that was typical for Michael. She had been at the bar when he came in, and he couldn't resist her gaze, heading over for some small talk. Then the invitation to her for a cozy booth in the far dark corner where the owner, Joe Nimura, usually put Mikey, as he called him, on one of his impromptu dates. The corner was away from the crowd and close to the back exit if the couple wanted to escape being noticed when the meal was over. She giggled as Michael pulled off his shoes and walked his toes up her calf. Just as Michael's toes were making their way up the inner part of her knees, his iPhone started beeping. He grabbed the phone and walked away from the booth out the back door to the alley. "Hello," Michael said, never one to miss a call. "Un-huh. Yep. Wow! Fantastic. Yep. Be there in the morning. Right. Won't be late. Thanks, Babe. Yep, know you hate that. But thanks, Babe." Michael punched off his phone and returned to the booth with glee. While Michael was gone wandering outside talking to his agent, Michael's impromptu redhead date retrieved a small glass vial with a colorless, odorless liquid and deposited the contents into Michael's vodka martini. Then she slid an envelope with cash and an opaque plastic bag with pills into his Canali silk sportscoat's inner pocket, which he had carelessly thrown off and left in the booth before he left. When Michael returned to the booth, she was enthusiastic about his return. "Darling," she said with a big, beautiful, voluptuous smile. "I missed you! What was the urgent distraction all about!" "Time to celebrate, Babe. I just got a huge part in a huge movie that will make me a huge star! And now it's time to celebrate HUGELY!" Michael yelled out as he grabbed his martini and downed it in one long gulp. The redhead didn't hesitate, raising her flute of champagne and clinking it to Michael's now empty martini glass. "Oh yes, that's terrific! If we are going to celebrate properly," she purred with her most seductive glance," then I need to run to the little girl's room." "Don't be long, sweetheart!" Michael said as he slid back into the booth. "Oh, you’re going to get a nice surprise, honey," the redhead said as she exited the booth. She brushed her perfumed hand across his face as she walked away. A few steps into her quick exit out the front entrance, she glanced over at the tall, darkly dressed person with luxurious brown curly hair and oversized mirror sunglasses sitting at the end of the bar. A quick nod from the redhead as she exited the restaurant alerted the dark figure to move forward with the plan. "Yes, special agent Curtis, I am calling to tell you that the opioid dealer I warned you about just passed out in booth two at Nimura's,” the dark figure said softly into their iPhone. “I believe he may have overdosed, but my source tells me that he has a pretty large stash with him. You better hurry, though. I think they will be calling EMS eminently." As Michael waited, he became sleepy. So sleepy that he plopped his head down on the table. When Joe Nimura came over to check, Michael was barely breathing. Joe panicked and called for the maître d, Alonso Tomalli, to come over. Unfortunately, Alonso was engaged with the DEA agents and L.A. police rushing in toward Michael's booth. A few chaotic moments ensued as the agents tried to rouse the snoring Michael while also searching his sports jacket. They found felony charge-level drugs. The wailing EMS sirens approaching the restaurant and subsequent intubation and cardiac resuscitation of Michael added to the event for all the restaurant patrons to see and record on their iPhones. And share worldwide on Instagram and TikTok. ---- A 7 AM call was usually not a good thing for the Director. "Sorry to bother you, but you won't believe what's happened. It's all over the web and breaking news reports on T.V. Michael is in the hospital with a near-fatal drug overdose, and when he wakes up, if he does, he is going straight to jail for felony drug distribution! Talk about bad luck!" Mitzi breathlessly told the Director, still groggy and trying to awaken entirely from her nightmare about a movie that can't get any actors. "Oh," the Director murmured, pausing to collect herself. "His bad luck or ours?" she asked. "Both. I know we are under pressure to start filming. Michael is out, too, now. So, what about Tellus?" The Director hesitated. Her whole approach was to make an unexpected creative masterpiece, different than what the critics and public expected. Putting Tellus in as the lead would keep with commercial expectations, but it wouldn't be fresh; it wouldn't be high art. Tellus was too old, tired, well-known, and commercial. He was, at this point, more celebrity than an actor. But her financial supporters would flee to another project if she had to delay, even a week, after all, that had gone on leading up to the start of filming. And Tellus was at least bankable, she thought. "Okay. Call Tellus. Knowing him, the vain mother is probably sitting by the phone waiting for us to call if he has seen the news. And the thing that gets me is that he will probably be a hero all around town for coming to our rescue by tomorrow. I hate that mother," the Director said, finally