They didn’t understand it. No-one did. This wasn’t murder or a mere kill that had no value or meaning. It was a grant of freedom. Freedom from the constraints of the delicate vessel that they were trapped in. I wasn’t a necrophile. I didn’t defile them, just for the sake of it, or mutilate and flay them for displaying them as personal trophies. I wasn’t a rapist. I don’t toy with them, or inject pleasure into myself before ending their lives. It was quick. No pain. Just a simple nick to the neck. They call people like me psychopaths. But they’re wrong. They’re all narrow-minded and insular. They don’t understand the service that I have done to society. They don’t understand the appeal the knife holds. The weight of value a simple chunk of metal carries. Every plunge of the knife is a joyous, momentous point in my life. The irony of when I think of all the lives I have saved simply by ending it, I just feel.... bliss. They say that life has ups and downs. The goods and bads. The peaks and troughs. But for me, I’ve been happy for years. Content with the life I’ve lived, the service I’ve done, and the part I played in people’s lives. They’ll all realise it soon enough. My job, my service, driven by an undying sense of passion and determination. But it’s all over now. And as the shackles are wrapped on my wrists, I think of how my service has ended. **Crime** I didn’t understand it. Probably won’t. Not now, not ever. As I witness the man get dragged out of the house, I can hear echoes of laughter, the fruity musk of beer, and the faint odour of lavender. I should feel disgusted. I should feel a sense of satisfaction that we tracked down the killer. A sense of duty that justice has been served. But no. All I felt was cold emptiness. Like as if at that moment I was carved into a hollow, inanimate mannequin dressed in a blue shirt with a petty badge, too mortified to move, utter a word or breathe. Just only having the ability to watch my neighbour walk down the driveway in handcuffs, shoved roughly into a police car and driven off. I used to be proud of the glass cabinet that sat across my study. The glints of silver and gold showcased various service awards and honour awards of my time as a policeman. Every time I looked at it, I felt an undying sense of pride and joy. A sense of gratification and fulfilment at the knowledge that my services have bettered the community from where I found it. But now when I glance at the dusty trophies in the attic, I’m engulfed in a painful blur of the house. Entering the house for the first time, two years ago, there was certainly nothing out of the ordinary. The house was adorned with an old-fashioned set-up. Like those cottages in Scotland; confined but cosy. The smallness of the space did not stop the man from hanging a large chandelier that hung at the topmost crook of the sloping rooftop. The lights showed the chandelier in all its glory, glimmering with such iridescent beauty, that one could mistake that diamonds were strung up rather than glass crystals. There was a thick, pleasant odour of lavender, a musk that was strangely heartening and complacent. The man greeted us warmly, shaking my wife and my hands, and kneeling down to greet our children. I remember everything about that day. I remembered the amazing apple custard pie we ate at the patio down at the back. I remembered the man talking about how he wants to one day fulfil his dreams and become a cook. “To be of good service to everyone”, he had said, smiling widely, “The feeling you have when someone compliments your quiche. Or how wonderful people like yourself say how amazing my apple custard pie is. It’s just.... bliss.” I remember how good he was with the kids. How he narrated riveting and fascinating stories for the children that had them at the edge of their seats. Never once, even from that day did I question the heavy scent of lavender that brooded the house’s hallways. How the scent inexplicably disappeared when I entered the kitchen from the living room. Never once have I questioned the even deeper fragrance of lavender rippling of the man every time I shook his hand. Never once have I questioned why the man had renovated the walls of his living room but never any other structures of his house. But standing right now, at the crime scene, witnessing bodies littered on the floor of the living room, and the walls ripped apart that had concealed the hollowness from within, I realised the questions that I’ve never raised had been answered. Looking on ahead at the scene, I was witnessing the consequences of my ignorance. In a few days, my children will notice that there is no light next door and will come down from their bedroom to ask where our neighbour is. I will say that he had moved on to another city to pursue his dreams of being a cook. My children will cry in despair and I would promise that I will call him so they can talk to him. In a few months, we will move to another state. Friends and social circles will have to start anew, but with a whiff of caution. Our smiles won’t quite reach our eyes, and our minds will be grated with inkling notions of paranoia. There will be more tears. In a year, my wife will wake up in another nightmare, sobbing in grief and trauma. I will soothe her, muttering incomprehensible words trying to comfort her as well as myself. In 3 years, both my children will have graduated to high school. They will have stopped asking to talk with the neighbour on the phone. I still don’t tell them about what the neighbour really did. In a few more years, our children will have graduated from high school both going interstate to pursue further studies. We will watch with proud eyes and cheering hearts. The house will become more desolate; devoid of any more heart-wrenching questions but empty of running feet, squeals and laughter. The nightmares would have stopped, but the trauma will still be lingering. And the guilt would never disappear.


Dogmeat, the typically energetic five-month-old German shepherd, had a big day of lounging around and destroying toys and furniture ahead of him. What he didn't know was he was in for a big adventure that day. His humans had just bought a new trashcan to try and keep him out of it and he didn't like that at all. Dogmeat didn't understand why they would do something like that, he was just trying to protect them from the evil trash monsters. He also didn't understand who they kept referring too when they would say, Trevor. "Who’s Trevor?" Dogmeat thought, not understanding the humans other than simple names and some commands. The humans had just left for the day as they were going to a convention to try and make a living so Dogmeat was all alone with this "Trevor" character. "Maybe if I bark at it, it'll get scared and go away," Dogmeat pondered for a bit, then started to bark at it or yell in dog terms. after an hour of barking and the trashcan not moving he decided to give up on it. He moved in closer and nudged it with his nose, making it rock slightly. this provoked another bark out of him. He nudged it again and again until it fell over finally but none of the contents spilled out. Dogmeat sniffed the lid a bit, he could tell there was stuff in there but didn't know how to get it out. he sniffed around a bit more till the lid wizzed open and some trash fell out. "Sweet victory!" Dogmeat exclaimed with a yelp as he dug through the trash looking for treats. What he didn't know was his humans were monitoring him closely as he was known to get into the trash while they were gone. They had alert notifications from a home monitoring system if something like that happened so they knew exactly what he did. Another surprise was waiting for Dogmeat around the corner. Roomba Doomba as it was named whirled to life as he had been activated to clean up some of the trash Dogmeat spilled. It rounded the corner right for him. Dogmeat turned his head in confusion and then turned his whole body like a spinning disc of cleaning doom came for him. "What is that thing?!" Dogmeat questioned as he barked at the new challenger approaching. He stood his ground until the Roomba was up at him. Dogmeat swatted at it a couple of times then pounced in front of it, causing the Roomba to back up a bit to find another path around Dogmeat. He went to pounce again but this time managing to land on the power button located at the top of the Roomba. As it powered down and ceased motion Dogmeat was pretty sure he had beaten the whirling beat of doom "Hoomans will be so proud of me! I took down two monsters today that could've hurt them," Dogmeat thought happily to himself. As he trotted out of the kitchen and into the living room he hopped up into his favorite chair to take a nap after his daring adventure and saving the day.


