Travelling between galaxies is dangerous. Dark abysses plague every universe's sky, leaking in between the warm lights emitted from stars. They hold silent terrors history themself hesitate to inscribe. Stories of murderous marauders, hungry for chaos and destruction, alongside fiend's that feast on black holes call these dimensions home, and only the bravest of travelers take these spaces as feasible travel routes. Or they have unlimited stupidity. "Oh my stars," a blue haired creature groaned, retching as she clamped a hand over her mouth. "What in the Andromedian galaxy did we drink last night?" "Whatever it was, her stars would be disappointed..." Lox mumbled, trailing his gaze from the shards of crystal bottles scattered across the spacecraft’s floor. Ignoring his friend’s complaint’s, the captain turned his blurry gaze across the cramped space to the control screen, only to take a double take. "What the-" "I’m seeing doubles... Lox, pass me a pack of aqua, would you?" "Shut your snout for a sec," Lox snapped, stumbling up and hovering against the monitor with wide eyes. Blue snarled, sitting up to reveal a bush of messy hair and her eyes a vivid green. She stretched, sighing as she swiped her forked tongue across her canines. "My canines are sore, and I'm hungry; watch your tongue. Do we have any more froshlins?" "No, we ran out a few days ago... Blue, listen, can you pull out the map from the cabinet behind the table? Just press that silver circle over there, a knob should pop out..." Blue grumbled but complied. She awkwardly jumped from the bed to the cabin floor with a muted thump as Lox took a seat at the control panel, activating all the buttons with a flick of a switch. Blue skipped between the sharp shards of crystal and sat on the small table, avoiding the benches on either side and opened the cabinet while tilting her head. "Alright, we’ve got Jimeln, Idop, Theresa..." “Uh, those are universes right?” “No, planets; do your homework, man.” "Alright, try to find... one for in between planets." "In between? What do you mean, in between planets?" "I mean, you have space in between planets... to travel from one planet to another, you need directions too..." "I guess, but it's pretty straightforward no? Just follow the sun rays reflecting off the surface of the planet..." Blue trailed off, turning back around to find Lox's jaw tighten. "Or you follow the coordinates.” Silence. “Why do you need a map?" "... I was just wondering..." "Lox? Why aren't you following the coordinates?" Lox swallowed and leaned forward to clench a lever, glancing back with a flash of disdain in his gaze. Blue stared back, slipping off the table whilst her heart clenched. Lox sighed and pulled, letting the protection blinds part with a high pitched blare. Blue flinched at the lack of sun, and shuddered as she realized they were in pitch darkness. In the middle of nowhere. "Lox," Blue spoke in a hush, as if not daring to raise her voice. "I thought you put it on autopilot..." "I did , I don't know why the craft-" “No, no no no,” Blue muttered, tangling her claws in her hair. “Lox this is bad, this is so bad...” Lox buried his face in his hands. “I know.” Blue scampered up to his seat, clutching the back of it. “Lox, you don’t get it, this is awful! There’s no getting out, we’re stuck here with who knows what! We’re prey!” "Calm down, we'll figure this out," Lox fiddled with a few knobs, and the rush of air drumming from the small vent immediately quieted down. "We'll save our energy, toss any unimportant loads and try to radio a vessel to come get us." "Who other than extraterrestrials and scavengers are out here?" Blue hissed, forcing Lox's chair around. She slammed two hands on either side of her captain, looking him dead in the eye as her eyes turned a fire orange colour. L:ox instantly put his hands up, knowing full well Blue could bite through his delicate human skin in a fraction of a heartbeat. "L-Listen to me," Lox stammered, his brain going on autopilot. "If you kill me, you lose a captain." Blue growled once more, leaning in close as Lox glanced down. She flexed her claws once more before shoving herself back and stalking to the back of the cabin. Lox sighed in relief as she began cleaning up; she turned quiet when she cleaned, and he needed all the silence he could get. He would have to figure out how to contact creatures in the middle of nowhere. That term isn't wrong. The black voids of nothingness has been lovingly nicknamed Nowhere by regular travellers. Nowhere wasn't easy to slip into; if you saw a light source that wasn't yours, you were still somewhere. You had a guide, a promise of warmth and shelter and energy. Out in Nowhere, you are only a speck of matter, with no purpose to anything alive. Scavengers and monsters hiding in it's gloom aren't considered matter, not even plasma. They are unknown of. No names, rumours or myths about them are written down anywhere. Their existence is not to be talked about, because the creatures living in light are scared. How do they survive in the night? How do they survive- no, not just survive, they thrive, and conquer. Countless planets have been overrun, taken apart and ripped to shreds by those hungry souls; and the innocent’s history dies with them, as no living creature acknowledges the evil that appeared there that day. No one would share any information, no matter how small, about these creatures. That thought alone made being stuck in Nowhere all the more terrifying. * * * “Any luck?” Lox rested his forehead against the wall, letting out a sad sound while caressing his beard. “Absolutely nothing.” “Don’t really know what we expected,” Blue muttered, hopping from her top bunk. Hours passed dreadfully slow, the two travellers accepting their fate. After riding forward for an indescribable amount of time, Blue shut off the engine and shook her head when Lox glanced up from his will. There was no use wasting plasma that kept their airflow generator going. After dimming their lights, they sat at the table, planning out their rations for one another. They’ve done this countless times; they’ve been stranded inside a planet, waiting out a meteor storm that goes on for one hundred days. The two have been stranded in large bodies of water, in deserts, jungles, in war torn globes and world’s choked with poverty and danger. They survived them all, but the vast opens of space? Lox and Blue have met their match. “I’ve always wanted to settle down, you know?” Lox glanced up from his lukewarm drink, watching Blue’s eyes turn a dark, broken blue. “I know I’m the last of my species, but... starting a family, watching them grow and stay on the same planet, a safe globe with a solid atmosphere...” “I’m sorry.” Lox murmured. “If I hadn’t been a bad captain and stopped the ship, we wouldn’t be here.” “I know,” Blue sighed, a flicker of dark pink appearing in her irises. “You’re such a lousy captain, we-” The ship buckled to the side, tossing Lox against his seat and Blue’s stomach into the table. Wheezing, she glanced around as her eyes turned yellow with fear as they began to get tugged into a direction. Nobody found them. “Come here, come here,” Lox coughed, catching Blue as she jumped into his arms. “Hey, it’ll be quick, I promise...” Blue buried his face into his chest, nails digging into his bicep and drawing blood. Lox buried his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent and doing the one habit he took from Earth; pray. As he uttered words under his breath, the ship shuddered to a stop. Lox held his breath as Blue clutched him even tighter. Whether they were in a pirate fleet or a mouth, he hoped their deaths would be swift. A shudder, then an unmistakable sound of a powerful engine rattled the walls. Lox winced. Scavengers. Or were they? As the engine shook the walls, Lox felt the familiar rise in his chest and the rush to his head. Blue whined, a rare sound, as she shook her head; her ears were being strained. Atom hopping, a complicated way to travel vast spaces. A deafening crack sounded throughout the cabin, and the pair were launched to the floor as they stopped abruptly. Blue gave a grunt as Lox landed on her, and he stuttered. “Sorry, sorry, are you okay?” “I’m fine-” “Here, give me your hand-” “Oh my moon, did I do that to your arm ?” “Blue-” “I’m sorry, I think we-” Lox grabbed Blue’s head and turned it to the front of the spacecraft. Blue’s jaw dropped, her tongue slipping out of her mouth. Lox stood, admiring the most beautiful planet he's ever seen. Glowing plants, or water or creatures dotted the planet in gorgeous blue’s and green’s, as if inviting travellers. Paying no attention to the puncture wounds, he began swiftly fiddling with the spacecraft’s controls when Blue tugged at his jacket. Lox gave a glance in her direction, only to take a double take. A bigger, older spacecraft floated next to them, clearly old and rebuilt with scavenged parts. “A pirate ship,” Blue whispered. “They... saved us?” The pair stared as the ship powered up their engine and began blundering further from them. The craft did not fly away, or disappear; it simply was not there anymore. Atom hopping at it’s finest. The rest of Blue’s and Lox’s waking hours passed in a blur; they found a landing center and were greeted by tender-hearted creatures called Hollyan's, who whimpered in shock and scurried around on their small paws to treat Lox’s injuries. Their squeaks were translated by Blue, who respectfully kept her eyes downcast. “My kind used to hunt them,” she whispered to Lox. “After four wars, we have made peace only a millennium ago.” After explaining their situation, Blue and Lox were escorted to a small hollow near a gorgeous freshwater lake, where the Hollyan's graciously encouraged the pair to drink from and catch creatures to eat. Their planet was plentiful and protected, a quiet refuge for war-battered survivors fleeing different planets. After thanking them, Lox stumbled into the underground home and collapsed on the moss bed, sighing in relief. Blue followed suit, curling up next to him as she fell unconscious after a satisfied sigh. As Lox glanced out the small window to the night sky, he couldn’t help but give a tiny amazed smile. A fleet of Nobody’s have saved them from Nowhere.