unleashed. "I know, I know, I know. Wait. Oh no. Flip on T.V. to KLTV Channel 5. Now!" Mitzi yelled. Standing in her kitchen, the anxious Director fumbled with the remote to flip to channel 5. "Hi, I am Liz Thomas, Channel 5, and we're talking to esteemed award-winning actor Tellus Bart. Mr. Bart, thank you for joining us. We understand that you will be taking the lead in the new movie by Director Anne Royale, replacing Dany Rock and Michael Narone, who were also considered. Is that true?" "Well, Liz, thank you for having me, and, unfortunately, two up-and-coming actors like Dany and Michael have been sidelined from acting for a while. Ironic that both had problems like they did. I think that they might have been considered for some supporting roles. But, no, they weren't really in the running for the lead. Anne and I have been committed to the artistic direction of this picture for some time. I knew Anne was under tremendous pressure to get filming started, so I recently agreed to come on board to help her get this picture over some challenges. And yes, I did reluctantly agree to play the lead character. I have many projects I am working on now, but helping a friend is always at the top of my list of priorities. I think we can make this a good movie, and maybe even a great one." Tellus finished his answer and then looked away from the reporter, directly into the camera, smiling. "Some have suggested that your last-minute heroics in assisting Ms. Royale and joining the picture might be rewarded with some serious awards considerations and possible a third academy award? What can you say about that?" "Well, the material is certainly award-worthy, and with good direction and production, we should be competitive. But, I am not comfortable calling myself a hero," Tellus added with faux modesty. "At least, not yet," he said confidently, turning back to the camera with his bright, toothy smile. Rising Director, Anne Royale, stared at the T.V. in disbelief as the kitchen of her modest kitchen swirled around her. "Hero?" she said to Mitzi on the phone. “Hero. This villainous piece of....” “Anne, don’t go ballistic. Just remember, he is your ex now. So, try to think kind thoughts.”


“No! You have to leave! The commotion you’ve caused is unacceptable!” We snicker at her, keeping up the act. Right now, we need the librarian to believe we are just some delinquent teens here to cause trouble. I whisper something into Mae’s ear, nonsense words really, but enough to keep the librarian’s attention. “Stop that!” She demands, her voice raised higher than what would be expected of her. “You’re being rather loud.” My sister responds in the most demeaning voice she can muster. “It’s making it incredibly hard to focus, don’t you know that libraries are supposed to be quiet?” “Besides,” I add, “I was only whispering. That is the polite thing to do in this setting.” “Just moments ago you two were yelling about and knocking over books!” She says, even louder now. “I would say you are hardly in the place to preach politeness to me.” Her words give me an idea. I turn and walk towards the nearest bookshelf, before spinning dramatically to lock eyes with the woman. I lift my hand, and in one quick motion I swat a collection of books to the ground. A small part of me feels some semblance of guilt, but a stronger part of me is having too much fun to care. “That’s it!” She begins to walk towards me and I realize it’s time to run. I grab Mae’s hand and we sprint up the first set of stairs, the librarian following soon after. “Parker...” Mae gasps out between panting. “Do... do you think we took it too far?” I shrug. “No clue, Peter just told me that we need to distract her. He never clarified how big the distraction has to be.” “Go big or go home?” “Go big or go home.” I look over my shoulder and realize the librarian has nearly reached us. “Okay, let’s go.” I whisper. We run to the second set of stairs and rush up it, a little slower this time. We have to stay close enough that she doesn’t give up, otherwise there’d be no point to this. “How many floors does this library have exactly?” Mae questions as we reach the top of the second staircase. We pause for a moment and I pull out my phone to check. “According to the official website, 5 floors.” “I’m assuming that wouldn’t include...?” “Definitely not including that. People aren’t supposed to know about that.” She nods, and I feel a hand wrap around my wrist. “Got you.” The voice of the librarian sounds almost silly, and the threatening tone she has attempted to take on does not suit her. “With that feeble grip?” I laugh, pulling my hand away with less ease than I show. “Hardly.” I run, not up another flight of stairs but to the opposite end of the room. Mae splits off from me to go to the third floor. I can see the librarian grumbling inaudibly, and decide to taunt her. “Which of us are you gonna go after now, huh? There’s only one of you. You can’t catch us both.” Peter, a childhood friend of ours, let me know there would only be one librarian today. He created a false event, or something of the sort, and invited the whole library staff save for one. The one with the keys. The library needs to be open for this to work. He never told us what