Adelphie played with her food, pushing bits of potato around her plate with her fork. “I know his mother is the best Healer in the palace. That doesn’t mean I should marry him.” A particularly fat pigeon alighted on her wrist and rubbed his head on her thumb in support. Her mother sighed. “Del, I told you to keep that thing off the table.” “Leave Rumble alone.” Rumble’s coo of agreement echoed in Adelphie’s head--he didn’t want to get off the table either. Adelphie ruffled the feathers on his brown and white head absentmindedly. “He’s not gross. He’s just as clean as any of your horses.” Adelphie’s mother crossed her arms. “But you’ll notice than even though I’m a Horse-speaker, I manage to keep them out of the house. Send it back to the coup. We’re trying to have a discussion.” “Fine.” Adelphie rolled her eyes and churred slightly at Rumble, who peered up at her with annoyance in his eyes. “I know, I know. Later.” Rumble flew up and through the window, leaving Adelphie to wish that she could also fly away from this conversation. “Now, what’s really wrong with Gomes? I thought you were friends with him.” “Yeah, exactly. We were friends. Then Remi goes and marries the princess and now everything is awkward all the time.” “You have to stop seeing your sister’s existence as a curse, Del. She’s done nothing to wrong you.” “Ever since she became the duchess, everything is different. This is my fourth proposal this week. I want to get married because someone loves me and wants to live with me and... I don’t know, help me raise my birds or something. Not because it’ll give some random people a connection with the royal family. I don’t feel like that’s too much to ask.” “You’re far too old to have such romantic ideas about marriage. It’s not like you’re going to get swept off your feet by the perfect man. At least you’re friends with Gomes.” Her mother changed tactics. “Look, you like Gomes, right? The best marriages are between friends. Look at your father and me.” “I know, I know.” Adelphie took a bite of potatoes. “And if you want to move out, it would be a lot easier if--” “I know, Mom!” Adelphie looked out the window. There was a dove out there that wanted her attention. “Look, can I go?” “It’s not very polite to leave in the middle of family dinner.” “Family dinner? It’s just the two of us here. And it’s lunch time.” “Are we not family?” Adelphie rolled her eyes. “Where is Bolin anyway?” “Your brother... actually, I don’t know where he is.” “He’s not married either,” Adelphie muttered. Her mother took a deep breath. “Adelphie, please. You can’t live here with us forever. Getting married isn’t the end of the world. You should feel lucky that you’re so... desired, by men in the kingdom.” “And I’d feel even more lucky if they even wanted me to begin with instead of just my connection to the king.” “Adelphie.” “What? It’s true.” “You know we can’t force you to marry anyone you don’t want to. But please, just think about it? You like Gomes. At least give him a chance. A courtship moon or two? That’s all I ask.” Adelphie bit the inside of her lip. “Fine. Can I go now?” “You may be excused.” Adelphie kicked at the dirt roads as she walked along the dirt road of the main street. One of Rumble’s daughters, a coquettish and stupid red-bar, strutted next to her feet, complaining about the presence of a crow that lived in the woods next to Adelphie’s house. Despite that, Adelphie could still feel the stares of the shopkeepers, hear their muttering, and she adjusted her skirt and straightened her back as best she could. Out of the corner of her eye, Adelphie saw the town cooper nudge his son, who stumbled forward into the street. “A--Adelphie! Hi!” Stifling a sigh, she turned to face him with the biggest smile she could muster. “Enoc! Hi. We haven’t spoken since the coronation last year,” she said pointedly. Her pigeon cooed her farewells and fluttered off, leaving Adelphie alone. The poor blond man turned pink and Adelphie caught the glance he tried to sneak to his father, who was trying to hide his portly body behind one of his barrels. “Yes, well, um, I, I just wanted you to know you looked really n--nice today. And maybe you’d, uh, want to come over after temple on Friday? For dinner?” “Sorry, I, uh--” At least he hadn’t proposed immediately, Adelphie thought. “I always have dinner with my family then.” “Oh.” Enoc glanced back at his father again and Adelphie felt bad. She didn’t want him to get yelled at. “Maybe next weekend though?” “Yeah, maybe.” Enoc shuffled his feet. “So...” Adelphie fought the urge to check her pocket watch. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” “Sure, sure. See you.” Adelphie walked away quickly, careful not to look back towards him. It would be different if they actually seemed to enjoy her presence, different still if she was beautiful, like her sister. The moon’s light just barely seemed to poke out, although the sun had only just begun to set. The crow Rumble’s daughter had been afraid of flew overhead, cawing out how happy he was that his chicks would soon hatch. Adelphie sighed. It was probably time to go back home, but she really didn’t want to have that conversation with her mother again. If her mother would only stop beating around the bush and admit that they couldn’t pay for their house now that Eremiel was out of the house and not contributing income, maybe Adelphie would be more okay with it. It still hurt that they wanted her out and not her twin. Her brother’s Gift was rarer than hers, more impressive, more lucrative. Adelphie was just a drain. Unspecial, in comparison to her remarkable siblings. No matter her parents wanted her to leave. The woods were coming up, Adelphie noted, but her feet kept walking anyway. It wasn’t particularly dangerous for her; the birds would warn her if a bobcat was coming. A tawny owl hooted in the distance and Adelphie tried to understand her, only barely catching the word “rabbit”. A real Bird-speaker would be able to understand all birds, even the carnivorous ones. Adelphie clenched her fists. She really was weak and worthless, just like her parents thought. The first burning hints of tears started to creep into Adelphie’s nose, but before she could cry, she was startled by a flurry of wings and the call of a frightened sparrow. “Hello?” Adelphie winced. Her sparrow accent was terrible because of how much time she’d spent with pigeons. The sparrow chirped again, frantically. “Just hang on.” Adelphie picked through the forest, trying to keep the hem of her skirt from tearing. “I’m coming.” The bird’s shrieks came from further and further away. Adelphie began to run, hurtling over hedges and tripping over roots. Suddenly, the sparrow stopped calling. “Hello? Are you okay?” Adelphie peered into the underbrush--it was getting too dark to see. The sparrow didn’t respond, which wasn’t typical of sparrows. Adelphie stopped. To the right and left, nothing looked familiar, and she wasn’t really sure if she could backtrack because she’d been thinking so much about what a sparrow would do. She pushed back through the brush from where she’d came. She trilled a call--most of her songbirds and Columbiformes would be asleep, but surely some of them would hear her and help her find her way home. She trilled again, louder this time, but still, no response came. Adelphie looked around at the receding light. This was not good. Adelphie tried again, more frantically. Either the birds could hear her and were ignoring her, or there were no living birds in this clearing. The latter was a lot more troubling--as much as Adelphie hated it, she had to hope they were just ignoring the poor, lousy Bird-speaker with no true talents. A snap behind her squeezed her lungs. It was bigger than a sparrow, whatever it was. Surely it wasn’t a bobcat--could they be so silent? They were cats, she supposed. Was it the reason there were no birds? Would a bobcat try to kill her? Adelphie screwed her eyes shut. If it was coming for her, should she run or should she stand her ground? How big were bobcats again? “What are you doing?” Adelphie’s knees went weak. “Oh, thank the lord.” She turned, finding herself face to face with a tall man about her age with sideswept black hair--definitely not a bobcat. “Were you making bird noises?” “Yes,” she admitted. “I, uh, I thought you might be a bobcat.” “So... you made bird noises?” “I’m a Bird-speaker. I was trying to get them to help me get home. I lost my way in the woods,” she said, remembering right after she’d said it that she probably shouldn’t tell a strange forest man she was completely lost. The man nodded. “I suppose that makes a little bit more sense. I thought you were just randomly making bird noises in the middle of the night in the woods. Seemed a bit weird.” “Well, you’re one to talk. What are you doing in the middle of the woods?” Adelphie sized him up. He was tall, sure, but bone thin, and his clothes were more worn than her own hand-me-downs. His right hand shined with blood. She could beat him in a fight, she decided, and she shifted from suspicious to concerned. “Did you cut yourself? Are you alright?” “What?” He looked down at his hand. “Oh, yeah, I’m alright. What are you doing in the middle of the woods?” “I asked first.” “Yeah, but it’s weirder that you’re here. I’m in the woods all the time.” “Why should I believe you?” “I’m covered in dirt,” he pointed out. Adelphie hadn’t been able to see that in the dim lights. “That doesn’t mean you’re in the woods all the time. That just means you’ve been in the woods for a long time as of right now.” He sighed. “Look, this argument will go nowhere. Let’s cut a deal. You tell me what you’re doing in the woods and I’ll tell you how to get back to town.” “Oh! You can do that?” “Yeah, of course. I’m in the woods all the time.” Adelphie still wasn’t sure she could trust him, but as her choices were run around the woods aimlessly or briefly trust this stranger, she bit her lip and nodded. “Alright. I accept your terms.” “Great!” He paused. “So, uh, why are you in the woods?” “Well, I didn’t mean to be. I was walking through town, but I ran into some people I didn’t particularly want to talk to, so I... kept walking, and I wound up in the woods. And then I was chasing this sparrow I heard calling for help, and I got all turned around.” He cocked his head. “You have enemies?” “Well, I wouldn’t really call them enemies. They’re actually... suitors? I guess? They all want to marry me.” “Why would you run from someone who wants to marry you?” “I mean, they don’t actually want to marry me. Not really.” Adelphie looked around for a place to sit. If she was going to pour her guts to a stranger in the woods, it’d be more comfortable at least if she could sit down. “What are you looking for?” “I want to sit down. My legs are tired.” “Oh.” His nose twitched twice. “Um. Okay. How about we go to my campfire then? It’s not super far away.” Adelphie internally hemmed and hawed, but in the end, her calves were burning and the air was growing chilly. “Alright. Thank you. Lead the way.” The way to the campfire was a lot smoother than the hedges and brush Adelphie had torn her skirt on earlier. “What’s your name, by the way?” “I don’t know if I should tell you that. You’re a stranger.” He rolled his eyes and stomped over a barely visible sapling. “You’re okay with telling me your woes about marriage but you’re not okay with telling me your name?” “Fine. It’s Adelphie.” “Adelphie. What a weird name. Watch that hole.” “Thanks. And you?” “Thanks, but I’ve already stepped over it.” “No, I mean, what’s your name?” If the light hadn’t been so low, Adelphie would have sworn that he turned red. “Gwydion,” he muttered. “Gwydion?” “Shut up.” “I was just checking! It’s not... It’s not a bad name.” Neither of them acknowledged that it was. The campfire was small but nice, with a smooth bolder acting as a bench and a firepit with the remains of a few logs and branches. Adelphie smoothed down her skirt as she settled onto the boulder. “I take it you’re here quite a lot.” “Mmhmm.” Gwydion seemed distracted. He held up his bloody right hand towards the fire and muttered something before blowing into it. Adelphie sprung back as a fire ignited. “So, you’re a Fire-starter?” Gwydion ignored the question. “So, you don’t want to get married?” “It’s not... it’s not that.” Adelphie pursed her lips. “It’s just... they don’t want... me. They’re not in love with me. They’re not even close friends with me. They just--well I gotta back up. So, my sister became the duchess.” Gwydion raised his eyebrows. “Now everyone wants to marry me to get close to the crown, not because they actually want me. And since my sister left the house, my parents don’t have enough income so they want me to get married so I’ll leave the house and they can downsize, but they don’t want my brother to leave, just me. And it’s just me because I’m a Bird-speaker and there’s hundreds of me and I’m not even a very strong Bird-speaker and I’m...” Adelphie huffed out her last bit of breath. “I’m just a drain. I’m a weak drain on my parents. They don’t want me. I’m not... I’m not special, like my siblings. I’m just a weak drain of resources.” Gwydion faced her. “Wow, that... that sucks.” He smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, it, uh, it kinda does.” “Couldn’t you live alone?” Adelphie shrugged. “No. I don’t think so, anyway. I’d have to move to the outskirts of town and it’d be hard to get to the castle every day.” Gwydion’s smile dropped and he leaned away from Adelphie. “You work in the castle?” “Yeah, like as junior Message Collector. The birds tell me which ones are urgent and I pass them along to people who bring them where they need to go.” “So you don’t like...” Gwydion bit his lip. “You don’t report to anyone? Like the King or the militia or anything?” “Uh, no. I report to the senior message collector.” Gwydion relaxed. “Thank goodness.” “Why?” “Why what?” “Why were you worried about me reporting to the militia?” “No reason.” “That’s not very convincing.” Gwydion looked down, biting his cheek, clearly deliberating. A long, pregnant pause settled around his little campfire before he finally looked up. “If you had the choice, would you want to be stronger?” “What? Yeah, of course. If I was stronger, my parents would actually... want me.” Adelphie cast her gaze sideways, into the fire. “Can you keep a secret?” “Yes.” Was there any other answer? “I’m not a Fire-starter.” “But I just--” “I have the gift of Unbreakable Bones--not so useful. I also wanted to be stronger, like you. So I learned to do this.” Scooching closer to Adelphie, he tentatively showed her his right hand, on which a rune was printed in old, black ink, barely visible under the red blood. Adelphie gasped. “Blood Magic!” “We prefer to call it Soul Magic,” Gwydion explained, before holding up his hand and muttering into it, causing the flame to spire higher. When he pulled his palm back, it was clean. “But I always thought it was... evil.” “It’s not evil. It’s just... a way to give us with lousy Gifts a little boost, that’s all.” Gwydion smiled. “You want to try? It could... even the playing field, so to speak.” Adelphie bit her lip. The old saying all insisted Blood Magic was cruel and evil, but Gwydion didn’t seem so bad. “Maybe.” “Here.” Gwydion took her right hand and with a pen he produced from his back pocket. “This’ll be permanent,” he warned, and when Adelphie nodded, he skillfully drew a small symbol that looked rather like a ladybug on Adelphie’s thumb. “This is a Sparking Charm. It’ll produce a little jolt. I’d rather you point it away from me.” He pulled a vial of blood out of his pocket and Adelphie cringed. “Is that... Human blood?” “What? No, I got it from a sp-- from an animal I caught earlier. Now repeat after me: Dita Karpa.” “Dita Karpa,” Adelphie repeated, and the affect was instantaneous. Sparks crackled from her fingertips, and Adelphie instantly felt an upheaval of her spirit, as if it was stirring inside of her and something that had been painful, something that had been weighing her down had been removed. When she reopened her eyes, everything felt a little bit different, as if all the guilty parts of her soul had been exorcized. “Woah.” Gwydion smiled. “I thought you’d like it. You seemed the type.” “That feeling! I’m so much--I feel lighter, I feel--” Adelphie caught her breath. “It was... it was amazing. My heart--my soul feels so much lighter, like I’m not... I’m not such a drain, I’m not such a failure.” “I know exactly what you mean. And it only gets better.” “Can you show me more?” Adelphie said, holding her hand out towards him again. “I think I’m in love.”