Note: This story contains notions of addiction and sexual violence For nearly 20 years I solemnly perched on my twig-like swing, day after changeless day, singing melancholy melodies. My feathered bodice, once vibrant, shiny, and tamed, turned lackluster and disheveled at best. Long ago, I was a young, adventurous, and naive little hatchling. Nothing struck me as dangerous or frightening until a concealed felon decided to take advantage of my innocent undisturbed life. Little did I know that moment in time would etch away at my internal being and morph me into a helpless little blue bird. My child-like state did not realize the ramifications of following you to your nest that night. You lured me in with ease by glamorizing your nest; detailing jewels of beauty, golds speckles across the delicate imported twigs, and moss as soft as clouds. Stealthily, you tricked me into believing that you had something of incredible rarity to dazzle me with back at your luxurious home. “What an exceptional opportunity,” I thought, so I abandoned my zone of safety just for you--excited for something magical. Your nest was set in a secluded area and truly was as captivating as you had described. Filled with unique décor and iridescent items, I was not disappointed. They were beautiful, but later I realized they were items collected from prior victims. A natural predator, you waited until the right moment to execute your strike. Once I was under a dazed-like spell, unaware of nothing but the charm of my surroundings, you struck your prey. More agile than I, you had me in your piercing talons instantly. Harshly pinned against the twigs and leaves you inserted yourself into me despite my cries. I attempted to claw against you as you violated me, but your strength was overpowering. Clawed down, body immobile, seconds went by like hours. Eventually I stopped trying to fight you. I knew I could not defeat your sickly desires and I grew tired of your bladed beak perforating every part of me every time I fought back. Just like all your other victims, you chained me to a cage so you could continue to batter me and my soul, until there was nothing left to take. Afraid of further harm, I let you continue to take advantage of me. The nest was so hidden, no noble flock could hear my cries. It was apparent that I needed to learn a way to survive the cage of horror. Since I was alone, except for when in your company, I decided to create a version of a friend. A friend that possessed unique qualities. One unique power was that it could shape-shift into many forms to attend to my ever-changing needs. It provided feelings of numbness, emptiness, and the feeling of nothingness that I craved. It could even make me invisible at times, so I could hide from the monster that originally shoved me into metal bindings. Bindings with minimal space. This friend told me to harshly rub my wings against the sharp edges of the metal to create wounds. Told me to refuse the little food my perpetrator set aside for me daily, claiming it would leave me empty and numb. And for a while it did work. That friend seemed like a blessing. Unfortunately, my friend eventually shifted into a friend and a foe. In friend form, it was small and skeletal. Fragile. In foe, its evil demeanor presented as a cloaked shadow. The shadow, authoritative and dominant, quickly forced my friend into the shadows. It began telling me lies. At first it was a lie here and there; the lies only grew more frequent until everything my foe said was a lie. Trapped by one suddenly became trapped by two. Who was this foe? Meanwhile, the untamed hawk continued to feed his repulsive acts. First a canary, then a starling, magpie, and swallow. What surprised me the most was when he seduced a hummingbird. The hawk always complained that they “hummed” too loudly and weren’t his type. Fortunately, the monster did not satisfy his needs with this selection. The hummingbird was agile and he, a large hawk, was not. He wasn’t able to recapture this prey. On the hummingbird’s frantic escape out, she saw me. She stopped at my cage and told me that although she could not release me from my entrapment, she could help me. After she flew away, I cuddled up and sat there confused. I could not understand why I was the hawk’s trapped prize possession when he let all the other victims go. He said something about “liking pretty little blue birds.” One night, while the haw was out hunting, the hummingbird hummed near a small cage space; she did hold to her word. Her long delicate beak pushed in a small bag of strange looking pellets. “What kind of bird seeds are those?” I asked innocently. “These are not bird seeds; these are better than that.” Before I could ask more questions, she was gone. My claws sifted through the small pouch of pellets. There seemed to be two different kinds, one labeled “Special K,” and the other, a large “X” in the center. Cautiously, I took one at a time. I started with the one with the “X” in the center. It made me feel calm, almost like there was a void around me and nothing mattered. I embraced this feeling. Excited that the hummingbird really did provide help, I swallowed the special K pellet. This pellet was like no other; my world became distant and a kaleidoscope appeared in front of me. It was the most wonderful and invigorating experience since I was a free and innocent blue bird. One pellet of each a day soon became two, then, three. Then came the black outs and the cravings for more of each wondrous pellet. Although I knew my stash was dwindling, I could not stop myself from indulging. I did not want to feel like I did the night the hawk lured me into his hidden nest. The “X” and the “K” removed that feeling completely and silenced my internal screams for help. At times, the hawk would have to fly my intoxicated body to one of his trusted healers (one that shared the hawk’s same wrongful acts). The healer would expunge my feathered body from the drugs, to allow me to breathe and flutter around. For selfish reasons, the hawk refused to let me pass into the darkness of the sky because he wanted to inflict more damage. It would be too kind to spare me of my troubled mind. What used to be an open sky filled with rays of sunshine narrowed into a dark and stormy hurricane where I could only see fragments of reality. Confused about my situation, I continued to hurt myself. Why? Because that was what I learned over time. I was unaware that there was another way out. Funny enough, the hawk had unlocked my cage door years ago; he knew I would never try to spread my wings and fly away; he had trained me well. I did the hawk’s and the shadow’s job for them; all they had to do was watch me repeatedly tear myself down until I was unable to perch and cry my laments. They were the ones who initiated my pain and suffering, but I was the one who perpetuated it. It took me what seemed like ages, to understand that I was my own undoing; however, the mere thought of spreading my wings to fly seemed unattainable. What had become of me? To be honest, it was a question I could not answer; one I was afraid to find out. I did know that I was no longer an unsilenced, carefree nestling anymore. It made me feel sad at times. Despite fear of the unknown, and the comfort and familiarity of suffering, I grew tired of my circle of self-destruction. I wanted at least one thing in my dreadful cage- no cages, to change. My mind trapped me just as much as the metal bars that surrounded me. Unsure of how to make change, I did what I thought would help. I’d move my water bowl here, move a twig there, attempt to sing neutral harmonies, and even stuck my beak close to the open cage door. Other than the appearance of my destructive shelter, nothing changed. My inner being was still the same, my sorrows untouched. It wasn’t until I took a deep look into myself and my previous actions, did I understand how to shape-shift into someone new. Previous attempts failed because I tried to fly on my own, expecting an easy flight after leaving the sky un-soared for quite some time. It did not occur to me that change does not happen instantly, without work or transformation involved. One day, lost in thought, I observed a yellow butterfly delicately flutter through the nest. This is when the answer came to me. Butterflies are not born in their state of beauty, they must transform. And that is what I did. I constructed new friends (their names were Hope, Trust, Faith, and Forgiveness) that I could furrow into during times of distress or difficulty. I created a unique and personalized plan of transformation. Slowly, I relied less on starvation and the use of pellets laced with drugs. I did not feel the need to inflict self-injury as often. Eventually, I developed enough confidence to spread my wings and soar into the vast blue openness of freedom, where I could belt out peaceful rhythms and chants with the rest of the birds. After all these years, the hawk no longer owns me. I can finally say that I am uncaged and I am free!


Sat in class, bored as all hell. The incessant drone of anonymous conversations all around me. Sat in class, alone. My eyes heavy, the weight of last night’s lack of sleep hanging off my eyelids. Then, like a superpower, they gain the strength to look up. Look up at you. You walk in, blissfully nonchalant and radiating an inexplainable positivity as always. The slight crookedness in your smile as you see your friends makes my heart thump a little harder than what’s deemed healthy. You turn your back to me to take your seat, your hair flows effortlessly over your shoulder, a picturesque maroon. Glistening slightly in the bright yellow glare of the shitty public-school lighting. I stare pathetically, imagining it’s glossy perfection draping between my fingers as I brush it behind your ear. Giving me a better look into those big, beautiful eyes. I’d come over, sit with you until the teacher arrives. Getting to know you with polite small talk, but my goal would be to make you laugh. To be the one who blesses the room with that contagious symphony. Your laugh would light up my life a thousand times over if I were the one to cause it. I’d impress you with my knowledge in class discussion, being equally as impressed by your smarts and wit, but I know you’d be too shy to raise your hand and speak in front of everyone. We’d talk effortlessly, I’d be nervous, but your talk would comfort me dearly. I’d get your socials, and we’d talk for hours for the proceeding weeks. Eventually mustering up the courage to ask you on a date. You’d be shocked, none of the boys our age have the same old-fashioned ideals of courtship and you’d accept my offer. We’d laugh together for hours, our humour aligning like an eclipse. So fantastically rare but effortlessly beautiful to behold. You’d truly be the sun to my moon: my tired, grey life. We’d leave school and stay together, having the common interest of that class and pursuing it in higher education. We’d have bouts, disputes, and arguments as we grow and flourish together over the course of the years. Inevitably, after everything, you’d end up back in my arms, cuddling close, your familiar coconut-aroma in my face as you nuzzled my chest. Your weight against me the most comforting thing in the world. I’d hold you tight, just like that again, when you’d say *‘yes’* to my proposal. I’d feel no stronger sense of satisfaction than bearing a gorgeous diamond ring on your pretty little hand. We’d be committed, forever. My girl. We’d continue growing, getting older. I’d watch in absolute awe at you becoming a mature, confident woman; with the utmost honour of calling you my wife. I’d have the responsibility of holding you in the greatest of pain as your family leaves slowly, departing from us. We’d grow our family in place of them. Our children would be beautiful: a boy and a girl. We’d watch them grow as we had each other. Holding your hand as we support them in falling in and out of love with the world as we once had. After it all, my greatest pleasure would be looking deep into those big, beautiful eyes on your last day. Holding your hand tight, our hands withered and trembling, but yours as warm as ever. You’d smile, letting me see the greatest beauty in the world one last time. Making my heart flutter, watching closely as you leave us. Content with the loving, full life you’ve lived that I was honoured to be a part of. Even after that, the most painful thing is having to turning my head away from you in that class, as he sits down and makes you laugh, instead of me.