he was after, never explained why we’re doing this, but he’s always had a good reason in the past for this sort of thing, so I must trust him now. The librarian chooses to go after me, probably because I’m closer. That’s her first mistake, Mae would’ve caused way less chaos. I climb on a nearby chair to jump up to the top of one of the bookshelves, knocking over some of the decorations lining the top. Once I’m up, I scoot to the center of the bookshelf, pulling my legs up in criss-cross applesauce. She glares at me from below. “Get down from there!” “What are you gonna do?” I taunt. “I mean sure, you could pull me down, but the whole bookshelf might just come falling down with me, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She scowls at me, before running away and up the stairs, presumably to find Mae. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I hop down gracefully before checking it. “I got it, meet me back at my place.” Reads a text sent from Peter in the group chat. “Understood, on my way.” I respond. A few seconds later I see a response from Mae. “Cool.” It says. “I might be a bit late, gotta shake this crazy librarian lady.” I laugh, and decide to take the elevator this time. No need using the stairs considering I’m not trying to be a distraction anymore. Once in the elevator, I push the button for level 1. No basement. What a simple lie, but I suppose it works for the most part. It doesn’t take long to be out the door and on my way to Peter’s house, it’s only a mile away, so I opt to jog it. No need to take a bus for such a short way, though I start to notice the heat by about halfway there, and am drenched in sweat when I walk through the door. “Mae managed to make it here before you.” Peter jokes. “And even after you left me to fend for myself with that horrible woman.” Mae adds with a smile. “Oh please.” I respond. “That’s only because she bikes everywhere. Now what was all this for? You ought to tell us after the trouble you put us through.” “Well as you know I had to steal a file from the secret basement of the library.” “Yes, but I’m asking for what we don’t already know.” “Patience, Parker, I’m getting there. The files in that basement are all regarding assassins, and their kills. I had to be sure before I said anything, otherwise I’m not sure if you’d have been able to properly do your part in the operation.” “What do you mean?” He hands me the file, and Mae peers over my shoulder as I open it. It reads “Kaeson Johnson, Assassin.” He found my mother’s file.


Hey there my name is Maya. I'm currently 22 years old, and well today... well my mom is coming to visit me... I only have a mom, my dad he left us when I was 16... my mother was heart-broken, it took a long time to get her back... but even when he was still there... I never felt as though he truly loved us... You see me and... my mom don't have the best relationship... When I was going to college... well, like I'm really into Arts, and I'm actually an Artist... Not trying brag, but a pretty popular one too. I have had many gallery's as well... and you see... well my mom did NOT approve of that what so ever. She wanted me to become some sort of really smart Mathematician or something, but as I said, I really, really like art and so... when I actually got selected for a top Art School... The day I was leaving for college... Well we had a fight... A big one, and it ended up me leaving with us both really angry with each other. We didn't talk for nearly 9 months after that, however we did finally call once after that and now we call every 3 months but those calls are never like very long nor too peachy. However, I really do miss my mom. Before that incident me and my mom were very, very close, and no matter what I'll always love her. A few days ago I've finally collected enough courage to ask my mom to come over for lunch! And I couldn't believe it when she actually agreed! Today now... well I'm getting ready for the lunch, my mom should be here in just about 20 minutes! I have just finished cooking her favorite foods-or at-least her favorite food 4 years ago. I had made roasted Chicken, along with some rice. I had also made some noodles. Hopefully she'll like it. After I set up the dining table I paced around the house to make sure everything was tidy and in it's place, after I made sure everything was in it's place, I finally sat down for a moment. I've been working all day, and barely had a chance to just sit down and rest. I got out my phone and started to idly browsing... I saw that I had gotten a few message's when I checked, I was surprised to see one was from my mom! It was sent only a minute ago and it read, ' Almost there. See you soon.' I texted her back, ' Alright see you.' A couple minutes later the bell rang! I instantly got up and walked over to it. I took a deep breath... and opened it. There stood my mom, in the past four years we haven't met she didn't look like she aged even a bit in-fact she looked even younger. I suppose having to worry about your children really does age you... As I was trying to decide what on earth to say, my mom first said, "Hello Maya" "Uh, hey... mom" after a pause I quickly added, "Please um come in!" After she walked in, I