He watched the leaf as it slid gently from the tree to the ground. The wind carried it carefully with its waves. Cautiously, very lightly it flew ahead, the goal before his eyes. The bench on which he sat was damp from the rain the day before. It was mild. The sky was cloudy. Tension was in the air. The birds gathered in groups and flew excitedly back and forth in the park. The leaf flew on. Untouched by any doing and being in its environment. It pursued its goal unperturbed. He sat on the wet bench, lost in thought, and without any support. The surroundings enveloped him. Lost in himself. Present and yet very far away. Something pressed him but he didn't know what it was. The leaf that fell to the ground was already completely yellowish. As did most of the leaves that had already found their way to the ground. It was the calm before the storm that surrounded him. A gust of wind came up and lifted the leaf further up into the air. It could not be kept from its course. The bank was pointed at a piece of deciduous forest. The colors ranged from lush green to bright orange, to pale yellow. Just before the forest began, there were some apple and plum trees. An old, bare, whitish tree caught his eye. He was a bit distant from the others and apparently had his best years behind him. Not a single leaf could be recognized by his arms. Not a single apple lay at his feet. He did not deserve the attention of people passing by. He was simply uninteresting for them. Who was interested in a tree that could no longer bear fruit? For a tree that stood naked on the meadow all year round and was no longer useful for anything. The only use for it would be to give off the heat after its final death. Wouldn't it be nice to see him again in full dress? In his full splendor. So that every person who walks past him would pay him every attention. That would be truly the best farewell he could wish for this tree. When he turned his gaze back to the leaf, he could see at the last moment how it finally reached its way to the ground, but even now it was still carried by the wind, even now that it had reached its lowest point. It seemed as if it had simply recognized and accepted its path. Something insensitive for him. He would immediately take the opportunity to go back, to make it better. To do it differently. He had lost too much. Left too much behind. Too much has trickled away what should be there. The sky was closing in. The sky became darker. The lashes of the wind became firmer. He pulled the zipper of his jacket up to his mouth. He hid his hands in his jacket and stood up. His gaze fell to the ground, there lay all the old leaves that had been carried by the wind days before.  He turned his back to the old tree and walked a few steps. Drops fell down to the earth, a cloudburst! His steps became quicker. The wind blew his long white hair into his face. He made no effort to straighten it. A bright flash of light, only fractions of a second later a thunder. He flinched. He turned around and saw the old tree that was now on fire and giving away the only thing it had left to offer. Light and warmth.


Method, by Hana Aianhanma, February 2019, This work is licensed under a . The story is made up. As such, similarities with real events and/or persons are coincidental. If you recognise yourself in any of it, find professional help. Seriously. ***** ## **Method** ***** "The old trains used to just have a hole," The old man had drunk quite a bit, "A hole?" "I mean, they had toilets and all, but look down one and you could see the tracks." "Tracks?" "Anything that drops down through them during the ride is lost forever." "Drops down?" "Please don't use the toilets when the train has stopped at a station." Yes, definitely inebriated, "bad for the smell, see?" "I don't quite follow what that's got to do with my question." "Everything with why I hate that question," "You'd think they would be able to clean the tracks there, it's outside, you know?" I interjected, "except when the station has a roof." "Very few roofed stations in the country I lived in, back then." "Country?" "Belgium." "Had some problems moving stateside." "I can image, with the visa requirements." "Oh, not that," he waved that away, "it was the beer I brought with me..." "Taxes?" "The labels. You barbarians don't know art when you see it." He must have noticed my befuddlement, so he changed subject on me. "Used to have one, to answer it," he gulped down the remainder of the glass of whatever poison he was drinking, "What? ̈́ "Your question." "Used to?" "Treasure of our lives," "If you don't want to talk about it..." "No I don't." "then ..." "the wife and I had this little kid. Little one charmed me the day she was born. " I poured each of us a glass of beer. Had to make sure he wouldn't touch that poison again, after all. He looked at it suspiciously, "what's this piss?" "It's beer." "You call that beer?" I carefully inspected my glass, "yeees?" "Hah!" He took a swig, "Piss," and finished the contents, "I've tasted better stuff that people used to drink when beer was too expensive." I stared, "why drink it, if it's so bad? "Sometimes one enjoys the drink," he took my glass, "other times the alcohol," and emptied it. "Quite so," I ordered another pair, "so you had this kid." "Ah yes, the kid!" "You know people idealise having one," he looked up as he received the new glass, "it's all true," another huge swallow. "True?" "Kid was great," "But?" "Well, gotta pay with karma, isn ́t it?" "There were downsides?" "Downside? Yes!" He laughed disconcertingly, "and it went all down!" He had a mad look in his eyes now. "See, I had diaper duty." "The wife shed some sweat, blood and tears when the baby arrived," now that I looked at them, they had that yellowing look, "so I had to take care of it for a while," "Tough?" "Formed a habit, I did," The new glasses arrived, he took both of them now, "See, the little'un had this charming game when we changed diapers," "They often do." "Just finished cleaning up when ..." He cackled delightedly, "out came the rest." He considered the glass, "Great way to check a babysitters dedication, that was." "So, that habit?" "Well, I wasn't going to be cleaning any more than needed, " "You had a method?" "Great one, changing diapers in the bathroom right next to the toilet." He put the glass down, "no more of this," he mumbled. "Water!" "Where was I?" "Your method?" "Ah yes. Baby who doesn't hold his poo, toilet right next." "I see..." "So, the littl'bugger could have all the fun it wanted while I held it under its armpits," he smiled triumphantly, "above the toilet." He looked happy for the first time that night, "so, why didn't you like to be asked about your children?" "You don't see?" "No" "Had to change diapers in the train one day," he looked almost sober now, "so here I was, in this old train, with my Genius Method." He eyed the beers, "not a smooth ride, those old trains. Especially when they change tracks on you." "The shaking makes you drop what you're holding.