“For the final time, I would now like to hear the defendant’s alibis for each and every one of these murders.” I suck a sharp breath in as a cold fear grasps hold of me. The defendant. Steven Gunnarson. Me. An indistinct, blue-eyed, blonde haired middle-aged man. Pretty much the spitting image of half of Iceland, which is exactly what my job requires. Seven children from my small, Icelandic town, Selfoss, were found dead; one on each day of last week. Since the overpopulation of mainland Europe decimated the international trade industry in 2050, Iceland has had closed borders. And now, in 2078, I have been convicted of seven brutal murders that I didn’t, and couldn’t have committed. A corrupt government named “SAFE” leads the country with ultimate power and nobody can even come close to having enough people on their side to try and knock them off the top. Because of their lies, manipulation and deceptive spies and, I hate to admit it, maybe my boring, default appearance, I am hated by the entirety of Iceland. Except for my Lawyer, Leo - who is now shakily standing up to try to save me from a life sentence, a death sentence, or whatever the hell SAFE do to ‘murderers’ these days. Leo has dirty blond, messy hair that flows from his head in naturally perfect waves. I know his intelligent, green eyes too well, as if I have been staring into them like they hold the key to my future ... which, in a twisted way, I have, and they do. Judge Wolfgang is as different to Leo as she could be. Wirey, grey hair hangs limply from her head in an unattractively spider-like manner. Her eyes are a matching, dull grey and her nose is annoyingly long, with a gruesome hook on the end. Maybe I’m biased. She is trying to convict me of numerous impossible crimes. I try to ignore the disgruntled murmurs of the hateful audience behind me, whose harsh words seep into me like acid into flesh - painful and unstoppable. I stare at my feet, knowing that despite Leo’s charismatic, likeable manner, he can’t save me from this one. He can’t tell them the truth. Because I wasn’t in Iceland. I know a way past the immeasurably tall walls, thousands of SAFE guards, and miles of churning waves. He knows too. I’m the leader of a top secret, underground organisation called ‘Rebuild Iceland’ (the RI), and Leo is my advisor. Next week we plan to escape the country through an underground pipeline which used to hold wire that crossed countries to supply energy, but as I said, countries don’t really mix anymore. Nobody knows about this, except Me, Leo and the rest of RI. But it looks like I won’t be going anywhere. While all of the people who I’ve ever cared for leave to try and gather allies from the UK to help Iceland’s population escape, I will be stuck here rotting in a dark, damp, vile room, with no window, toilet, sink or bed until they come back. If they come back. That’s how prisons work in Iceland. Or maybe they’ll have mercy on me and kill me, instead of letting me turn insane from my own thoughts in a cell. As I begin to think of other unthinkable things that might happen to me, I let myself fall into the inescapable whirlpool of dread at my coming weeks, months and years. I’m snapped back to the present moment by a sudden swell of angry voices pushing into my back, before a grinning face appears in front of my own. “WE DID IT!!!!” Leo yells over the distressed shouts of the crowd, who are scared at the prospect of a killer being set free. Then it sinks in. A warm excited rush of joy replaces the cold, distant grief that filled my veins, “WE DID IT!” I bellow back, then confusion warps my joy and excitement into a very simple question. How did he do it? Leo convinced that detestable judge of my innocence. Maybe her eyes aren’t as grey and lifeless as I thought...? I glance over to her chair, but she has already left the room, as have the vast majority of the people behind me - keen to get away. As the last audience member files out, the guards to our right allow us to leave through the side of the court, back over to Leo’s car. The harsh, northern wind hits me in the face like a frozen sledgehammer, snow swirling around us in the dark, late afternoon sky. As we jog to the car and slam the doors shut, leaving a warm, quiet silence that permeates the air. I close my eyes for a second and take a much-needed sigh of relief, excitement and undeniable exhaustion from the day of questioning. When I eventually open them, I see Leo doing his best imitation of the Cheshire cat and showing me his perfectly white teeth. I give him what he wants. “How on earth did you do that? I zoned out for a couple of minutes and you go and save me again! AGAIN!” I can’t count how many times my best friend has saved me over the past few years. I have done him some favours too, but it always seems to be him saving me at the end of things. My own questions have caused a wave of gratitude to course through me at what he’s done. “Well,” he says still grinning, “Last week, when you were first accused, I checked who would be the judge at your final hearing.” (For some reason, SAFE gave us a new judge for every section of the conviction.) “Judge Wolfgang. My father used to know a Julia Wolfgang. He says that he saved her from being convicted for a murder she did not commit, just as I have to you.” Leo’s father was a lawyer, which must be partially why he is so good at it, “I knew I had to get into contact with Wolfgang before today, so I knocked on her door yesterday and explained the situation to her. Not the RI, don’t worry!” he assures me when he sees the look on my face. “So, you’re saying that you managed to convince her to trust us, risk her life by going against SAFE, and displease the public by letting me go free.” I state, not posing this obvious fact as a question. “Bingo. She hates the government more than you may think. I reckon she’s had more than one run in with them than she’s letting on. She might even be a good person to recruit for the RI you know...” He says this knowing my answer already as he pulls out the car park and heads towards the mountains, only a fifteen-minute drive from here. “Absolutely not. No way. Not yet at least. We need to make sure she is truly against this government before jumping the gun and letting a mole into our group. Back to the point, thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, this has to be, what, maybe the fourth time you’ve saved my life?” “Fifth,” he quips cheekily “Fifth then. Either way, you need to understand how grateful I am for what you did in that court-room.” “Steve,” Leo replies, “you do know that it isn’t a thing that I need to be thanked for. I’d do the same thing every time.” This brings a tear to my eye and a hard lump into my throat. ‘This isn’t like you Steve’ I tell myself, ‘Get a grip.’ Still, there has to be a way to pay him for saving me. We pull into the drive of my rural farmhouse, coming to an abrupt stop outside. I stay in the car for two reasons: I really don’t want to get out into that spiralling snowstorm, and more importantly, I know how to thank Leo. He looks at me expectantly. ‘Spit it out, Steve, come on.’ The wind dies down as if holding its breath for what I’m about to say. “Do you want to become a joint RI leader with me?” I said it, no going back now. Leo looks at me quizzically, “You’re joking right?” “Nope!” I laugh. He does not laugh. He doesn’t even smile. “No. I can’t do that. The RI is yours, you made it, you lead it and it would collapse without you. I would only disrupt things, and probably bring people like Wolfgang in too early. Long story short I’d ruin it. I am completely happy with advising you so you can make sure that none of my ideas that are too crazy come to life.” I open my mouth to speak, but I’m swiftly cut off. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise, I know this is to try to thank me, not to benefit the organisation, so don’t say something you’ll regret. I saved you because you’re my best friend, but also because there wouldn’t even be a way to get to the UK without you. I am honoured by your request, but I just can’t accept. I’m sorry” After that long and unsurprisingly correct speech, Leo returns to his normal self. He smiles at me, says “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” and unlocks the car door to let me out. That’s my cue. I step out into the gale. “Bye, I guess.” Leo gives me one more of his signature gurns, before restarting the engine and driving round to his house just around the corner. I’m left standing on the pavement, dumbstruck. Why couldn’t he have just said yes. Then I wouldn’t have this aching sense of inadequacy deep within me, which I know won’t go away until I have a way of repaying him for saving me for the fifth time and some things even more important than me.... I open my front door, quickly, eager to escape the cold. The gratefulness is true, but the part about the murders isn’t. I have been lying to my best friend, one of the only people in the country who trusts me. I didn’t murder them, I’m not a monster. But the reason I know that SAFE’s evidence was corrupt is because the bodies of the seven children are in my house, very much still working and alive. “I’m back” I holler up the stairs, as seven children come bounding down them and hug me with excitement, “We thought you weren’t coming back Dad!” Yep. These children are my children. Technically, I’m responsible for their disappearances, but I only took back what SAFE stole from me, along with my wife’s life. They stole each of my children when they hit the age of five (the youngest only last week, at the same time as shooting my wife), and gave them to people who are high up in the hierarchy of SAFE to ensure that they would grow up in a household that is loyal to them. So not only am I thankful to Leo for saving me by unknowingly lying, but he helped me to save all of my kids without even realising. They should be able to have a free and good quality life when we get to the UK, which is much safer than Iceland. So overall, I’m in a very good position here, and I will tell Leo about my children in good time, but the gratitude I feel for him is vast, and I know I can never really thank him enough for what he did, but I will try my best. I have to, for my kids. He got them back.