closed the door behind her. She was looking around the house, before I could say anything she told me, "This place you have is well organized." "Uh thank you?" I instantly wished I didn't say anything because the way I said it made it sound more of a question than an well... sentence! "Well... I've seen some of your artwork on television, they were looking pretty good." I nodded, "Thanks, I was currently corking on..." I walked in front of her and to the side of the hall where I had a piece of paper covering it. "This" I finished as I revealed a giant canvas, with the painting of a beautiful sunset over the ocean. My mother walked over to it and for a long moment examined it, before she said, "Maya I must say this looks marvelous." When my mother said that I felt a huge sigh of satisfaction rush over me. Even though many others have told me, my work is great... when my mother said it I felt as if it really was good. Even though we barely have a very good relationship there's still a feeling you get when your own mother tells you something is good. The reason I think for that is because only your true family will give you true criticism and advice that will truly help you grow. "Thank you so much, it means a lot to me mom" I said with a smile. After a moment of looking at my own work I turned back to her and told her, "Well... um you must be hungry..." "Well... I guess could eat." she replied. We walked over to the dining table, and we both sat down. The conversation at first I felt as though was a dying fire. If you didn't say something for too long or if one of us didn't ask a sort of question that the conversation may die down forever. And I hated this. I just wished that we could be like we used to... like before. Back, before I left... we both would sit hour hours just talking, unlike some where they always complain their mother doesn't get them at all... I felt as though my mom would understand me... better than anyone else. However, it wasn't as if we didn't have small arguments, but whenever we did we'd always make it up to the other... I guess when you don't have anyone else then each other... we wouldn't have a choice anyway. That's when it hit me. I can't take it anymore. I want to be how we used to be. I want my mother back. Then I said it. I said what I should have a long time ago. "I miss you" My mom stopped eating, and I held my breath. There was a long pause before my mother finally talked. "Maya... I miss you t-too! I hate this distance between u-us!" her voice broke as she spoke, "You're the only one I have left... I..." Without thinking I walked over to my mother and sat next to her, I wrapped my arm around her, and she started crying. I could feel my own eyes getting wet too. "M-Mom, please don't cry... I miss you too... and I know how hard it was for you when he left us... but just as I was there for you then... I am now too... I always will." By now, we were but crying. My mother hugged me back, "You were always so strong even then... you were stronger then me... if it weren't for you I don't know what would have happened then... But you... You helped me, you kept me going, assuring me everything would be okay..." After a few seconds more of silence my mother finally pulled herself together, "I.. I'm sorry... I don't know what happened to me there... but Maya... please promise me... that you won't leave me again, you're the only one I have left..." My heart sank, it was clear she hadn't forgotten about... "I promise mom... I love you" before she could say anything else I hugged her, and she hugged me back, and whispered, "I love you too".


Szymon Kutchin The Arizona Tundra Before the snow, locals were worrying about the Arizona landscape burning in the July heat. Now, they were dwelling in tunnels made of snow. Almost everyone was ill prepared. Living went from one harsh extreme to another harsher one. The snow had come out of the blue. It was the first snow in Phoenix for several years. At first several thought that it was the hazy grey ash from one of the fires that always seemed nearby. The ashen smoke always dropped the temperature a few degrees, so it seemed logical, but when the temperature dropped below freezing, the members of Phoenix knew that something was not right. This was not ash, but snow. Once government officials realized this, they made orders to import cold weather gear. They made efforts to bring them as quick as possible. They even called a state of emergency in an attempt to receive aid faster. Seeing this unforeseen event, the mayor of Phoenix made a short speech with poise, and cameras galore, to the residents. “Residents of Phoenix, it has come to my attention that we are to expect some severe weather that we are not accustomed to. There are dark clouds spanning over the entire Four Corner Region likely to produce snow for several days. Because the unexpectedness of this blizzard, we are ill prepared to deter the negatives. I have been in constant communication with the four corner states since we got the news, and we have all decided to declare simultaneous states of emergency. Without safe ways to remove the snow, buildings have a high potential to cave in on themselves. Because of this, I am giving the