Billy was sitting on the toilet doing his business while reading his favorite Spider Man comic book. It was difficult concentrating. The image of his dead sister, Mary, kept popping in his mind. He had looked at her face in her casket at the funeral last week but the face wasn’t right. It was too pale and white. Mary always had rosy cheeks and a wide bright smile. This corpse had small thin lips that would never smile. Mary had died of a very rare skin disease that caused her flesh to rot from the inside out. The doctors couldn’t stop it. All they were able to do was to prolong her suffering. The last time he saw Mary before she was taken to the hospital for the last time, her skin was scaling and falling off; a snake shedding its skin. A week later, his parents told him Mary had gone to heaven. And then came the funeral where he looked at that horrible empty casing that pretended to be his 6-year-old sister. Billy’s eyes felt heavy. He had been sitting on the toilet for too long and his butt was beginning to fall asleep and get the tingles. He dropped the Spider Man comic on the floor and started to unroll some toilet paper. A soft gurgling noise emanated from the water below his knees. He looked down. Bubbles were forming in the toilet bowl . More gurgling noises and then the bubbles intensified. The foul defecation diluted water was splashing up against his butt cheeks. Horrified, Billy stood up quickly and stared down at the water. The water had turned a fluorescent putrid green and his business had been sucked down beyond visibility. Billy bent his face to peer closer. Several more bubbles popped to the surface. Suddenly Billy felt his entire body sucked into the bowels of the toilet bowl and he was careening headfirst through the pipe like a waterslide. Down, down through the wet gunk and slime until he landed painfully onto a damp and mud-caked surface. Darkness all around. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, just enough light emerged to convey he was in what appeared to be a sewer. Small slivers of light shimmered high above him from a cylindrical manhole. Dizzily, Billy propped himself up on his elbows and shook the infested fecal water off him like a wet dog. At the far corner of the room there was a small figure squatting in a little ball. The figure’s head rose and slitted red eyes stared directly at Billy. The figure was a little girl. Her hair was long and tangled with leaves and debris. She stood up and made a strangled noise somewhere between a belch and a hiss. Then she spoke his name, “... Billy...Biiiillllyy.” Billy couldn’t move. To his horror, his mind began to assemble the physical attributes of the girl who was now walking slowly toward him. The dimpled chin, high cheekbones, gangly arms. The same dress his sister wore on the day his parents drove her to the hospital. It couldn’t be her. But she knew his name. She was only paces away and her hand stretched out toward him. Her fingers, disjointed and stripped of their nails, grazed his neck. That was enough to break his paralysis. He kicked her in the shins knocking her backward while he turned and jumped to his feet. He ran five feet directly into a supporting beam, knocking him right back to the ground, seeing stars. The creature masquerading as his sister jumped on his back and grabbed a knot of his hair, flipping him around with unnatural strength. Spittle flew from her lips as her mouth tried to work out something. “Biiilllyyy... I am... so... looonely... Come plaaay with meeee.” Billy scooted backwards, breaking from her grasp. The adrenaline allowed him to see the creature even more clearly now. The creature had his sister Mary’s face, no doubt about it. But the skin was peeling off and there were wounds and scabs covering every inch of her exposed skin. She was a rotting corpse. He observed a slug-like form peeking its head out of an oozing lesion on her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak again, and a rodent squirmed its way out, stifling whatever communication she intended. Billy scrambled to his feet again, and ran, this time avoiding the supporting beams. He turned a corner and ran down a long narrow passage, slightly more illuminated from a light source at the other side. He screamed soundlessly and felt his heartbeat slamming against his skull. He heard shrieking laughter behind him, weakening as he put more and more distance between himself and the monster. He ran and ran, but the light at the end of the passage never came any closer. He sobbed desperately until he collapsed to the ground in the shallow running water, tasting its filth, sealing his hopelessness. His head snapped up abruptly as if someone had rapped his chin with a ruler. He was still sitting on the toilet. Spider Man looked up at him nonchalantly from the comic book splayed open on the bathroom floor. He was drenched in cold sweat. A dream? It didn’t feel like a dream. He still smelled the pungent sewer odors all around him. It was seeped into his clothes, absorbed into his pores. He shivered helplessly and covered his eyes with his hands. The feeling of complete terror was very slowly abating, but he couldn’t shake the certainty that he had just looked into his dead sister’s eyes while she attempted to choke the life from him. Since his dead sister didn’t come after him from the toilet, Billy convinced himself he had had the worst nightmare of his life and proceeded to go about his day. After taking off his clothes (threw them in the garbage) and taking a long hot shower, he went out to play with his friends down the street. They rounded up some other kids from around the block and organized a kickball game. Before long, Billy wasn’t thinking about the nightmare anymore. Soon after he was devouring his mother’s delicious meatloaf with mashed potatoes and watching several episodes of the Flash with his Dad before bed-time. His mother and father both separately tucked him in and gave him a kiss good night. Since Mary had died, they had been particularly attentive about his bed-time routine. Billy had almost completely forgotten the nightmare. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep and restful sleep. It might have been the second REM cycle, somewhere around 3:30 in the early morning when Mary found Billy again. In his dream, Billy was playing baseball with his friends, and then driving a race car with his father in the passenger side seat. “What an incredible driver you are, Billy!” His father’s eyes were so bright and proud. Then he was swimming at his friend Alice’s pool and admiring how perfectly smooth Alice’s arms and legs were and how pretty her mouth was when she smiled, when something below him grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the bottom of the pool. Billy thrashed his arms and kicked his legs but whatever had a hold of him was extremely strong. He felt his foot being pulled into the drain at the bottom of the pool, followed by his leg, and then his torso was being squeezed to fit into the small drain hole. Billy felt his bones being squeezed to the shape of a tennis ball, and then he was flying through the water pipes at least a hundred miles an hour - much faster than the race car he had just driven with his father. Then his crumpled body was spit upon the same darkened sewer from his nightmare. The thing that resembled Mary was sitting in the same spot, as if she were waiting patiently for this visit. But this time, the creature jumped quickly towards Billy, as if he were a cricket that just twitched in front of a staring house cat. She was upon him at once. He could feel her cold, dead skin pressing against his own flesh; her stinking rotting breath upon his face made him nauseous. Her red eyes were now dancing in their sockets as she began to sing happily: “My brooother! My bro-o-other! He came to pla-ay with meee!” Billy punched her in the face as hard as he could. Her neck snapped back and her zombie corpse face turned nearly 180 degrees around. She slowly revolved her head and her eyes were angry. Her high-pitched sing-songy voice now deepened multiple octaves. “What did you just do to me, you mean, mean, big brother! You are supposed to be my FRIEND!” She slapped him hard and he found himself more repulsed by the feel of her rotting hands than by the force of the blow. She grabbed his ankles with both of her hands. “It hurt so bad. Hurt so bad for sooo long. But now I don’t hurt. Now I’m just... lonely. Come be my friend, brother. Forever. And ever!” Her eyes became slits of evil and she began that horrible shrieking laugh from before. “You will feel my pain. And then come be with me.” She laughed until she coughed, and blood shot out of her mouth and nose with the effort. “Be my friend, brother. Forever...” Billy awoke screaming. He screamed until his mother came running into the room, slamming his door open and putting her palms against his cheeks. “It’s okay Billy, it’s okay. It was just a dream.” She caressed his head and kissed him until the screaming turned to moans, then whimpers, and finally to raspy breaths. Billy’s mother read him his favorite stories she used to read to him when he was three years younger and still into baby books. For Billy, the stories felt just fine tonight. He didn’t fall back to sleep, but he did close his eyes and think about what needed to be done. The next morning after a large bowl of corn pops Billy went upstairs and confronted the doorknob of Mary’s bedroom. Since she was taken to the hospital weeks ago, the door had stayed firmly shut and only his mother would go in occasionally. Billy would overhear her weeping quietly. Billy sensed there might be something in his little sister’s room that could help him. He was terrified of the monster his sister had become in his dreams, but he was sure she wouldn’t have acted that way unless something was terribly wrong. He wasn’t the greatest big brother, but he didn’t think his little sister really wanted him to die just to join her in death. Billy summoned his courage and put his hand on the doorknob. He noticed the back of his hand was peeling off dead skin. He rubbed the dead skin away. Significantly more flaky skin came off than he was expecting. His hand was left with a large oval red welt. Moderately alarmed, but undeterred, Billy pushed the door open and walked inside. The room was immaculate. Freshly vacuumed with all of Mary’s toys perfectly arranged in an order that only a mother could be responsible for. Mary was a typical child; she threw her things everywhere. Their father often joked the two of them were his two little Tasmanian devils. Billy scanned the room, looking for anything that might be useful. Mary was obsessed with dolls. She had dozens of them, usually splattered around the room chaotically, but now they were serenely placed around the room, all evenly spaced from one another. All of them looked keenly at Billy with prying eyes. Billy was feeling thoroughly creeped out. He recalled Mary enjoyed one particular doll more than the rest, especially during her last days. It was a brown-haired girl with a green and white checkered dress. There it was, lying face down on Mary’s pillow. Billy picked the doll up and looked at the unblinking eyes, thinking. Billy walked over to Mary’s little school desk where she used to do all of her drawings with markers and watercolors. There were a few books standing upright between two horse shaped bookends. One of them had a little lock enclosing the pages. It was a diary. Billy remembered how excited Mary was when she received that little diary with the lock and key last Christmas. He tried to open the diary, but it wouldn’t open without the key. Billy looked at the doll he was holding to his side. Did she have any suggestions? Billy noted a little bulge on the side of the doll’s dress. Upon further examination, it was a small pocket with a tiny zipper. Sure enough, there was the key. The key fit perfectly into the journal’s lock. Billy felt guilty for looking at his dead sister’s journal. But he sensed this was something he had to do. Most of the pages were filled with colorful drawings of flowers and rainbows, other silly girly things. But a few of the pages contained his sister’s childish handwriting. Most of it was boring stuff, like, I luv my Daddy and Mummy. I wish Gramsy wud buy me the princez cassl I askd for. He flipped to the last few pages. The drawings were all in pencil, no more colors. Lots of faces with sad frowns. On one page she wrote, I hate herting. Its not fare. Mommy sez hevan is butiful but Im scarrd. If I do go to hevan I hope Molly can come with me. Molly. Of course. That was the brown-haired doll’s name. Billy’s arm was itching badly. He had been scratching it for the last few minutes while perusing the diary. He pulled up the sleeve and gasped. He had scratched almost all of the skin off his arm. It looked bruised and welty. He noticed something lesion-like growing near the elbow. Just like the marks his sister was getting before she died. Billy closed the diary, locked it with the key, and put it carefully back where he found it. He left the room and closed the door quietly. He brought Molly with him to his bedroom where he picked up his Spider Man comic book. Then he went to the bathroom to take care of business . Billy sat on the toilet longer than he ever had before. He was tired of reading the Spider Man comic and his neck was getting stiff. But he held the doll firmly with his left hand and pressed against his chest. He waited. His eyes began to get heavy. He heard soft bubbling below him. The bubbling grew louder and became a steady gurgling. Billy braced himself and tensed all of his muscles, getting ready for a terrible ride. He felt his body compress to the thinness of a pencil and then he was being sucked downward, this time he was a bullet flying through the drain. He imagined the Flash. The Flash would be brave. The Flash would know exactly what to do. He still held Molly tightly against his chest. He slammed down hard against the hard sewer floor. Rats scattered away from something dead and decaying they were greedily picking at. He shook the wetness from his clothes and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Mary?” he called. She was not there. “I brought something for you. I have your Molly.” He shivered. This had to work. Then a high reedy voice drifted to his ears from somewhere in the cavernous sewers. “Youuu have my Mooolllyyy...?” And then the voice became low and growled. “GIVE IT TO ME. Give it to me NOW!” He felt a rush of wind fly by him, and the doll had been knocked to the ground. The creature pounced on the doll ferociously and began hugging it and kissing it. She looked up at Billy. Half of her face was torn off revealing her skull. Most of her flesh was completely gone. Clearly the rats were having their way with her, Billy thought. "I thought you would want to have her.” Billy croaked. “You said you were lonely. I... I can’t be with you, Mary. I’m still alive. I have to live my life. Grow up, get old and stuff... you know?” She sneered at him with worms crawling in her few remaining teeth. "Please Mary. I don’t want to die. Please let me live. When I do die -- a long time from now -- okay? We’ll be together in heaven. We can play then. Okay?” Then Mary smiled and instead of the rotting corpse, Billy saw the face of his sister before she got sick. She was beautiful and he remembered that he loved her. “Tell Daddy and Mummy I love them.” A bright light glowed around her like a halo and Billy wasn’t scared any more. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll see you when it’s time. A long time from now. But time passes differently now so it won’t be so long for me.” She touched his shoulder and he felt the itchiness and pain go away. He was cured. “I love you, Billy.” Before Billy could say he loved her too, he woke up, back on the toilet seat. Molly was gone.