Very new at writing fiction, so be gentle. Looking for any feedback/criticism you have that will make this story better. Enjoy! *** The fever ran rampant as of late, infecting any potential victim it could like some rabid mongrel. Birdie was one such victim. At fourteen-years-old, Birdie McBride was dying. She lived with her grandpa, Chester McBride, who was seventy-three years old, and whom she prayed with every night on their knees - he prayed for fortune and she prayed that she would live long enough not to be buried by Chester. Birdie’s ma was buried in the backyard and her pa was buried in the front. Even in death they lay divorced from one another. Birdie McBride often stood in the hallway between the windows looking out at either grave. She knew she was dying, but to be buried at home would be the ultimate form of degradation. In years past, when the fever was widespread, doctors and citizens alike were hell-bent on discovering a cure. The field of medicine attracted con artists like the scent of blood attracts sharks and Birdie’s folks did not hesitate to capitalize on the fears of the sick and the desperate. After all, many people in town needed medical help, so much so that their needs rendered them more gullible than usual. The couple ran a successful business as self-described doctors, selling what they claimed to be the cure for the fever. In actuality, their “cure” was just some snake oil concoction that did little to remedy the sickness. They cheated sick people out of money for years and lived lavishly for a while, purchasing cars and fancy clothes and the like. That is until word spread around town that their medicine was ineffective and they developed a reputation as con artists. Soon, the couple was met with stares and scolds from nearly every corner of town, even being banned from some businesses. With their reputation in ruins and their money spent, the couple’s relationship became strained. Most times, Birdie’s ma wandered through half of their home, while her pa roamed the other half without ever seeing each other. Their notoriety together, even in their graves, attracted the scorn of the town, with people meeting the graves with jeer or spit or stones. Because of this notoriety, Birdie was sure that when she dies of fever, she would not be buried with her kin, for to be buried with them was to share the roots seeped with their sins. One evening, Birdie felt particularly feverish, perhaps more so than ever. Her liver and kidneys functioned when they would, but her heart persisted doggedly to beat. Birdie’s nose ran with blood and her skin bore a translucent yellow tinge as she dragged herself through the house like a cadaverous apparition. Tonight was the night; tonight, she knew she would die. When she entered the kitchen, she discovered her grandpa dining on leftover stew at a small table. In her dwindling physical state, she believed it to be appropriate to discuss her burial plans with her grandpa for the last time. “Pardon me for interrupting your supper, Grandpa, but I don’t feel well. I fear I won’t make it to the morning in my condition.” Chester turned to face his granddaughter, raising his eyebrows half-mast at the sight of her, “Don’t talk like that sweetpea; you just need something to warm your belly. Why don’t I fix you a bowl of stew?” Birdie gazed at the floor, “I ain’t hungry, Grandpa. I doubt any food can cure me, let alone a doctor. I can feel it, grandpa. I can feel death upon me.” Chester shifted in his seat, tilting his head as he did so, “You sure you don’t just need some sleep? Maybe a nap will do you some good.” “I’m positive.” Said Birdie. Her grandpa nodded, “Well if you really feel that way, I suppose we should make arrangements. Have you picked a spot in the yard yet? Maybe beside your mother or behind your father?” Birdie met her grandpa’s stare, “That’s the issue, you see. I don’t want to be buried in the yard. I’m not like my parents and I don’t want people to think that I died sharing my parents’ beliefs. I want to rest peacefully, without the burden of dishonour.” “Birdie, you know we can’t afford to bury you in a graveyard. We just don’t have the money.” Said Chester. “Besides, what difference does it make? You won’t know or care where your body is when you pass.” “Please Grandpa. We can even dig my grave on some field; any field.” Chester bit down on his lower lip, “Sorry Birdie, law doesn’t allow it. I’m telling you, a home burial isn’t so bad. As much as you don’t like your ma and pa, they are your family after all.” Birdie’s brows furrowed as she balled her fists, “The past and the future are the same to you aren’t they? One forgotten and the other not remembered; you choose to ignore what they did and you have no more notion of dying than the bowl of stew in front of you. I will be damned if I am buried next to criminals.” Birdie turned and stormed off as best as her body could allow, trundling to her bedroom, where she sat marinating in her own sickly decay. A tear began rolling down her cheek as she listened to her grandfather shuffling about to prepare for the inevitable. She let her eyes wander around her room like a housefly, searching for any way to circumvent a backyard burial. Back and forth her eyes beamed until she became dizzy. From what she could see, nothing in her room existed that could prevent her home burial. With a sigh, Birdie grabbed her diary from her nightstand beside her bed and began to pen a final entry and clear her head. As she began to write, she noticed that the left-sided page had a sketch of trees and bushes on it. Birdie wiped her tears while she looked closer at the drawing, raising her eyebrows as she did so. She had an idea. Birdie waited for hours until she could wait no longer. With her pen, she had crossed out what she had been writing and restarted on a new page, which now read, “In a better place”. Birdie then tore the page out and placed it on her Pillow for her grandpa to find in the morning. She grew even yellower and her heartbeat sputtered like an old engine. As she put her ear to her bedroom door, she could no longer hear her grandpa and figured that he must have retired to bed by now. There was no time left for compromise or survival, and so Birdie made for the front door. Birdie gazed at the midnight streets, wondering which direction to run. She winced as she lifted her right leg and began hobbling into the night like a wandering nomad. The stars swung counterclockwise in their course and the North Star winked above her, guiding her path. Birdie walked for hours; she walked all night. She walked until her toes grew numb and she coughed up blood. The trek led her deep into the grassy foothills outside of town, where only beasts and wild things roamed and withered. The landscape looked just like her drawing, with trees wafting in the wind and bushes rustling. From where Birdie stood, the town was a kaleidoscopic sliver in the glare of the rising sun. She had come too far to turn back, even if she wanted to. Birdie sank to her knees, staring at the dirt below her. It was time. She raised her arms and began to claw and dig desperately at the ground like a dying mole. After a minute or so, digging turned into dragging; her fingernails filled with earthen grime as the life slipped out of her. Satisfied with the palm-sized hole she had dug, she lay down on her back and scattered the crumbs of dirt across her torso. Birdie closed her eyes and clasped her hands, whispering a prayer to the sky above. Then, she waited.


It had been a stupid idea from the get-go. Meddie had been pushed into it after the latest run-in with her ex Percy had left her downhearted. “Get out of the house!” her sisters had said. “We signed you up, go! It'll be fun!” they had said. Yeah, well, it was easy enough for them. They didn't have any trouble. No, none at all. But she found it hard to deny her older sisters anything, so that was why she found herself prepping for a brutal night of speed dating. The cabbie had let her out in front of a slightly shabby bar. A chalkboard sign sat out the front advertising the night’s special event. ‘Dating for Deities’. *Ha. More like “Dating for Dropkicks”.* She knew she shouldn't have come; it was ridiculous. The social circles that she and her sisters inhabited weren’t small, but Meddie’s reputation clearly preceded her. As she moved from table to table not a single person would meet her eyes. Which was ridiculous, it was 2020 for Goddesses’ sake! Her eye problem had been solved long ago with the invention of prescription lenses. And conversation-wise it wasn’t great either. For the most part all she got was a few short, clipped sentences. The others tended to just talk over her as if she wasn’t even there. She was at her wits end by the time it got to the last round. Just like the three before him, her second-to-last date hadn’t stopped going on and on all about his previous conquests. At the chiming bell that signified time was up, she downed the remains of her fourth Santorini Sunrise and with a tight smile said her farewells. She contemplated just leaving then and there but thought it might be a bit too mean to leave someone sitting in this ridiculous place alone. Her thoughts were raging as she made her way across the room. *These people are nothing but idiotic Greek preeners and brain-dead siren Barbies. I wish I -'* The thought stopped dead as she looked down at her last date of the night. He was gorgeous. A floppy mane of shoulder length blonde hair, the beginnings of a scruffy beard. A kind face. Definitely a ripped body, hidden underneath a slightly too large shirt. Yum. The only thing that irked her were the sunglasses the man wore. *What kind of a douchebag wears sunglasses inside?* His nametag read 'Adam' and although he looked fantastic, she was well aware of how deceiving first looks could be. Making sure her head-wrap was in place, she subtly primped as she sat down. Before she could say a word, he spoke. “I have a confession. I think I'm in the wrong place.” “What?” Meddie looked up at him in confusion. He leant in, like he had some earth-shattering secret he couldn't share with anyone but her. “I mean, my younger sister signed me up for speed-dating, and I thought hey! Why not? But I think the cabbie took a wrong turn and dropped me off at the wrong event because everyone here has been talking about being gods and sirens and harpies and for god’s sake, I have no clue what's going on!” He took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. Meddie sat stunned in her seat. He was human. A human! At a supernatural dating event. She just had to laugh at her luck. Taking a risk, she grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Look don't worry, those guys... they're a little crazy. Just tell me a bit about yourself. What do you do, what are you into?” Adam visibly relaxed. Meddie grabbed a couple of drinks off one of the waiters circling the room. She pressed one into his hands and took a large gulp out of the other as he proceeded to tell her about himself. “Well, I'm Adam, I'm 31, I enjoy long walks on the beach and talking to pretty girls.” He flashed her a cheesy grin. Meddie let out a slightly tipsy giggle. “No, I work down at the zoo taking care of the animals. Well... if we're being honest, I help look after the snake enclosure. I just really have a thing for snakes I guess, always have. Ever since I was a little kid.” He paused. “And now's the part where you go 'ew, really, why snakes?'” “Oh no, no way. I dig snakes.” Her hand unconsciously moved to her head, patting it down, smoothing the invisible wrinkles. “Really?” “Absolutely. No seriously, I think snakes are great.” She gave his hand another squeeze, and felt a thrill run through her as he returned the gesture. “Oh, and I'm blind.” He pulled off the sunglasses. Meddie let out a small gasp, flinching slightly, years of ingrained fear causing her to avert her eyes. Guilt now coursed through her at her douchebag thought. She took another gulp from her glass. “Yeah, when I say my sister signed me up for blind speed-dating, I really meant it.” Nearly snorting half her drink all over the table, Meddie threw her head back, bursting into full blown laughter. Adam followed suit, his gravelly laugh soothing her nerves. When they had finally calmed down, he continued. “So anyway, enough about me, tell me about yourself. What's your name again? Maddie?” “Meddie, actually. I know, it’s strange.” Adam cocked his head, a playful smile on his lips. “No, no, I like it. It is unusual though. Is it a nickname? What's it short for?” A little hiss could be heard from above Meddie’s head and she reached up to pull the scarf from her head. With a quick shake, she let her hair free. “Medusa. It's short for Medusa.” She watched as he stilled, seeing in the tilt of his head and the furrow of his brow that he was doing the math. They sat there for a moment, Meddie growing more and more worried that she had pushed him too far. After all, even the humans had heard the stories. Relief coursed through her as, after another few seconds, a brilliant grin lit up his face. “It’s like I told you before,” he said. “I do love snakes.