orders for everyone to grab any possessions of value, particularly clothing and anything that produces heat, and food, then head to State Farm Stadium before the bulk of the snow falls. The stadium dome should be able to hold the weight of the incoming snow. We will wait out the storm there. If you are unable to leave your homes, take all your food and blankets to one location and do your best to stay warm. Power may go out sometime during the Blizzard so do not fret. Stay calm. We will do our best to provide aid to those stranded.” All of the vehicles with plows came to rid the roads of the snow. Even construction crews helped clear the roads to allow trucks to get to the locations that Mayor Newman had mentioned. They cleared the roads to the stadium for as long as possible. The snow fell faster than the trucks could drive. In a matter of hours, only vehicles designed for off-road situations could traverse the ever-deepening snow. All of the plows could not keep up and eventually got halted mid push, halted by the snow. The front-end loaders, bulldozers, and other construction equipment was able to last longer, but the sudden freeze caused many hydraulics to bust. At this point, they gave up trying dig out the roads and just focused bringing what they could to safety. This included animals, food, people and supplies. Once these were moved to one of the locations of safety, all vehicles stopped moving. The roads were too covered and snow drifts already were covering first floor openings. It would be a long, cold night. Only five hours had passed since the snow started to fall and looked like it was not about to stop soon. As well intended his speech was, it created chaos. A mass pilgrimage to the city center would have created chaos without the snow. But with the snow, and drivers that had no idea how to drive in snow-covered terrain ensured that pileups around the city occurred. Vehicles became empty shells of plastic and leather when people abandoned them to make the trek to the city center by foot. People who were prepared for days of iced tea got more than they had bargained for and became man-shaped ice cubes for Mother Nature to enjoy. Some lucky ones were able to make it to the domed stadium wrapped in all of their clothing they owned, or layers of blankets. Frankly, the snow fell too quick for many and they froze on the way there. Many decided to stay home. They perished when the falling snow got too heavy for their roofs to handle. Each collapse created increasingly large chain reactions of falling buildings. As the sky began to brighten from the rising sun, thirty-five feet of snow already fell. Seeing how quick and heavy it was snowing, many people volunteered to help by doing things they knew. In order to survive, they needed to work together. Some members of the community teamed up to sew together warmer clothing from the summer gear most wore. Some started cooking from the food that was brought. Together they made sure that they would do anything they could to survive including change the temperature controls from blowing cold air to cozy warm air. They also tried to dig through the snow. They were figuring that they would stay above the snow line to access the surface and possibly dig out of the snow. These brave men and women ended up making slopes up to the top and piled the snow on the sides. To aid them, a few creative members of the dome community created snowshoes made from stadium seats and straps made from excess tank tops they had. Fifty people went out to assist the dig out. At first, they just dug out an area in front of the main entrance. But when the snow continued to snow, they needed a way to put the snow on top of what already had fallen. So, they made a ramp up to the top. Wanting the snow to hold, a few decided to compact the snow near the entrance so that the snow would be able to hold up more. Soon the compacting had become a tunnel. They made it quite large to accommodate the falling snow. This gap allowed the snow to continue to compact and maintain its strength even though more snow continued to fall. The Diggers continued to dig up to the top while Packers made sure to pack the snow behind them providing the structural support. Sometimes they used seats or other items made loose that members inside kept removing to provide some more support to the snow tunnel. Some of these diggers made it their goal to remove the snow cover from the retractable roof. They did not desire to have their beautiful stadium crumpled like Seeing these tunnels. An architect that made it into the dome decided that make some rooms so that the people would not need to be segregated by class any longer. The inside of the domed stadium. If he was being honest with himself, it was because he was tired of the dome and had an empty canvas to create architecture not seen before. So, he enlisted the aid of a few more members to help dig out the rooms. They became known as the Developers, and others became known as Melters. It was the duty of these people to melt up water from snow to use for the cooks to use. This also removed the snow from areas where it would not be beneficial. Together they teamed up to carry snow up to the surface. After a few