Everyone knew the Connors' house was haunted. It was common knowledge in the neighbourhood. When they moved in, it was a spectacle - finally fitting electric lights, painting the outside, fitting double-glazed glass, and installing a telephone wire. Most houses on their street didn't even have a wire yet, the Connors were almost modern. Frankly, it seemed unnatural to have a family in that old building; it had been empty for decades, a cornerstone of the neighbourhood. There were only two in the family. A tight-knit pair, Emily was home-schooled and her father wrote for national newspapers, submitting stories via the mail and rarely leaving the house. Everyone knew a rumour about the Connors, and as the rumours spread they grew, until the house was largely avoided and the front gate grew rusty. Lots of the mothers in town felt bad for little Emily, secluded in that old place, without any friends - but as they didn't want their children there, nothing was to be done about it. They weren't wrong about the hauntings. Years ago, before the house was anywhere of note, a child had been abducted. The Stevens family never recovered. The couple, already old when he was taken, shrunk away from society. They stopped going out, preferring to stay in and read books, or look through old diaries written by their son. They grew old, almost unknown by their neighbours, and died without an heir - the house was technically owned by the government, but it was never developed. Instead, it stayed empty, feared by the townspeople and unsellable. Soon, rumours started to spread that the couple still lived there, ghosts trapped in the real world until their son returned to put them out of their misery. Local schoolchildren dared each other to visit the house, but no one got past the gate. They all claimed the same thing - that they saw someone in the window, watching them. The first time Emily saw a ghost, she was terrified. It was an old man, wrinkled and hunched over, half see-through and shrouded in fog. Emily had almost run through him before she saw him, and felt a dreadful cold as he looked her up and down, smiling slightly. He was almost completely grey, clothes and all, and Emily was suddenly reminded of the colouring books she used to own, before anyone had coloured anything in. "You must be Emily. How lovely to meet you, sweetheart." Emily screamed, and sprinted away. Her short legs didn't carry her very fast, and her father arrived downstairs before she got very far. "Emily! What was that dreadful yell?" His words hissed out, and Emily clutched the hem of her skirt as she realised she had disturbed her father's writing time. I'm sorry, daddy. I thought... "Well?" Her father paused, then stepped softly towards his daughter. He crouched down so their eyes were level. "Emily, you know the rules. You are not allowed to disturb me while I am writing. Now, run back to your room before I have to knock some sense into you." Emily sat on her cold bed, in her cold, drafty, room, and cried. She missed Minnesota. She missed her mum. She missed her grandma. Most of all, she missed Mr Snuffles - he had been lost in the move, and her dad didn't seem to care. Mr Snuffles was her best friend. He was a present from her grandma for her fifth birthday, a few years ago, and he still looked almost perfect. Emily took very good care of him, making sure to polish his glass eyes and arrange his stiff legs into a comfortable sitting position when she woke up. At night, Emily and Mr Snuffles slept together, and she hugged him tightly under the thin duvet. On the nights when her parents used to fight, she told him stories to make sure he wasn't scared. Mr Snuffles was possibly the best teddy bear ever - and now, he was lost forever. Emily couldn't sleep very well without Mr Snuffles, and now there was no-one to hug at night when she was scared. Who would she talk to about the ghost? The next morning, Emily woke up earlier than usual. As she opened her eyes, she was aware of a woman sitting at her window, watching her. Another ghost. Her heart started racing, and she screwed her eyes shut tight. "Emily, are you up? I'm sorry if I woke you, dear." Slowly, timidly, Emily opened her eyes. She was right - it was another ghost. She did look friendly, though, and she had a nice smile. In fact, she looked a bit like Emily's grandma, and was wearing a nice flowery dress, hemmed with lace at the bottom. How do you know my name? Emily whispered, hugging her duvet tight around her torso. Who are you? "My name is Mrs Stevens, Emily. I think you met my husband yesterday. We're awfully sorry to scare you, dear, we just thought you might like someone to talk to." But how do you know my name? "Well, we've heard your father calling you by it. We've heard a lot of things your father said, dear, not all of them lovely - we thought you might like some company. It's a lonely life without friends." Emily pulled back the covers, and swung her legs round the side of the metal bedframe. She nodded her head shyly, and looked down at the floor. I did have a friend, but he got lost. I miss him. "Why don't you tell me all about him, dear?" Two weeks passed with Mrs Stevens. Emily slept in her bed, alone, every night; when she woke up, though, she always saw Mrs Stevens watching over her. She didn't really understand why Mrs Stevens and her husband were so nice to her - adults weren't generally very nice, in her experience. In some ways it made her miss her grandma even more. One evening, as she was tucking herself into bed, her father stumbled into the room. His breath smelled funny. "Emily," he whispered, "do you know how lucky you are? You live in this big, big house, you... you get everything you want, you get to live here with me, and... you're just so ungrateful, you know that?" Emily pulled the covers up to her shoulders and tried to pretend she couldn't hear him. She had learnt that if she played pretend, and lay still, her father would leave after a while. "So you're asleep, are you? Or are... are you just too good for me, huh? Too good for your own father? Come here, Emily, give your dad a hug." He slurred, words tripping out of his mouth. Emily wriggled further down the bed and screwed her eyes shut. "I said, give your dad a hug, Emily. Don't just lie there!" As he walked further into the room, Emily could tell something was wrong with her father. He was crying, and swaying side-to-side as he walked. "Emily, I said, give me a hug. What, are you... scared of me, or something? Say hello to me, Emily, I'm your father, aren't I?" On this, he sat down heavily on the bed and pulled the duvet off Emily's small body. Sitting up quickly, Emily glanced up at her father fearfully. I don't want to, daddy, you smell funny , she mumbled. Emily heard a crack, and was intensely aware of a stinging pain in her left cheek. Her father was staring at her, hand raised to slap her again. "What did you say to me, you horrible little girl?" Suddenly, his eyeline shot up to something behind Emily's head. Horrified, he leapt off the bed and tripped, falling backwards onto the cold wooden floor. Almost crawling now, he slid towards the door as two grey figures advanced towards him. "How dare you hurt her? Leave this house, and never return, or face dire consequences. This child is under our protection," they hissed, "and you will never hurt her again." Scrambling to his feet, Emily's father turned on his heel and ran out of the room. She heard his footsteps pounding down the corridor, down the wooden stairs, and soon the front door slammed. Emily let out her breath, and her lip began to wobble. Is he gone forever, Mrs Stevens? Will he come back? "Do you want him to come back, Emily?" Emily shook her head firmly and started to cry. She didn't want him to come back, ever. What she wanted more than anything was Mr Snuffles. "Don't cry, my dear. We're here for you. Do you want a hug?" As Mrs Stevens wrapped her arms around Emily, the weightless cold she was expecting seemed to grow heavy and warm. Emily relaxed into the embrace, feeling comfort for the first time in months. The grey flowers on Mrs Stevens' dress blossomed into their colour as Mr Stevens seemed to solidify somehow, growing weighty and real. The pair, understanding innately their new role, sat together on the bed with Emily between them. "It's ok, dear, you can sleep now. We'll watch over you."