Rain poured and the skies turned gray. Footsteps sounded like a march in union. Everyone was trying to get home and avoid the enemy above. Soon it became stronger. Trees started to bend and struggled with balance. Powerful winds struck at building signs and isolated cars. The skies above roared as if it was an angry god, the thunder looked like a vein popping out. It was a battlefield, and no one wanted to be a part of it. In the very corner of the streets lies a man in a brown suit inside his car. “I can’t believe this is happening. I might die,” Henry said. He just got off of work and had to make it back home to his family. He was not expecting a raging weapon from mother nature today. The thought of his children and wife waiting for his return made him nervous. He tried to call but his phone was already dead. I’m not having the best of luck aren’t I. The cold breeze made him stiff like a frozen pole. It was getting worse and worse. Another car flipped to the side from the wind's striking attack. A few seconds later his own car began to wobble. It's as if he was being taunted. Henry shook his head and couldn’t wait any longer. I know it's not any safer but maybe I can find another spot to shelter in. The car door opened wide, and Henry dashed away. He ran through the hurricane storm. The concrete was slippery, and his vision was impaired by the drizzling rain and bashful winds. He stopped at a bakery building, the windows closed and everything dark. Figures. He went under its roof, finally protected. Henry inhaled and exhaled his shivery breath and closed his eyes. Drip Drip Drop. The rain continued to speak. Drip Drop Drop Drip...Purr. Henry frowned at the sudden change. Drop Drip...Meow. Henry jolted from his break and turned his head both ways. No one’s here, just me. Henry closed his eyes once again. MEOW. Henry looked down and saw where the source was coming from. A small black cat. “Oh, hello my little furry friend got caught in the storm too huh?” Henry bent down and looked at the timid feline. The cat purred in response and licked his nose with its tiny tongue. “We are both stuck here until it calms, I guess...well hopefully it won’t get too dangerous here.” Henry chuckled at his own nervousness. The cat tilted its head in response. Its yellow eyes glowed like a car’s headlights. It stared intently at the man and seemed to understand him. The cat went to the side of the building and looked back at the man. “What is it? Why are you leaving me so soon?” Henry's facial expression turned sad. He liked having a small companion with him. Made him less alone in this frantic weather. The cat meowed again and twirled in a circle. This little guy wants me to come along? Henry went up to the cat and watched it twirl again in response. Well, what other choice do I have? Henry and the cat walked together in the alleyway. The rain was still boisterous but was less harsh in this area. The cat paused and turned its head. It went up against a pipeline and beneath it was a wide deep tunnel. Its paws mashed on the muddy dirt, and it slid under, meowing its friend to follow. Henry caught on to the signal and ducked underneath the surprisingly large tunnel. Both travelers crawled underneath the mysterious tunnel. The sound of rain was more like a drum beating. Light blasted in the darkness as they crawled further to it. Once they reached the end of the tunnel there was a new alley. There was no messy weather. Just a clear sky and trees bristling with the wind. “How? It's like I entered a whole new world.” Henry wanted to discover more but his feline friend was already on the lead. “Oh, hold up, I’m coming, I’m coming”. They stopped at a cyclone fence and the cat looked around. It leaped high in the air and went over the fence, later, it signaled his tall friend to do the same. Henry chuckled again. “Well, I can’t jump very high like you do.” Henry climbed the fence and observed his new surroundings when he landed. No rain. No blazing winds. And no harsh storms. It was just a dead end. The only thing that was there was an empty trash bin laying on the ground. The cat pushed the lid and went inside the garbage bin. Henry doing the same. Henry felt the surface become smoother and soon was sliding down as if he was at a park. At the very end he reached the destination and slid down next to his friend and ally. The cat ears perked up when it noticed him and motioned him to look around. Henry looked around and noticed the number of antiques and valuable objects. It ranged from trophies, photos, record players, jewelry, and even furniture. Henry was quite shocked at how a small cat could even find a spot like this. I wondered if it even collected some of this stuff too. From raging storms and heavy rain to a secret stash of treasure. Henry felt like a pirate at that point. He saw old board games too and even a golden crown. This feels like a reward. Henry smiles to himself. Henry saw the cat looking at a photo and meowing very sadly. Henry sat down next to it and noticed the picture resembled a family. “Oh, was this your family?” Henry mentioned as he picked up the photograph. He looked back at the cat and saw the sadness in its eyes. Oh, maybe you had a family or just really lonely. An idea popped up in his head. “Hey, my little friend, I have something to tell you.” The cat looked up and placed its paw on his knee, showing that it was listening. “How would you like to be a part of my family? I have one too.” Henry pointed at the photo and then at himself. The cat understood this, and its tail raised up a bit. Now that I think about it, you need a name too . “And how about a name?” Henry said as the cat looked at him with curiosity. “Let’s name you....” Henry looked around and tapped his chin. “How about Treasure?” The newly named cat purred in happiness. “Once the storm clears up from the other side, we can go back home.” He petted his new companion and family member on the head and let Treasure cuddle up on his chest. The raging storm may have been a nasty one, but Henry was happy to be saved by a very smart cat named Treasure.


"Christmas time is here everyone! I hope you all are as excited as I am about our secret Santa gift swap! I've got some refreshments set up on the back table as well as a goodie bag for each of you to grab when you leave. DJ Xtreme is here tonight to set the mood right. So, let's get this party started!", Shelly announced to everyone at the Lions Guard Inc. Christmas party. As the owner of the world's most successful security company, Shelly took pride in hosting her company's annual Christmas parties. She really enjoys spending time with her employees outside of work hours. The time spent decorating all around the office shows how much joy she has. There were red, green, and silver garlands, tinsel, balloons, snowmen, and Christmas trees. " Wow! Boss lady got it looking really nice in here tonight. Maybe you should take some notes, Martha." Stew said with a smirk on his face. "You wonder why I can't stand you, Stew. Then again, no woman on this earth can stand you. That's why you're still single." Martha responded as she proceeded to the refreshment table. Stew shook his head as he laughed off Martha's response and found a table for them to sit. "Stew! How's it going my man?" Rick asked excitingly as he takes a sip of the anonymous Christmas punch Shelly makes every year. "I can't call it, Rick. How are you?" replied Stew as he took a seat across from him. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking. I'm planning an international getaway to Dubai for the Spring. As soon as I land there, my feet will be planted in the sand and I will be enjoying an adventurous camel ride. I heard the variety of wines and spirits are exquisite there." Rick explained as he stared off into space in his own world. "I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a blast!" Stew said sarcastically, being that every employee thinks Rick makes up all of his lavish and luxurious stories. Meanwhile, Martha is at the refreshment table trying to decide whether she should partake in Shelly's anonymous Christmas punch or just settle for some water instead. "Why does she have to make this unknown punch every year? There are other drinks at the store that could've been brought." Martha complained in frustration to her coworker Karla. "You know she has to be in control of everything. From what pens we use to how many staples are in the staplers. Irritates me every time. Let's get some drinks from the vending machine in the break room. " Karla responded. "Now we're talking." Martha said in agreement. Both ladies started making their way to the break room as Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' blasts from the DJ's speakers. "You play some great songs." Shelly yells over the loud music. "Thanks. I try to do my best, you know." DJ Xtreme responded with a smile as he was flipping switches and turning knobs on his turntables. "I want to let you know that I got you a gift for the gift swap so you won't feel left out." Shelly mentioned with eagerness as she plays around with her fingers nervously. "Wow, that's really nice of you!" answered DJ Xtreme. He looked confused as he takes notice of Shelly's nervousness. "Are you feeling ok? Is something bothering you?" DJ Xtreme asked as he presses a button to switch to the next song. "I'm ok. It's just...I've been bottling up these feelings I have inside of me for a long time. I'm afraid I might burst into a million pieces." Shelly explained with a disappointing look. "You should definitely get it off your chest and open up. You might feel better after." DJ Xtreme stated. "I guess you're right. Shelly said as her palms started sweating heavily at the thought of telling DJ Xtreme that she likes him. "Don't be shy at all. You can vent to me, you know. What could go wrong? I promise I wont bite." DJ Xtreme assured Shelly, curious as to what is brewing on her mind. "Well...ok. I've been feeling this way for a while now and...oh, please excuse me, I see one of my employees trying to spike my delicious Christmas punch, again. Frank! You better not put that tequila in my punch!" Shelly yelled as she rushed over to the refreshment table. DJ Xtreme looked disappointed as he turned his attention back to his turntables. Shelly has grown a crush on him from the first year he performed at her parties. Every time she gets closer to expressing her feelings to him, anxiety takes over and she runs the other way. What Shelly doesn't know is that DJ Xtreme also has a crush on her. This was the moment that he noticed the feelings are mutual between them. Shelly grabs the tequila bottle out of Frank's hand right before any could pour out. "Why do you keep spoiling my fun? I've been meaning to tell you, this punch could use a little kick to it." Frank said looking surprised that his boss caught him attempting to spike her punch. "Why must you try to ruin my punch every year? There's nothing wrong with it. My punch tastes perfectly fine. Go make your own personal drink." Shelly responded in frustration. "Actually, that's a great idea! I'll be right back." Frank said as he's turned back to the refreshment table and started making his own personal drink. Shelly shook her head in disbelief, then made her way towards the break room. The Jackson 5's 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' was blasting from the speakers. "This soda is hitting the spot, girl. I think I might get another one to take home with me." Martha mentioned right before she took another sip. "You got that right. Now that we have these new vending machines, I'm glad we don't have to be stuck to drinking only Shelly's Christmas punch." Karla responded as she sat down at the break room table. "Speaking of our boss, I saw her talking to the DJ earlier. I think she likes him but looks nervous as heck when she talks to him." Martha stated as she took a sip of her drink. "Oh, wow! I didn't notice that at all. Maybe we should help her. She could really use a man in her life." Karla responded. "I don't know, Karla. I don't be in other peoples business." Martha said. "What business are we talking about ladies? Wait a minute...why are y'all in the break room sneaking and drinking sodas?! So, yall too good for my Christmas punch?" Shelly asked in shock as she walked into the break room. "Its not like that, Shelly. We really like your punch, it's just that we think there should be a variety of drinks provided for the party. Some people just like variety, that's all." Martha explained as she thought quick to save her and Karla from upsetting their boss. "Well, I never thought of it that way. You do have a point. Nobody wants to drink the same thing every year. From here on out, there will be different varieties of drinks at our parties." Shelly agreed with a smile on her face as she sat down across from Karla at the break room table. "The DJ really got this place jamming, doesn't he?" Shelly asked as she was staring at DJ Xtreme with a smile. "Don't be afraid, Shelly. Go on over there and talk to him. You know you want him to be your man." Karla stated as she stood up to throw her empty bottle of soda away. "How do you know that I like DJ Xtreme?" Shelly asked with a confused look on her face. "Come on! Anybody can see the way that you stare at him and how you pretty much drool all over him when y'all talk." Karla responded. "I guess you're right. Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck." Shelly stated as she stood up and started making her way towards the DJ booth.