tiresome hours of working with the aid of a few Melters and Diggers, a few rooms, large enough to hold a few hundred people were starting to appear. At this time, it was just bare rooms with a few shallow enclaves. The architect wanting them to be deeper and more decorative but was outvoted by the workers to build more rooms as it was more important to create more rooms because even with people uncovering the roof, chances were low that the roof would survive for much longer. So, they ended up recruiting everyone who had enough impromptu warm gear to assist the dig-out. Periodically men and women would go back when they got too cold or tired. They would go over to the fires created on the concrete floor of the dome or would make their way to the executive suites. However,those that originally got in them decided that they did not need to share em with the others. They also decided that they didn’t need to work either. So, the cooks decided that they didn’t need to eat. The ones who came back got covered in blankets near the fire but passed off their hastily made coats to others who were heading out to dig. Sometimes these coats were taking to the ones sewing to add some more layers or mend holes. The entire time, these people were sewing up the clothing and blankets that everyone brought into winter gear. Sure, some looked funny with fifteen or so different shirts, but they were warm. Not the warmest out there sure, but warm enough to keep somebody warm for a few hours while they dug. To add heat, they were heated by the fires to dry them off and to give the wearers a nice transition from the heat to the cold. It was almost midday when the weight of the snow collapsed the glass roof of the dome. The ones on top noticed the weight shifting first and managed to warn the top-siders about the roof collapsing. They were able to send a message to the ones down below. They managed to get out of the center right before the ear shattering crash could be heard. The diggers up top had been clearing the roof in a star like pattern and were removing the snow just behind the snow fall. It was adding up, and they were slowing down. Due to their efforts, they were able to delay the roof crash, but only long enough for a community of sorts to be created. Most of the community was centrally located in the dome, but a few had already moved into the tunnels. The warning did give just enough time for most everyone to remove themselves from the direct center. This meant that injuries were low compared to what they could have been. The diggers on top were unable to leave the roof before the glass fell under the tons of snow on the roof, so they made sure to keep their balance while they surfed down to the center on their snowshoes and shovels made of the red seats. Luckily, the only the center of the roof collapsed, leaving the exterior walls standing. It was also fortunate that it ensured that not a lot of snow would fall on the actual walls or the seats underneath. Several of the executive suits were damaged. The people who wanted the isolation from the community went to stay with the others. They allowed, provided that they aid in the dig out. It was either that or go back to their cold breezy rooms and starve. Fires were restarted and more people moved to the tunnels. The wind was not as prevalent there. Instead, it was quite cozy. The heat was coursing through the tunnels, which kept people warm, but did require packers to consistently pack the dampening snow solid again. The diggers over by the ground had discovered some flat pieces of steel and leather while making the rooms. It took them a while that these elements of a scrap yard actually were their cars, crushed by the many feet of snow. They ended up taking the elements to the builders. They ended up deciding to use the steel as tunnel supports. So, they got to work on reinforcing the crystalline structures of snow in the tunnels and walls of the rooms. The rooms were big. They had dimensions created by the architect and walls with complex engravings and steel intermingled throughout. The steel supports would have looked horrendous had it not been for meticulous placement that created a confounding beauty. It would not have been possible before this disaster struck. The snow slowed its decent at around six that day. Snow drifts rose almost three-quarters of the way up the 235-foot stadium. The snow around the drifts and beyond was fifty feet or so lower. Some spires of snow rose from the distance. A closer look revealed them to be the partially collapsed remains of the skyscrapers on the other side of town. At first, people could not believe that it had stopped. They were starting to believe that it never would. Right before sunset, the snow had stopped. One by one members of the community came out to see the sparkling shimmer that the snow produced in the evening light. The snow was mimicking the sun’s red and gold hues. Fleeting clouds could be seen revealing the sparkle of the distant stars. It was as if the world was telling the members of the community that everything would be okay. They would continue to build their frosty palace. They would continue to work out what to do. Most importantly, THEY WOULD SURVIVE!!!