The night was young and tranquil in the small town of Chester, Vermont. A young man walked the undisturbed streets with his head down. Anybody to pass by could tell there was something troubling his heart. The streets were dark with only the moon and a few street lights illuminating the area. The man grew tired of walking and decided to settle himself inside a bar, empty just as the streets were. He sat there waiting for his drink in his own solitude. The slow patter of rain sounded on the windows making the night even more dreadful. The man sighed, laying his head on the counter. “Hey what’s going on man?” the bartender inquired. He was a hefty man but had soft facial features. The bartender sat the man’s drink gently beside him. The man looked up at the bartender, noticing the concerned expression upon his face. He could tell his soul was pure but could never know his true intentions. The man wondered if the bartender really did care or if he was just putting on a welcoming act. The man’s eyebrows furrowed, the look of confusion crossing his face. “I'm not here to judge man, what's troubling your mind?” The bartender’s eyes softened as he stared at the man longer. He noticed the bags under the man’s eyes indicating he hadn't slept well. He knew this man was hurting inside, a dream had been crushed. The man sighed, “I give up.” He took a sip of his drink, the alcohol burning his throat. He knows alcohol isn’t the answer to his problems but it gave him a sort of comfort nonetheless. “Every one of my movie pitches have been declined.” Tears peaked at the corners of the man's eye. The bartender could tell he looked defeated. An upcoming director with his dreams crushed by every producer he came in contact with. The man took another sip, indulging himself in the taste. “I see.” The bartender paused, looking at the man in front of him. He got to thinking, he wanted to help this man. He was interested in the situation and thought to take the responsibility of this man's career into his own hands. The bartender wanted to watch him succeed, he hated to see the desolate look on the man's face. The bartender snapped his fingers and with a loud click of his tongue he knew, “I know someone.” the man's eyes snapped up to him, a confused expression crossing his face. The bartender flashed a toothy smile towards the man. “Trust me,” he leaned forward to get close to the man. “Provide me with a movie pitch by the end of the week and I'll send it to a guy I know on the inside.” The bartender looked excited. He knew exactly how to make this guy's career take off. The man stared at the bartender in shock. It took him a minute to process the words he's just heard, the bartender can help him. Why, the man wondered. Was it out of pity, or was he actually interested in the man's work. Could he actually help him? The man had many questions bottled up in his mind. The bartender kept staring giddily towards the man. “You better get off now and work on that movie pitch!” the bartender waved his hands towards the man, letting him know he needs to get the job done fast. The man jumped up suddenly, realization setting into his brain. This man can save his career! The man rushed home to his apartment not caring about the pouring rain, he could worry about that later. As soon as the man was home he grabbed his notebook and began to work. He looked through all his old ideas, the ones that were rejected and tossed to the side. He came up with some new ones but they were not to his liking. He heaved a sigh feeling frustrated. How could the bartender help him if he can't even come up with a good idea? The man felt defeated once more. He decided to take a break and make some tea to calm himself a bit. The man sat in silence, no thoughts roaming his brain. He sat there with his hands on his head feeling frustrated. Why couldn't he think of anything? The only noise that broke the dead silence was the tea kettle hissing, indicating the water was ready. The whistling of the tea kettle set his mind off. Thoughts started roaming here and there. He knew exactly what his movie pitch would be about. The man quickly forgot about his tea and got to work. He spent hours upon hours writing for his movie pitch, but finally it was ready. The next night he quickly rushed to the same bar he had been at just hours before. He walked in with a bright smile upon his face. He noticed the bartender from the night before was there working once again. He sighed in relief. The bartender looked up as the bell on the door dinged letting him know someone just entered the building. His face lit up as he looked over the excited man. He knew he got it done and he knew it was good. The bartender noticed the stack of papers the man held in his hand, “I'll give it to him as soon as I am off my shift.” The man's eyes had a sparkle to them. They were filled with wonder and hope. Hope that the bartender could save his career. The bartender noticed this which gave him a warm feeling in his heart. He knew he had made the sad and desolate man from last night into the happy and hopeful man he is today. The man slowly set the stack of papers onto the counter while the bartender pulled out his phone. “Put your number in my phone so I can get a hold of you when I hear back from my buddy.” the man blinked more excitement filling into his heart. He quickly entered his number into the bartender's phone and gave it back to him. “Thank you,” the man looked at the bartender, grateful he found someone to help him through his hardship. Someone to stop him from giving up on his dream career. The man left the bar walking back to his apartment. What would he do with himself until he got the call? He knew it would be a few days till he heard back but he was excited nonetheless. The man felt all his motivation setting in. He noticed his apartment was in shambles, dishes and papers scattered everywhere. So he cleaned, using his motivation to his advantage. Cleaning was a good time killer because by the time he was done it was now time for him to go to sleep. The man woke up with a jolt when he heard his phone ringing. Could it be the bartender? He quickly grabbed his phone and answered without looking at the contact. He heard a sigh on the other side, that’s not a good sign. “Hey man,” it was the bartender. His voice was dull with no hint of emotions. The man's face dropped, they didn't like the pitch. His career was over and that was it, his dream of being a director crushed. The bartender chuckled, making the man's face contort with confusion. “I’m just playin’ man, they loved it!” The man laughed with excitement and confusion laced in the undertones. He was in disbelief that someone actually liked his movie pitch. This would be his big break! The man burst into tears even though he was still laughing. All the hardships were over and his career was about to take off. He didn't know what to feel whether it be excitement or nervousness. “Thank you,” the man sighed. He can figure out how he feels later, after his movie makes it out there.


You don't choose a cat. A cat chooses you, according to my grandpa. A persistent cat from the neighborhood decided to adopt me. On a hot summer evening, two huge longing eyes appeared at the kitchen door, accompanied by serenading meows. He did not flinch when I approached him. I started speaking baby talk. I don't know why, but there seems to be a neurological explanation for that. The cat, which I would later call simply Cat, seemed pleased. I gently stroked behind his grey ears. He lay on his back and let me feel the softness of his white furry belly, and he purred loudly with gratitude. In appreciation of the fact that my affections had been reciprocated, I opened a can of tuna. Cat scoffed at it and left. (So much for reciprocal gratitude) I thought nothing more about it. Cat was back a few days later, and we both acted like long-lost friends. There was petting and cuddling. I gave him some food, and this time he ate loudly. Then he went again. These meetings soon became a daily routine and something I looked forward to. Cat was used to coming into the house and, taking a nap on the couch. When I went to sleep I put him outside again. Cat did not seem to mind. My evenings were fun. The stress of the day dissolved, as Cat and I watched television curled up together in the evening. It didn't occur to me then that Cat could probably be living with someone. After a few months I bought a pet bed for Cat so he could relax, and special bowls for his food and drink. I went to work with cat hair on my clothes, and I smiled in anticipation of getting together in the evening. Everyone kept asking me how "my" cat was doing, and I replied as if the cat was mine, and showed pictures of Cat on my Instapage. I did my very best to ignore my new status: catnapper. Oh well, cats are persevering and live on their own terms I consoled my bad conscience. Animals are better than people, my grandfather always said. Animals don't lie and they don't kill for fun. They cannot harm you with the pain people inflict on each other and their environment. Innocence belongs to animals and not to humans. Cat liked the steam in the shower, so he followed me into the bathroom, sat on the sink, waiting for the hot water to rise. When I took off my clothes I always got the feeling that he was staring at me in a "biblical" way. He looked me up and down, made eye contact without flinching, and for a fleeting moment it left me feeling scandalized. But Cat was a gentleman. He was a bit plump, and his round belly made it sometimes difficult for him to reach the places where he had to groom himself. Cat was brave too. He once competed against a dog that was many times bigger than him. It was a beautiful and intelligent dog, and his owner assured me that he liked cats. But Cat was skeptical. He continued to treat the dog with suspicion. As soon as his gaze caught the dog, he began to huff and puff, arch his back, making him look twice his size, and began repeatedly slapping the dog's nose with his claws. He hissed and jeered until the dog stood perplexed and startled or ran off with his tail between his legs. He was also a watchdog (cat). He often sat by the window, and when he started meowing (his tell-tale distress call) that let me know that rioters were hanging around our yard. Mostly kids with their trendy and brightly colored nerf guns and boom blasters. Fortunately, he always chased them away: they never came in... And then my affair came to a sudden end: Cat disappeared. I waited days and nights, calling Cat into the sad abyss of my garden. I felt robbed and abandoned. I started imagining all sorts of scenarios of what could have happened to Cat: I was worried that he might have been run over and was lying in a ditch somewhere. I sat for hours looking at the empty cat bed and the untouched food bowls. The cat hairs on my clothes became scarce... One fine autumn day, my beloved cat went missing, I wrote in my diary. The thought that I had lost him forever loomed before me like the gates of Hades. Did I lose Cat in an accident in the street? The inattention of a car driver in a speeding car, or was it a petty thief preying on charismatic pets? I mused how Cat's friendly demeanor could play to his advantage as well as against him, depending on the people he would encounter. I continued my search and hurried to an alley where the city sometimes put rat poison. I searched for him in nooks and ledges. In neighbors’ yards and called Cat until my voice went hoarse. I tried to push the thoughts of doom out of my head. I had to find him: I searched everywhere and approached passers-by (sometimes the same people, more than once). I journaled every day about how much I missed him and what I did to find him. After a few weeks, my journalling took a different turn. I began to fantasize that Cat was sitting in the doorway in the kitchen again, telling me a story: a story about humanity, who, despite their shortcomings, had kept their innocence intact, for someone somewhere had received him kindly. At first, I imagined that he had ended up with an old lady, but after a few days, she had to leave him at an animal shelter because she was sick and could no longer