In a city full of color, there lived the man in black. He always wore a black trench coat over his black button up matching his black pants bonded by his black belt. Needless to say, he wore black dress shoes with black socks. He wasn’t the most sociable person in the world but if you got to know him, he wasn’t a bad person. Every Sunday morning when the clocktower struck 10 times, he would run to the local café and enjoy a black coffee. He would escape the troubles of his week by reading the Sunday paper in as other customers passed by him. They overlooked him as a lonely old man though he was in his early 30’s. Whenever the clock tower nearby struck 13 times: he looked at his black watch, paid his tab, and left without a word. On one rainy Sunday, the man in black entered the café to find it completely deserted. The man in black walked over to his usual spot and ordered his black coffee. About half an hour or so later, the café’s door swung open and in came a woman who was soaked from head to toe. She ripped off her rain jacket revealing a simple white dress matching her white shoes. She walked over and sat at the booth across from the man in black. The man in black lowered his paper to take a quick glance at the rain’s refugee. She had long silky white hair as if she was an old woman, but the pitch of her voice as she ordered a latte told him she was around his age. The man in black went back to reading his paper. After a few minutes, of complete silence, the woman in white looked out across from her booth to the man in black. Though the newspaper blocked her view of the man in black’s face, she could see his smooth combed back hair poking out from the top. The rain was relentless and she had no desire to become a drenched cotton ball. She decided to sit around a bit and tap her figures against the cup in a rhythmic pattern. They sat like this for nearly an hour. “Do you come here often?” asked the woman in white as the man in black set down his paper for a moment to sip his coffee. He looked around to see if she was addressing someone around her, before realizing the two of them were the only ones in the room. “Every Sunday when I can,” replied the man in black as he set down his cup, “Never seem you around, are you new here?” “I just moved into town yesterday,” replied the woman in white, “I just finished school and plan to get a job here in the city color bursts around,” “I wish you the best then,” said the man in black curtly as he went back to his paper. The woman in white wasn’t done with him yet though. She picked up her belongings and moved over to the man in black’s booth. The man black looked up for a moment before continuing to read his paper. The woman in white sighed and pulled out a paper and pencil. When the clock tower rung 14 times, the man in black got up, paid his tab and left without a word. After a week passes, the man in black walks back to his usual café for his usual cup of coffee. But as he slid into his usual booth, his leg touched something beneath the table. “I see that you’ve become accustomed to sitting here,” laughed a familiar voice. The man in black looked up to see the woman in white sitting across from him. In front of her was a pencil and a sketch of the other side of the café. The man in black slowly got up. “I don’t mind sharing the booth,” she said grabbing his hand. The waiter came over with a latte and a black coffee and set them by the table. The man in black sighed, took out his paper and started to read. The woman in white smiled and continued to work on her drawing. After an hour or so, the woman in white looked at the man in black as he sipped his coffee. Like everything he wore, his eyes were also black. He caught her staring and went back to reading. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asked trying to ease the awkwardness. “An office job,” replied the man in black as he flipped to another page. “Well, I can tell that much by the way you dress,” she laughed lowering down the paper, “But what do you do specifically?” “Talk to people about buying things and selling them,” he said before pulling back up his newspaper. “So, you’re a salesman? For what company?” asked the woman in white. “Palette Corp,” he replied still staring into his paper. “The biggest conglomerate in the entire city?! I heard it was started up a few years ago by a wonderkid fresh out of college. What’s he like?” pressed the woman in white. The man in black lowered his paper and shook his head. “He’s not that great,” he said before looking at his watch. The clock tower then rung 16 times and the man in black started to get up to leave. “It’s my dream to speak to him one day and ask for funding for my art studio,” said the woman in white getting up to join him, she showed the man in black her finished drawing. It was a detailed picture of the café booths which sat across from them. For a moment the man in black thought it was a black and white photo. “Maybe,” he said before paying his tab and walking out the door. The next week, the man in black walked into the café to find it packed with people. He found that his usual booth was taken up by an old couple talking about the weather. As he was about to turn around and go home, there sat the woman in white in another booth waving at him; two cups sat in front of her. Reluctantly he sat down and took a sip of his coffee. The woman in white pulled out a binder from her bag and opened it for the man in black to look at. Inside were detailed plans for a building alongside some art piece examples. There were portraits of people in the park, animals in the forest, sailors on a boat, and so much more. The man in black quietly adored the drawings as he flipped through them. If it wasn’t for seeing her draw last week, he would’ve thought they were all black and white photos. “I’ve made an appointment to meet with them in two weeks’ time,” she said watching him stare at the pages. “So, I was wondering, could give me any tips about my presentation to the board of investors?” The man in black thought for a moment and closed the binder. “I wouldn’t recommend seeing them,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. “It isn’t a place for someone like you,” “Please, this is my dream!” begged said the woman in white caressing her binder. “Are my drawings not good enough to be sold?” “No that’s not it,” he said placing down his cup. “I just think that all this effort won’t get you anywhere there,” “Then help me!” said the woman in white picking up his hand. He saw the flare of passion in her eyes; something he hasn’t had for a long time. The man in black freed his hand from her grasp and leaned back into his chair silently. “I see... if you don’t want to help me, I’ll just figure it out myself...” said the woman in white before gathering her things back into her bag. “You’re missing a business plan,” said the man in black softly as she left the booth. She turned around, smiled at him, and sat back down. The man in black took out a pen from his coat pocket and started to write out plans on a napkin. When the clock tower rung 17 times, they left the café agreed to meet next week. That next Sunday, the man in black went to the café almost empty. Alone in his favorite booth sat the woman in white with two cups and a binder. The man in black sat down and looked over her plans. He was impressed by how much of his advice she took and how professional it all looked. Once he was done looking at the plan details for himself, the woman in white practiced her presentation on him. They went at it for hours, with the man in black stopping her at times to ask practice questions and give input on her presentation. When the clocktower rung 18 times, they were both sure that the woman in white’s presentation would land her the deal. As they went out the door of the man in black wished her luck and started to walk back home. The woman in white stopped him and pulled out a small box from her bag and gave it to him. “I wanted to give you this for all your help. I’ll be back at the café after my meeting next Sunday, I want you to be the first to hear about the results,” she said before waving goodbye and walking off. When the man in black got home, he opened the box to find a drawing of him reading his newspaper at the café. If any normal person were to see the drawing, they would just be a photograph of the man in black on any normal Sunday. He placed the picture on his mural and saw that there was something else in the box.The day of the meeting the woman in white walked into the meeting room of Palette Corp. to find various men in women seated around a large circular table. They all dressed the same way the man in black did, but in different bright shades of color which almost looked like a rainbow. She felt nervous but knew this was her chance to prove the world what she could do. When she walked to the front of the room, the room fell silent and she began to present... The man in black as usual went to the café like he normally did. When he was seated in his usual booth, the waiter brought over his black coffee and hesitated for a moment. The man in black has been a loyal patron to the café for years so all the staff knew who he was. But in all years which he came, he always wore the same thing. But to the waiter’s surprise: there below his neck was a white tie... When the clock struck 20 times, the man in black walked out of the café and looked to the sky. This was the first time for him to ever see the night sky from the café’s front door. He wondered how the woman in white did with her presentation. The next Sunday, to his surprise the man in black found the woman in white waiting by the front door of the café. She greeted him quietly before they entered together and sat at his usual spot. They sat in silence for a few moments before she cleared her throat, “First I’m sorry for not meeting with you like I promised after the meeting. They liked the presentation and made me an offer,” smiled the woman in white. A single tear rolled down her cheeks, then another. The man in black said nothing and waited patiently as the woman in white looked down to the ground. “I-I had to turn them down. They wanted me to add all these things to make it seem more marketable and I couldn’t accept it! I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I can’t let them paint all over me!” she cried before looking back up. She saw that the man in black was wearing the tie she had got for him. The man in black ordered her a latte and a black coffee for himself and they sat in silence until the clock tower rung 13 times. When the woman in white walked to the café the next week, she was surprised to see the man in black was already in his booth reading the paper. Beside him was a suitcase and two cups on the table. When she sat down, the man in black put down his paper and opened the suitcase onto the table inside was a copy of the woman in white’s plans and all the money she asked for. She was completely speechless. “I’ve been looking for a reason to sell all my shares of the company to those greedy board members,” he said before closing the case. The woman in white was speechless. The man in black went back to reading his paper. 10 years later, the man in black stopped by the café like always on a Sunday. When he walked over to his booth, there sat the women in white drawing for another commission with 3 cups on the table. The man in black sat down and felt something touch is leg. He looked under to find a little girl wearing a grey dress pulling at his leg. The girl in grey.