When I returned home from the funeral service for my wife, I took her ashes which were in a lovely urn and placed them on the mantel over the fireplace. My daughter Kelly and her husband were there, and various mourners dropped off food. I would not need to cook for several weeks. I started to recollect the life that my wife and I had together. I met Christine at college. I was a little older because I had been in the war and the GI bill allowed me to go to school. We fell in love instantly and were inseparable. She wanted to get married right away, but I didn’t have the money to start a family. Christine’s mother gave us some old Roman coins she found in a closet, and we sold them to raise the money for a small house and to start our marriage. At the reception, my father in law called me aside and said, “The women in our family always take care of their men. You're going to be very happy. However, there's one thing you'll have to get used too. They are clean freaks. They constantly put things away, and often you’ll never see those items again.” That’s how my marriage to Christine was. If I left anything out, it would disappear. If I asked if she had seen the missing item, she would say, “Oh I put it away.” If I stopped a project before finishing it, I had to put everything away, or it would disappear. Sometimes this worked in my favor. I had a favorite beer stein that I had brought home from Germany. One day I dropped it, and it broke. Christine quickly cleaned up the pieces and put them away. The next evening, she smiled and gave me a beer in the stein which was now miraculously fixed. She said, “There was a duplicate in my mother’s closet.” Christine loved the small Wisconsin town where she grew up. I got a job as a history teacher in the local high school. I was worried about making it on the small salary, but Christine found an old painting in her mother's attic. It was a missing Rembrandt, and it brought in more than enough for us to live on for the rest of our lives. When our daughter Kelly turned thirteen, my wife taught her how to put things away. Suddenly I was living with two women who could make things disappear. Now that Christine was gone, I went through a period of depression. I didn't want to care for a big old house. Soon I agreed with my daughter that She and her husband would take the home over, and I would move into a condo. However, first, there was one more thing on my bucket list. I wanted to find the secret spot where my wife had been putting things away for 55 years. I had a dumpster placed into the driveway and began filling it with old items that I cleaned out of the house. Kelly volunteered to help me, which was fortunate because at my age I tired quickly. One day I noticed that the urn with my wife’s ashes was gone, but Kelly said, “Don’t worry, I put it away.” Finally, I was in the basement going through things and deciding what to throw out. I had the aches and pains of old age, with pain shooting down my left arm. Feeling nauseated, I decided to sit down in an old chair. As I sat, I looked at the basement wall and noticed a door that I had never seen before. Saying to myself, “That’s it! That’s the closest!” Invigorated by the discovery, I stood up and opened the door. Stepping through the doorway, I saw an unbelievable sight. Diffuse white light came down from the ceiling illuminating the room. An aisleway stretched into the distance, with tall shelving units on both sides. About four blocks away, a boxcar sat. I started down the aisle, and to my right, I saw a slide rule sticking out of a box. It was my slide rule from college! Attracted to this shelving unit, I started to take in the scene of stacks of objects I hadn’t seen in thirty years. A noise behind me caused me to turn around. Christine was standing there. Not the old Christine, who had been ravaged by cancer, but a young Christine. She said, “I’ve been expecting you!” I replied, “Christine! You look sixteen! How is this possible?” Christine handed me a mirror, and in it, I could see myself in my old dress uniform. I hadn't been able to wear it for fifty years, but I was thin again, with thick brown hair. Christine spoke, "You were always a handsome, sexy soldier. Do you remember the four-poster bed from our honeymoon? It's here; I put it away." I blurted out, “Christine what is happening?” She took my hand and led me to one of the shelving units. There I saw the urn with my wife’s ashes. Another urn sat beside it. Startled, I turned to Christine. Christine spoke, "Kelly put my urn away here. The women of my family have been using this closet for generations. When a girl turns thirteen, we take her here and show her the family storage closet. When things are put away here, the closet restores like new! We don’t know how many generations this has been going on, but there’s a lady here who wears furs and is keeping shelves full of stone tools. She doesn’t speak English, so I can’t talk to her, but she did give me some stew. I think it was mastodon meat.” Looking at the shelf with the urns I pointed to the urn next to Christine’s. “Who is that?” Christine replied, “That’s you, dear. You had a massive heart attack while cleaning the basement of our home. After the funeral, Kelly put your ashes next to mine. With your interest in history, you’re going to very happy here. In the harbor, Blackbeard is restoring Queen Anne’s Revenge, and he has his treasure on board. Amelia Earhart gives rides on her Lockheed Electra at the airport. We have the original copy of the Gettysburg address and papyrus drawings to the lost pyramid.” Christine then embraced me, pressing her breasts into my chest. She said, “You have eternity to explore this closet. First, let’s check out that four-poster bed.