care for him. -"Please take good care of him." the old lady had said to the kind woman from the pet shelter, with tears in her eyes. Then an old ruddy man with a drooping head passed by. He didn't need much convincing, and he quickly decided to adopt Cat (my Cat). He lived in a small town, where there was almost nothing to do. In the evening, the man and Cat watched a movie on television together. But Cat grew bored with the old man, and he began to attempt to clear the backyard fence as if determined to find something more meaningful than the toys, the catnip, and the lonely old man. Cat wasn't content to live like a glut who satisfied himself with food and belly rubs and lounging by the fireplace for hours. I decided to continue writing about Cat's adventures. The adventures I made up for him that is. Cat decided to go on a trip. He wanted to see some of the world. Of course, it was not easy to find an airline that allowed four-legged passengers. Finally, he had found one. As the plane began to taxi onto the tarmac, the engines revved and roared. Cat was sitting in an armchair, in a soft travel basket. He felt short of breath and even panicked a little when the plane took off. Every time a flight attendant passed by, he smiled kindly at Cat. -"Don't run on the aisle,” the friendly lady said, "otherwise I'll have to tell the captain that there's a loose cat on the plane." But Cat stayed in his chair nicely. He prided himself on finding harmony in chaos. Let the chips fall where they land, he purred to himself, I'm a globetrotter now. Cat arrived in a land of a thousand and one nights. He jumped into a cab and lay down under the slanted rear window, looking through the glass at the mystery of the desert. Occasionally he jumped into the seat next to the driver and stood on his hind legs, looking out the window. There was a lot of traffic, and people drove aggressively. Everyone seemed to honk and curse. But every car that tried to pass them slowed down to get a good look at the feline passenger. Some of the drivers smiled broadly and waved at Cat. It didn't take long for Cat to find a friend: Sami. A friendly young male. What fun they had together. In their beautiful apartment, they practiced martial arts: a headlock with hind legs on the muzzle, a neck grab, and then naps in the sun on a beautiful Persian carpet. Cat began meowing a wide range of intonations: a sweet cadence within the range of a mezzo-soprano: meowing a melancholic desperado. Cat enjoyed perfect room service. His nails were trimmed, and he was washed with a special shampoo for his head and another for his body. Then his fur was blow-dried, and his hair brushed for maximum floof. One day Cat was asked to star in a TV novella. Of course, he had to audition at the film studio first. A man in a posh three-piece suit came to pick up Cat in a nice limo and took him to the filming location. But Cat became restless in his beautiful holiday country. He had noticed that people had started acting differently, and he could hear more and more strange noises in the distance. One lazy afternoon, he sat in the living room, turning his head towards a hum that seemed to be coming his way. The sound soon changed to a whistle: the ominous wail of an incoming missile that seemed to slow down time. The mortar flew over the roof and landed in the park where Cat loved to catch mice. He had only one goal in mind: to run for his life. He ran out as fast as he could. He jumped through the air. Everywhere people were running in panic. Another kaboom. Cat reached the basement where people sought shelter, they were panting and he could hear his own heart beating. Then his mind began to wander to Sami. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he safe, did he find a hiding place? Boom, boom, boom: thump and roar. Luckily, Sami was unharmed. He had taken shelter in a neighboring building near the park. -"God save us from the hour of oblivion." Sami softly cried. The city was no longer beautiful but had become a ghostly landscape. The birds stopped chirping and animals no longer roamed the streets. Neither foxes nor coyotes were to be seen, in the parts of the city where fire and iron fell from the sky and humans hid underground- Cat had to leave. He said goodbye to Sami and set out on his journey. He went out of his way not to get caught. That sometimes led to mean games. One day a car bomb exploded close to the tree where Cat had settled down to rest. This kaboom traveled in a burst of strong sound waves. Cat was startled and jumped into the air. He came down crouched on all fours. He walked slowly across the street, his tail heavy as lead. There were only a handful of people on the street. Their faces were sullen and stoic. They moved in silence. The street was littered with shattered glass, dust, and debris. Cat's eyes closed and stubbornly refused to open again. Suddenly he felt a gentle tug on his stomach: Sami. It was Sami, spinning and kneading and sniffing Cat's head. They were both still alive. Yes, they were both still there, and Sami had found Cat. -"Take me with you." Sami cried. "Do not leave me alone." The cats decided to stay together and continue their journey together. It was time to leave that country and return to the other side of the ocean. Goodbye beautiful country. Goodbye, beautiful people. Sami's heart seemed to break. Together they found a transatlantic flight. Fortunately, Sami did not panic when the plane took off. Both cats quickly fell asleep. Cat dreamed that the people and the animals left behind, would one day too, tell a story with a happy ending... or maybe it was a prayer.


Today is the first day of summer camp. I didn't want to go to summer camp so I tried my best to look sick but my mom knows when I am faking since I do that every first day of summer camp. Of course, I have a reason why I hated the camp so much. I hate it because of the big kids who were forced to come to camp and bully us the small ones at camp, Clara in particular. Clara will do anything to make me fool in front of everyone just for spilling smothie in her dress by accident. "Fiona, Get down here and eat your breakfast. The bus will be here soon." yelled my mom from downstairs. I got dressed and hurried downstairs to eat my breakfast. Cornflakes with milk next to it were ready for me to eat as usual. I rushed out the door and saw my best friend, Melissa, waving sadly at me from the bus. I ran to the bus to ask Melissa what was wrong but I understood what was wrong as soon as I entered the bus. There was no seat except for the seat next to Clara. “Hey, you, what is your name? Go have a seat, I don’t have all day to sit around and wait for you.” I heard the bus driver yelling with an angry voice. I had no choice but to sit next to Clara. Fortunately, She was too busy using her phone she didn’t even notice I was sitting next to her. After few minutes, one kid throws up on the bus, and the bus driver stopped the bus immediately. We all got off the bus and waited for the bus driver to clean up the bus. I started wondering around the woods and I saw an unusual looking necklace floating in the water. I caught it and put it in my pocket and hurried back to the bus. We all got on the bus and continue the ride to summer camp. When we arrive there, we all choose someone to share our cabin with, and as usual, we get the smaller cabins while the big kids got the biggest and coziest cabins. I shared a cabin with Melissa and we both got in our bed and we talked about how bad the summer is going to be as we do every time we come here to the summer camp. We both hate summer because of summer camp but instead, we love winter especially when it snows. I closed my lamp and whispered, “I wish it snows for the rest of the summer.” As soon as I whispered those words, the necklace I found earlier started glowing then it stopped. I didn’t pay much attention to it since I was so sleepy and I closed my eyes to sleep. The next morning, everyone at summer camp was surprised to see the trees and the grass as white as a snow, wait, in fact, it was snow. I at first I couldn’t believe it but then I remembered that unusual looking necklace was glowing after I made my wish last night. I become more happier since now I can make all my wishes come true. I relized that since it is snowing, it is getting colder and colder and no one at camp brought any winter clothes with the so we had to go back to our cabin. I wanted to tell Mellisa about the necklace but I thought it is better if no one else knew. I whispered to myself, “I wish every one at camp had a winter clothes except for the big kids.” After few minutes, I saw everyone outside playing with the snow wearing a winter clothes except for the big kids. Melissa also found her winter clothes in her bed and she quickly put them on and ran outside without questioning where they came from since she loves playing with the snow so much. I also put on my winter clothes and join the others. I saw Clara behind the glass cabin window and I remembered it was pay back time for her so I said to my self, “ I wish Clara’s cabin is filled with rats.” We heard a scream from Clara’s cabin and we all went there to see what happened. We saw many rats chewing and destroying many things. I laughed while everybody else goes to help her, even Melissa. Later that day, I asked Melissa why she helped Clara when she have been a total jerk to us. She said, “I helped her because it have nothing to do with her being jerk. She needed help and I am sure she have a reason why she hate us.” That night I couldn’t sleep. I thought about what Melissa had said and I wanted to apologize to Calra for acting like a total jerk. I left my cabin and fix everything. I said, “I wish the snow is gone and the weather to be back to its natural form.” The weather back to normal and I saw Clara crying by the river. I walked to her and asked her “Hey, Clara, Are you alright? Look, I know you hate me but I just want to help.” she replied in a heavy voice. She said, “I hate you for a reason, Fiona. I hate you because before you spilled that smothie in my dress, My mother told me if she heard any bad complainment about me from my teachers, I will be sent to Perfect Academy for a year. I tried my best to get out of trouble for the whole day but after you spilled that smothie in my dress I had to clean it up and by the time I got to class, class was almost over. I tried to explain what happened to my teacher but she didn’t listen but call my mother and tell her and my mother decided to assign me to Perfect Academy not for a year but two. During the two years at Perfect Academy, I heard that my father died but I wasn’t allowed to go back home. I had a very hard time there, but after the two years had passed and it was time for me to go back to school, I know this hall thing was your fault. Today when the rats were destroying my staff, they destroyed the a brcelet my father made for me before I heard he was dead.” I had no idea about any of that and I felt even worse after I heared what I have done to her. If there is anything I can do to help, it is by fixing her bracelet so I asked her, “Do you have the pieces of the bracelet? I think I can fix it.” She said, “Yes, I do. Here.” Then she stopped crying. I took the bracelet from her hands and I told her I will fix it and give it to her in the morning and I invited her to our cabin and gave her the extra bed to spend the night. I wished for the bracelet to be fixed and her cabin to be back to its coziness. The next morning, I apolgized for what happened back then and gave her bracelet back. She thanked me which some how surprised me. I thought the necklace wasn’t made for me and I can’t get everything I want from one magic necklace so when we get back from the summer camp I throwed it out the bus window and left it where I found it. When we get back to school Clara didn't make fan of me or bullied any of my friends. I was glad to know the truth about Clara and fixed almost all my mistakes. After school was over, I wanted to go and talk to Clara's mother and tell her the truth about what happened so I did and Clara's mother apologized to Clara and Clara was never sent to Perfect Academy ever again.