Sipping their cup of tea, they looked up as they heard a loud rumble outside. It sounded... different than the thunder. It sounded deeper, more like it came from the earth itself. They slowly stood up, carefully placing their cup next to them, feeling confusion and curiosity rising from within them. Forgetting to put anything able to withstand the rain on, they walked outside into the streaming rain, barefoot, their long garments dancing behind them, carried upwards by the winds. Without looking behind them, they slowly walked into the woods, ignoring the rain trying its best to warn them. They kept on walking, slowly, gracefully, nearly looking like someone of royalty. They felt how their hair swooshed around them, in all directions, but they paid no mind to it. They kept walking, elegantly stepping over fallen branches, and entire logs. Deeper inside the woods, the rain lessened, but the wind continued to push around them. They were able to concentrate on the sounds. The leaves being blown around, and raindrops still falling towards the ground, being slowed by the plants and moss covering every free surface. They inhaled deeply, smelling the crisp air that always hangs in the air during rainfall. They smelt the greenery, but there was an underlying scent. It smelt... ancient. There was no other word to describe it. It smelt like deep caverns, like plants, slowly decaying. It smelt kind of sweet, but at the same time very clean. Their curiosity now piqued, they walked further, paying no attention to the path they were taking becoming wilder and wilder, filled with more plants with every step they took. They didn’t stumble, how, was beyond them. The light kept fading more the deeper they walked into the woods. But suddenly, the light became brighter again. When they looked as to why, they saw it. Thousands of mushrooms, glowing a soft yellow light. When they looked further along the trail, the glow became more intense. They suddenly heard the low rumble again, but this time it was so loud, it became too much for them. They covered their ears quickly, squeezing their eyes nearly shut. When the rumbling stopped, they started walking again, picking up their pace. They hurried along the trail, their heart thundering in their chest. Then, they came to a sudden halt. They saw a giant beast, illuminated by the soft glow of the mushrooms. It looked like it had the colour of moss, ranging from a deep green to a muddy brown. They took a step back in amazement, when the giant creature slowly looked their way. Big yellow eyes slowly slid over them, taking up every inch. They couldn’t see any pupils, sending a shiver up their spine. Slowly, the creature spread its wings, making it seem even taller. By doing so, it revealed that it had all sorts of plants and mushrooms growing over its body, making it seem like it had been in a slumber for thousands of years.


She was a woman of substance, a pretty looking, admired by all, a flawless beauty, a special person who stood out in a crowd of thousands. A noble being from her childhood was a bit shy and had all the features of a perfect woman. The best a man could’ve got to be a life partner. Her motto was doing good to others and lending a helping hand to the needy. She had a whole lot of followers who admired her for her beauty and her goodness. She was a woman of character, an untarnished life, un- perturbed by any external influence. She was a special woman who was too good to live in this world of rotten beings. But she survived because of her noble deeds. Anaida Craig was the one which every girl would’ve longed to become. Everything was going smooth in Anaida’s life. She was a good entrepruner, hailed a textile business and a school for costume designing. At a very young age she was awarded as the woman of the year. But things were not the same as she had expected. She hadn’t even dreamt that her life would be in turmoil and she would face many atrocities by the society. Anaida was a busy woman and she wanted a capable person to assist her in finance. An advertisement was put up for a Chief accounts head to run the show. Many were interviewed and three were selected for the final round. Ruth won the race among the three; he was the one who cleared all the tests with flying colours. A handsome looking youth Ruth was the centre of attraction in the office. He was admired by everyone especially the lady staff because of his dashing looks. Though Anaida was engrossed in her busy schedule, she always kept an eye on her employees. She just wanted a clean atmosphere in her workplace. His entry had changed the whole scenario. He was always surrounded by women. His flamboyant approach attracted many. Anaida was annoyed by the sudden change in the mannerisms of her staff. She had maintained a complete decorum and discipline in her office. This changed atmosphere was unacceptable by Anaida. She was a workaholic and her goal was to reach heights in her textile business and also make fame in the world of fashion. Though Anaida was strict in her behaviour she was very attached to her employees. She saw to it that her employees were given every benefit that they could afford. But today was something different, her staff were women in a major portion and his entry was like a bee running around flowers. “Hi, Anaida, Ruth exclaimed, “Oh God, Take a break from your work, how much do you slog every day, you have put up a huge threshold to you business and your fashion school is simply superb. And your accounts have boosted up, then why do you overstress, just take a chill pill and relax” Ruth came close to Anaida and started leaning on her, he came very close to her, with a heavy breath he said, “You are so beautiful, your looks, they kill me “. Anaida was completely flabbergasted by his sudden approach. But she didn’t lose her cool. She just got up and said, “Mr. Ruth , behave yourself , How dare you come close to me and behave like this, Look here I am not that kind of a woman , who would fall for handsome guys. So I think instead of wasting my time and yours you can just get back to work.” “And one more thing, Mr. Ruth I 'am your boss and you are my subordinate, so please don’t barge into my cabin without my permission” “Close the door Ruth was taken aback, he had never expected this. He just went out of her cabin without uttering a word. This was the first time that his looks and charm was ignored by a girl. He felt that he was humiliated; a sense of rejection by a woman triggered his male ego. But he didn’t react; he didn’t show his anger on his face. “Sorry Ma’m I forgot my cadre and wanted to make friends with the queen. I’m sorry for my behaviour”. “You have to be, now please just leave me alone and do your job, don’t you ever try to trespass again”. He just barged out of the room with red shot eyes. Ruth had stopped annoying Anaida, after the incident. Though Anaida heaved a sigh, she felt she was missing something. After all she was a young woman who felt the need of a partner in her life. She was just observing him day and night, she felt the sudden change in his character, he was always engrossed in his work and made others to work who were clinging always clinging to him. Days passed the office atmosphere was normal, every other staff was busy in organising the grand event sponsored by Anaida fashions. Her school was ready to make a mark in the world of fashion. It was a huge opportunity to show the fashion world the creative extravaganza of Anaida Fashions. Anaida and Ruth were discussing the financial expenditure for the mammoth show. In the meantime they had to meet now and then to discuss terms; this triggered an emotional binding between the duo. They got along with each other and within a short time their physical intimacy brought them together. Anaida was a woman of character, these things were new to her, but she had always longed for a partner for life. She was excited to announce the relationship with Ruth; she wanted a life time commitment with him. She was planning something big; she wanted to disclose her engagement with Ruth on the day of fashion show. She arranged everything, but there was something shocking awaiting her, that she had never expected. The d day arrived, the fashion show was a super hit Anaida fashions rocked the world of fashion with its new creations. At the end Anaida walked along with the other models she was beaming with pride about her success, but her success didn’t last long the gown she wore tore up and fell down, she was humiliated in public. The crew wrapped her in a blanket and moved her inside. Anaida was shocked; she had never ever expected this. She was crying a woman of substance was stripped in front of many. This was a most disgusting incident which shamed a woman in public. Anaida couldn’t handle this shameful episode which defamed her. The next day was more disastrous, the paparazzi had knocked on her doors, and the intimate relation with Ruth was exposed without any hint. Anaida was in a shock, she was completely shattered and tarnished. He life was in dismay; the ruthless cheap tricks tarnished a woman’s life forever. She was being targeted to bring her down to the streets for no wrong of hers. Her only mistake was she fell in love with a wrong man who was a cheapster; his male ego ruined a woman’s life forever. He had tarnished her character defamed her to ruin her life. The society laughed at her. She was mocked by one and all. Jealousy had struck her life like hell. She was a victim of jealousy. Though Anaida was a shattered soul, she took the incident with an optimistic approach; she handed over her business and her fashion school to her close friend Sara who was always with her as a moral support. Though she felt doomed she didn’t give up. She just hibernated for a few years; the society took it as a mockery and called her a coward. Anaida took some time to revive back. Today the whole world is admired by her; she is being honoured for her noble deeds, the woman who helped destitute women who were pushed to human trafficking. She rocked the fashion world with a difference. A dress with a cause was a major hit in the textile market. She regained her flawless beauty.