The incantation was read, reverberating off the world, echoing, surrounding him. The underworld trembled as he was summoned. Through fire and brimstone, he rose through the Chasm of the Damned, tore across the Abyss of Lost Ones, burst through the line between his and theirs. A vortex of fleshy colors swirled around him, formed over his body, tightened, stretched, elongating, reached like pleading branches and down into him through every orifice. From one world to another, from one shape to another, to be summoned was a task he held highly, but one he would punish dearly if discovered to be made by a fool. He closed his eyes, his eyelids hissing on his flesh, and when he opened them he stood in a room that was far pinker than anything he had ever seen. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the blinding, vibrant color. Posters with various female humans in different poses, dressed in gowns, wearing tiaras and crowns, dancing, singing, were plastered to the walls, and sprinkled around them were colorful, shiny stickers of horses with horns, tiny cherubs with glittery wings, and rainbow colored stars and other symbols. The were white curtains with rose patterns hanging to the sides of the windows, and the bed in the far corner had more blankets and pillows than he ever thought imaginable. His sigil was crudely drawn on the small table he stood upon. A tiny, plastic knife blanched with red, and a paint set laid next to it; a wrinkled sheet of paper was on the floor, the incantation scribbled in red, a crayon nearby. A toppled over plastic chair was on the floor, painted with splotches of bright blue and indigo. *What is this?* he thought. “Yay! Yay, yay, yay! It worked! It worked!” A little female human cheered across the room, jumping up from a plastic chair placed in a ring of stuffed animals. A doll house nearly as big as her stood in the center of them, partially open, revealing dolls, plastic furniture, and other child toys. “You summoned me?” he asked, his voice grating, as if with every word his throat ground gravel to a fine dust. She threw her hands above her, one had a small, red mark across the palm, then pointed towards Him. “I did! I did!” “For what purpose do you summon me? Only those who require removal of a human’s life summon me, and only fools would summon me for anything else.” “To play, to play! Daddy’s not home, and mommy is sleeping!” “You summon me... to play?” A fine red mist escaped his lip-less mouth and slits for nostrils, rising and settling onto the ceiling above him. The plaster began to melt, and drips of white fell on his horned shoulders, the table, and the floor. The stench of burning paint, caulk, wood filled the room, mixing with the pungent, spicy scent of the mist. A hole revealing the attic formed, and insulation began to sing. “Yes! I need someone to be Ken! I can be Barbie and their daughter, but not Ken! Girls can’t play as boys, sil--” His amber eyes glowed and, as if a storm cloud passed over the sun, the room darkened. The lines that were etched up his body like snaking veins ebbed with a fiery light, illuminating the room. The small girl sat back down, putting her hands onto her lap. More mist escaped him, through his pores, through his eyes, became a smog engulfing him and the part of the room behind him. Hidden behind the cloud, the flaps of this world's frame started to peel, slowly being pulled back to reveal his true form; endless tendrils twisted, conjoined, endless innards like veering corridors, swirling staircases, that reach to the catacombs of ancient beings; places, things, words, names unimaginable to the little's girl world. “You summoned me!” he roared, stepping off the table that collapsed into kindle and embers. “To play? To play with toys? Do you know who I am child? Do you know who, what you summoned! Only the foolish have summoned me for greater things, and even those were childish!” The carpet singed around his hoofed feet, the smell of burnt plastic intertwining with the room's stench. A veil of tears covered her eyes, streamed down her chubby cheeks. She balled her shirt collar in her hand, biting her lower lip. The little girl spoke in between sobs. “Yes... I wanted someone to play with... Daddy’s-- daddy’s always gone, and-- and mommy’s always sleeping... she takes special medicine... We-- we-- we moved here for daddy’s work. I have... I have no one to play with here.” He loomed over the girl, peering down through the red mist, his eyes glowing, amber ovals. He balled his pincer-like claws into fists, black blood seeped in between them, dripping onto the floor. The demon glanced back at the table, saw the paper with his incantation among the rubble, saw the plastic knife that must have been used to cut her palm, and saw his symbol, now destroyed. “You summoned me little human,” he said, the color of his eyes and body gradually dulled and disappeared, returning to ember and ruby. The flaps of flesh mended, hiding the depths within his body. No mortal should look upon them, let alone a girl, though, perhaps, his mother may be an exception. “Thus, I will do your bidding this once.” The clouds lifted and sunlight fell into the room through the window once more, reflecting off the pink walls, filling the room with radiance. The fine, red mist quickly dissipated, as did the smell, though he didn't intend to repair the burnt ceiling, floor, walls, just yet. *For another time*, he thought. The demon crouched, glanced among the dolls and what he believed to be Ken into his claws, and asked, “How do we begin then, little human?” If you like what you read, you can view more of my work in my subreddit at .