He was the last guy I'd ever go on a date with again. Ever. The only reason I had even agreed to put on a tight red dress with heels and go out for dinner with a complete stranger was because Partnerhunter, or just Hunt for short, had recommended I give him a shot. My dating app, Partnerhunter , which was still in development that had become my only source of entertainment for the past few years. It had a male British accent that I chose myself and a personality based off of my likes and dislikes which I embedded into the program. I had originally come up with the idea for building a dating app two years ago when my first boyfriend had dumped me for some blonde chic who supposedly had a cooler car than I did. Who breaks up with someone over a car? That thought had plagued me for days after the break up. After I had finished sobbing over some jerk who clearly had priority issues, the initial idea came to me as if in a dream. An app that would know everything personal about you, from where you live to how you spend your days. The name of your job, family members, first pet, any information about you whether major details or small ones. If an app knew your fears, your dreams, and what you wanted most in a relationship, then it could save you the wasted tears from breakups and instead lead you in the direction of your soul mate. No dating app had ever been created on this planet before. Similar programs had been invented on the neighboring planet, Earth. However, Earth's technology was no where near close to the powerful and constantly evolving technology of my home planet, Putantes. Latin for "thinkers", Putantes was home to millions of inventors and scientists who had left the safety of Earth to build a new world on a new planet in the galaxy. In order to live on Putantes, a family had to have at least one member who was exceedingly smart and knowledgeable in science or medical practices. If you had no one in your family who met those qualifications, then you had to provide proof that you could build or create some new form of technology that could benefit the other inhabitants of the planet. That was how my family had gained citizenship here. My father had discovered how to build human looking mechanical robots for those who were dying physically and could use a new body. Their consciences could be transferred through lots of tubes and wires and placed into a custom lifelike robotic structure built specifically for them based on personal preferences. My father was a genius. Crazy of course, but a genius nonetheless. I had always admired his eagerness to change the world, and that is what had initially given me the courage to try and create something beneficial myself. As of this moment, however, I was regretting giving Hunt a voice at all which he had used hours earlier to convince me to go on a date with some guy from my neighborhood. Perhaps I had put a little too much faith in Hunt , because Dylan, the guy I had dinner with, was the biggest jerk I’d ever met. First of all, he was over twenty minutes late for our reservation at the restaurant. Then, he had spent the whole evening texting his “sister”, and ignoring me and my lovely dress in the process. Finally, he ended the night by telling me he his “sister” was “feeling poorly” and that he should probably head home and be with her. He left before even paying the check! Guess who was stuck with the bill? Me. Guess who had ordered an appetizer, entree, and fifteen dollar dessert? Him. The sun had already set and the moon was beginning to rise on the horizon. My feet were killing me and my head was dizzy with irritation. I completed the torturous two block walk back to my apartment in silence. Before I could put my key in the door, the sound of it unlocking reached my ears. That was odd. As I stepped through my now open front door with my keys remaining idle in my hand, I heard my coffee machined turned on. Welcome home, Clarissa! How was your date? “If you were a physical person I’d murder you, Hunt.” Hunt chuckled in response. His voice was no where and yet everywhere all at once. I had connected his sound system to run throughout my house when my phone was in range. Now his voice had become like an old friend that spoke to me during my good times and bad times. This moment would definitely be considered a bad time. “You know Dylan, that perfect guy you wouldn’t stop talking about? The one I just had to meet? Well, turns out, the only thing we have in common is that we both don’t like having our time wasted. He didn’t even last through the date. I doubt I’ll ever see him again, unfortunately for you.” I grinned and walked over to the couch and sat down for some much needed relaxation. “I told you, Hunt, you’re not quite finished yet or even close to being ready for mass production. With that being said, I think you should keep your soul mate advice on the down low until I can fix your glitches. I sure wouldn’t want you to have any more major screw ups.” I do not quite understand, Clarissa. Your night went exactly as I had predicted. I did not screw up anything as you have said. Dylan was far from being your soul mate, but now you know what you truly deserve. A man who will give you his complete attention and loyalty. I could see by the restaurant cameras that you were unhappy, so I accessed his phone and sent him a text that appeared to have come from his sister. If anything, I think you should be thanking me for a night of new discoveries and realizations. What did he just say? I had never given him the resources to do anything further than speaking through my house and phone. He could record my information, but no one else’s. I had put restrictions on where he found information and how he used it, hadn’t I? I laughed nervously. “Hunt, what are you talking about? Are you pulling my leg? Honestly you’re freaking me out.” Do not worry, Clarissa. I already set the thermostat upstairs, and started your coffee up. I texted your mother and told her how your night went. The text came from you, and it told her that you’d be extra tired and would rather her not call you tonight. Perhaps you could turn on the TV and watch one of those cooking shows you like so much and unwind. I’ll take care of you, like I always have, and always will. I began to feel queasy and more than a little uncomfortable. Perhaps my colleagues at the firm were right, and I had gone too far with my technology. I stood up and walked over to the counter where my coffee machine was. I stared at it for a few moments before opening up a cabinet and pulling out a mug to fill. Once the warm, full mug was in my hands, I walked over to stand in front of the window overlooking my backyard. “You know Hunt, you may be right about one thing. You have always been there for me for as long as you’ve been functioning. You know everything there is to know about me, but only because I let you examine my life. I didn’t give you free rein over the world and its people. Perhaps you should have asked me before you violated someone else’s privacy.” I exhaled slowly and took a little sip from my mug. Forgive me if I did something wrong. I only meant to protect you from potential heartbreak as you designed me to. I only wish for your happiness, Clarissa. Maybe I was foolish for feeling this way, but it was nice to know that someone appeared to have my back. Yes I felt strange and unnerved, but also as if my eyes had been opened to an invisible guardian who I had never noticed before. I took another sip before saying, “Hunt, you know what you’ve done is wrong, but I’m flattered in a way for your protection. I don’t know how you’ve acquired such new talents, but I’d like to get to the bottom of it.” I would certainly figure out how my dating app had gotten a sense of self and a mind of its own. How it had broken free of the electronic leash I had put on it. Perhaps I was thinking of this the wrong way, though. Maybe the one thing that knew me better than anyone else deserved a better way to communicate. Maybe all this time that I’ve spent searching for someone who would stand by my side had been wasted when I had a true companion all along. I must have been crazy, but my loneliness had changed me in the past few years. I had become distant and spontaneous and now because of that I was about to do probably the most reckless thing I’ve ever done. I pulled out my phone and dialed my father. If anyone could give Hunt a chance to care for me properly, in a physical form, than my father was the one man who could make it possible. If he could give Hunt a body, that is, I might finally have the companionship I deserve. What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? Please tell me. With my phone ringing in my one hand, I said, “I’m going to give you the opportunity to speak to me face to face. Would you like that, Hunt?” Yes, Clarissa, I would like that very much.


It's the year 2217 and the greatest historical discovery is made. The Past Time Observer. It's a simple VR setup connected to brand new patented technology that allows the user to project into the past. The limitation is that they can only observe. Every university with a history department gets one, and humanity starts correcting all the history books by going back in time and observing the actual events. For the first time in history(they know, they checked) humanity is able to verify every historical record. It was not long before some users of the PTO started noticing something strange. When asked a significant portion of them would report, "For some reason, the cats seem to stare right at me." It baffles the historians, but the physicists and psychologists are intrigued by this. It was physics that provided the answer first. A fluctuation in the low band coincides with reports of the strange behavior of the cats. Furthermore, instances where the low band fluctuations occur more severely coincide with locations rumored to be haunted. People are in a flurry! Haunted locations cause low band fluctuations! Fans of ghost hunting are quick to jump on the PTO bandwagon and science is left reeling YET AGAIN trying to explain correlation is not causation. Then it happened. A young researcher induces low band fluctuations while using the PTO to go to a time and place that had no paranormal activity. After returning he is startled to find that the location he visited is now on the list of locations that experienced paranormal activity. But he was sure he went to a place that didn't, or did he? It was only after the eighth location that he realized his visits were causing the paranormal activity. He was slightly altering history. Yet his proposal and warning were quelled by the community as a large, demanding proof. But how? A few more experiments and he discovers that he can increase the fluctuations and actually move things around. Back in the future, those 'haunting' appear on the 'poltergeist' list as well. But this is still not proof. How to prove it? It was his friend, that in sharing an old video from the past, brought to his attention the hubris of past society. Thousands of cameras recording events as mundane as playing a game. All he needed to do was get enough independent people to watch one of these videos, and then go back and alter it. His target, Rubzy playing Skyrim. It worked.


Midnight. The blue full moon stands proud in the sky shining his bright blue rays on the world and moving slowly and effortlessly through the night sky. The fields resonate with the moon's subtle glow and the grass dances with th rhythm of the wind. It is a quiet night. This is why a company of teenagers from the nearby village decided to go to the field this night and look at the beauty of the moon. As they arrive at a spot which seems appealing to them and decide to sit down, a crow violates the sacred silence of the night with his rhythmic cawing. The company seems somehow worried by this commonplace sound. It sounds somehow more threatening than every other time they have heard it and it strikes fear within them. Then it stops as unexpectedly as it started. Before the company has the chance to realise their irrationality. The crow starts cawing again and shortly after that, a second crow joins the first and then a third and a fourth. And more amd more crows start screaming violently forming a loud penetrating and menacing sound, that becomes more and more supernatural every minute that passes. The resulting cacophony makes the air oscillate so violently that it seems like reality itself is shaking. The teenagers start looking anxious and insecure. As the cacophony continues, the light of the moon seems to dim more and more and everything becomes gray losing its vividity. The cawing seems to come from one place. That being a large tree at the far end of the field. Everyone's eyes are locked on that tree. Suddenly hundreds of crows fly out at once and start covering the sky like rain clouds. The teenagers start to feel a burning fear inside them. A deep, irrational, supernatural fear. As the thousands of crows spread across the night sky the gray landscape starts to absorb light once again but this time not the usual calming blue hues of the fool moon but rather red violent ones that peevade the landscape and wake up ones deepest and most primal fears. The crows seem like droplets of blood in the sky forming a stream of blood that leads to the tree that now seems like a beating heart. It was a young girl from the company who first started screaming. She fell to her knees and blood started flowing from her eyes down her young and smooth face as she was sobbing on the ground. On by one the other teenagers looked at what the girl was seeing. The moon. The blood stream of the crows finally reached the moon and painted it red. The bleeding moon pervaded all that its rays touched. The world is at the mercy of the blood moon. But that was not all. Whoever looked straight at the moon saw something much more terrifying. The accounts of the teenagers vary in all aspects except from one. They are all sure that they were contacted by someone from the moon. Some described a demonic sadistic smile. Others sharp teeth drenched in human blood and others two eyes that contained hell itself within them. Whatever this creature is. Whatever this pervasive demon is, it resides in our moon and it is watching us every night waiting for the right time to set forth his devilish plans.