it’s hard to put your finger on it, but it’s there. a persistent thrumming, wet and alive like a heart, like the blood that fills your ears and your veins. it’s something close to crying--a slow, all-consuming loneliness. you are twenty-three and have never been kissed. your mom calls every thursday. the routine of it all makes you ill; you answer her, bored, and fake like you’re about to leave for work every time. your mom sees through the lie, you hear the hurt in her voice, end up crying on your bed for an hour thinking about the lunch box she bought you in fourth grade. the soft canvas, torn in places like a dog’s ear. you wonder where it is now. your roomates tell you to kill the spider. the loneliness comes in waves. it builds like wax around your ribs, coating your insides in a perfect cast. it is a candle with two wicks, each burning beneath the other. you think it would be gone if you moved to another city. you daydream on the freeway about turning in your two week’s notice, fucking off to france or florida. you haven’t had any friends since high school, and thinking that you might be one of the dipshits who peaked at eighteen thoroughly depresses you. you resolve to get closer to your coworker, but then you find out she makes lasagna in the microwave every day, leaving sauce spatters in her wake and never bothering with a paper towel. this is the last straw. you feel a snake coil into your esophagus; it spits bile like venom from your teeth and your body makes up its mind. you spit up your coffee onto the cold breakroom tile and watch the puddle inch like a slug around your feet. no one is there; your coworker has returned to her seat, leaving only smears of tomato and the heavy smell of cooking cheese in the air. that’s what did it. you pick up the roll of paper towels, use it to mop up the spill. the whole roll--not just a sheet. you roll it like a sodden bowling ball over the remains of your breakfast, drop it into the garbage like a hawk dropping prey. you should call your mom. that night on your bed, you sit on a blank mattress. your sheets in the wash, your bags packed, locked into the trunk of your roommate’s hatchback. you wonder if you’ll really just steal their car; if you’ll drive back in the morning, drunk and sobbing. where will you go? gentle snoring emanates from the room across the hall. the loneliness holds its breath. you get up, walk softly across the apartment, and out into the night. the door creaks when you shut it behind you. you check the time: 4:58. it is near dawn. the city will rise soon, the sun will stretch its arms over the pale new day. but for now, it is dark. stars are strewn like salt crystals across the murky sky. you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold in the night, the dark, the cool humid air. you are trying to smother the loneliness in your body, to squeeze it out through your pores. you stare into the trees. you have a sudden urge to walk into them, into the forest, thick moss covered ground. you want to know what lies ahead.


Trigger warnings: guns, poor mental health, mentions of past bullying, swearing. * People wouldn't underestimate me any more unless I wore a sign with a list of suggestions as to how they might manage the task. Part of it was how I looked, most of which I honestly couldn't help. If you googled the term " femboy " someone has probably posted my picture with it. People liked to use words like " slender " and " willowy ", but my penchant for fishnets and heels quickly got me dubbed a " trap " and a " disappointment to my parents". I was considered tall for my lineage at 5'6" but was always much shorter than my peers in school. That tends to happen when you're a freaky Japanese genius kid who skips grades. People also tend to bully you or shun you. I prefer shunning, honestly. Oh well, I thought to myself. You're 19. If you survive this you still might shoot up a few inches. And then I laughed to myself about using the word ' shoot' in this situation. * If I'm honest, as a child prodigy in a public school, I had to make the best of my situation. And that meant tutoring other students -preferably the ones who looked like future Yakuza, but I tutored a lot of gay kids and half the jocks as well. It was the junior Yakuza that were most important though. People stop fucking with the weird kid after the scrappy rough kid shoves them into a locker. So when my boss pointed a semiautomatic handgun in my face, it never even occurred to me that I should be intimidated. Daiki, my ex, had always told me that running my mouth would get me in trouble. Usually, he was rolling his eyes at something I said. But this was fucking ridiculous. Jerome Stone had decided he did not like me the moment they hired me. It didn't help that I was half his age and fresh out of college. Or Harlan Leeland, the CEO and primary owner of the company, thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. Mostly because I caught a teeny, tiny error that saved him thousands of dollars. It was sort of a shame. He was a blonde with pale blue eyes that could freeze you out like a glacier or melt you into his tight family unit. The rest of the department adored him and chattered about him constantly. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Accounting because he didn't talk to me unless absolutely necessary and he treated me as coldly as he could. Still. Where in the nine hells had this absolute nerd gotten his hands on a gun -let alone bullets? "Maybe you will think twice about putting your hands on another man's husband." His icy tone trembled. Oh, Vishnu . This was all about that slimy piece of shit? That man wasn't worth Jerome's time. Or mine. I had dated more than my fair share of unsavory trash, so I was an expert, and boy did he set off alarm bells. At some point, I should be too afraid to argue with this man, my boss, who was holding a gun on me -right? Wrong. Mostly because I was more enraged than anything by the situation. This . This shit right here was what happened when you became a doormat and put everyone else's wishes first. I hadn't even wanted to go into accounting. I had wanted to reach further, try harder, make something of myself. But my parents had insisted My parents hadn't approved of my friends, so I lost my ragtag family that had been my shelter and protection. My parents wouldn't understand what I am so I stayed their cute little smart gay son. Because what I really was, well that was scarier still and at least they could work gay to their advantage. I gave up so much to please people who couldn't be pleased, who should have been able to love me without conditions. Maybe in another life, I could have all the things I had wanted. I just had to survive this first. I remembered what my friend Kenji used to say with a grin after he helped bail me out of some stupid situation in high school. " Haru, your mouth is dangerous. Have you ever considered not antagonizing people?" So I opened my mouth and let myself make the situation a bit more dangerous. "There's so much wrong with that I am not sure where to even start. Your husband came on to me and if Sherri Linn from Marketing hadn't been there, he probably thought he wouldn't have to take 'no' as an answer." Which actually wouldn't have phased me much. My looks made me seem like easy prey but the knife I carried because it was habit, like my true self, was easily concealed. The trembling became more pronounced as he spat out words. "You're lying, Haruhiko." It saddened me how desperately he wanted to believe it. It saddened me more that I had to be the one to correct him. "Elias is very much not my type." He was a dominant, overbearing asshole, if I wanted to be honest. What in the hell Jerome thought was so great about him I would never know. He surely wasn't the sort of man Dolly begged Jolene not to take! I had to be aware of how people looked at me all the time, the assumptions they would make based on the way my body was built. It was more amusing because they were wrong . Jerome, with his soft giving personality and submissive side, was much more my type despite being twice my age. Then again, being twice my age made him 38. I could work with that. Tears began to well up in his eyes. I felt responsible for those tears, even though the real culprit was none other than his own husband. I gestured to the gun being pointed at my face. Well, now it sort of lagged towards my shoulder. "Do you even know how to use that? Your favorite pastime is Pokemon Go." As his brain sort of froze, trying to process my question, I wrapped my hand around the gun and pulled it from his grasp. It was less than two minute process to pull the clip and strip the gun. Fuck, I needed to go back to hanging out with a better class of criminal. "You didn't even turn off the safety. What did you think you were going to do, dumbass?" He blinked at me mutely, as though he had lost his voice when all the fight had leached out of him. "Right then. I'm going to offer you a little free advice: divorce that sack of shit and find someone who will give a damn about you. And, since you're not going to fire me, I quit. Effective immediately," I informed him serenely. And then I walked out of his office, out of the department and back into the lobby. It was just my shitty luck that Elias happened to be coming in. It was his shitty luck that I packed a mean punch and had nothing left to lose. It appeared he had somewhere between two and five teeth to lose, which should not have been nearly as satisfying as it was. "I'll press charges, Haruhiko Yamada!" He bellowed as I sauntered away. "You do that and I will fuck your husband," I return, before disappearing into the crowd of people and off onto the street. * A week later, I received a letter from Leeland Advertising -my now former employer. Here we go. Probably some sort of lawsuit or something I needed to pay back because of some contract I signed as a naive child. I opened it slowly. In it, there was a document detailing a generous severance package as well as a check cut for all of my accumulated vacation time. as I slid them back into the envelope, a pale blue sticky note fluttered to the floor. "Thank you." It read, in a neat efficient penmanship I knew very well. He had signed it with a "J" but I would have known his handwriting anyway I couldn't help but smile. Now both of us had a chance at new lives.