Content Warning: mentions of assisted dying. The couple sits across from me, her hand in his, and I ask myself if I have the strength to break their hearts. Her face hides nothing: tears already quiver, ready to fall no matter what I say. His fist rests on a rapidly bouncing knee. I tear my eyes away from the screen. “I’m so sorry. There is an incredibly high demand for fertility treatment. You aren’t eligible.” What comes next is painful enough, but not for the first time, it strikes me that I’m more than just another stranger in their lives. I’m not the passerby walking carelessly through a family photo, nor the tiresome subject of a story they’ll tell over Christmas lunch. For the rest of their lives, they’ll remember my face, my words, on the day they learned they would never have children of their own. I miss the days when a patient’s thrumming heartbeat or the whoosh of air in their lungs meant something. It is all about technology now. Someone who never set foot inside a hospital, who never saw the naked hope in a patient’s eyes, decided an advanced algorithm could determine a patient’s eligibility for treatment. All you need are their symptoms, medical history, and genetic profile. But rising costs of healthcare mean more and more people are missing out. And I’m the messenger. * Pa calls me on the train home, pulling me away from memories of strangled sobs and tear-stained shirts. His voice is weak. “My belly’s killing me, son,” he mumbles. “And I can’t crap.” “You’re constipated again. Did you take your laxatives?” He sighs. “I must’ve forgotten. The pain’s too much these days.” I know he’s not just talking about his belly. Two years ago, he tripped and fell down the stairs - often a death sentence for a frail ex-smoker in his mid-eighties. Instead, he somehow pulled through, even if he’s now dependent on a walking frame to get around. Worst of all, the excruciating pain in his hip never went away. My Pa is a fighter, but he’s not too proud to call me in tears first thing in the morning, too stiff to get out of bed. Once, he pinched me hard on the arm, and when I yelped, he told me he felt that in his hip all the time. The opioids and anti-inflammatories take the edge off, but they clog his bowels and space him out. I worry he’ll fall again. If he does, that’ll be the end of it. “Son?” “I know, Pa. The pain medication is your best bet. You aren’t eligible for surgery.” “I just want the pain to stop. Can’t you rejig the algorithm or something?” My silence is enough of an answer. He makes a noise that breaks my heart, sniffs, and hangs up. * A curious pair sits across from me today. She is over ninety and looks it: her skin is tinged yellow and thin as clingfilm, and her back is hunched almost ninety degrees. Even seated, she grips a wooden walking stick to keep herself steady. Yet, she is not the patient. The elderly man sitting beside her in a wheelchair is her son. Seventy, and paraplegic. He is past the point of tears. He has a downcast look about him, as if he knows he’s the kind of patient the algorithm spits out and sticks under the table, discarded and forgotten. “It starts in my hips,” he says, “then it spreads down both of my legs into my feet. Feels like I’m being electric-shocked. Stings something awful. Think I’m immune to the medication, doc. It doesn’t do nothing for the pain anymore.” I nod sympathetically. “That sounds horrible. Yes, you are on the maximum dose. Unfortunately, the scans show that surgery is the only way to relieve your symptoms permanently.” “Please, doc,” he whispers. “I don’t know how much more I can take. It’s too much.” His words remind me of Pa. Chronic pain has a way of exhausting hope, and I wonder if there is any purpose in running the algorithm when we can all predict the outcome. But before I can respond, his mother speaks up. “I know what you’re gonna say. Time for the bloody algorithm,” she croaks. Her eyes fix on me defiantly, as if I've bullied her child at the playground. The screen glows an upbeat green as it waits for me to enter his details. As with every patient, an analysis of his bloodwork has already been made. Once I enter the details of his pain, along with a list of medications he has trialled, the algorithm will estimate his potential surgical benefit, weighing this against the average score of other patients. Unsurprisingly, paraplegia does his eligibility no favours. I look back at them to begin my usual condolences, but something sticks the words in my throat. It could easily be my Pa sitting there without hope. “Congratulations. You’re eligible,” I say. “I’ll have your surgery booked immediately.” Their faces transform; the walking stick clatters to the floor as his mother almost leaps out of her seat to embrace him. Great, shuddering sobs wrack his body. He spurs his wheelchair forward and takes my hand. “Thank you, doc. This’ll change my life.” I squeeze his hand back. “You deserve it.” * The algorithm doesn’t look kindly on disabled children. For a tool that is meant to be objective, it seems to share many of the biases of whoever created it - or perhaps those of society as a whole. The child gamboling before me looks perfectly healthy for a six-year-old with Down Syndrome. Thus far, her development has followed the expected trajectory, and all of her vital signs are within normal parameters. All this despite the lump of cancer cells growing inside her brain. “Why even run the algorithm?” her father asks. “She obviously needs surgery. You need to get that thing out.” “It’s part of the healthcare protocol, sir. There’s a process that needs to be followed." “Screw your protocols. My daughter has a brain tumour. You don’t need a fancy degree to figure out she needs surgery.” “I’m sure she’ll be eligible,” I say truthfully. I don’t voice my suspicion she might be waiting months for her operation, given the absence of any major symptoms. “Every minute we wait is a minute that thing’s inside her head, damaging her brain. I just want her to live a normal life. Please, do it quick.” I run the algorithm. The green screen blinks, then flips to blue. The computer chimes a confirmation. “She’s eligible,” I tell him. “Good. How long?” I click through several more screens. My heart sinks. “Eight months.” Preparing myself for a verbal onslaught - there is usually at least one per day - we lock eyes for a tense moment. But then he looks away and kneels next to his daughter, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. He strokes her hair and wipes his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Why be a doctor?” he says finally. “Why do this, if you can’t help people?” I consider saying that I did help. That she is getting surgery. But I don’t, because I know those words are just as pointless as my condolences. “There might be more I can do,” I say. The child’s positive eligibility test has placed her on the waiting list for an operation. The eight-month timeframe is a guarantee, but if another patient loses their place, she could have surgery within a month. I enter her details, looking for a “less worthy” patient for her to replace. Only one patient pops up. A paraplegic man who was never meant to be eligible at all. On the train ride home, when I should think of the ecstatic father bouncing up and down with his daughter on his shoulder, whooping and punching the air, instead I consider my Pa and people like him. The ones society always remembers last. * It’s been over a year, and my paraplegic patient is struggling. His pain is severe enough that he over-medicates himself in a futile effort to live a normal life. The electric shocks have spread into his arms, his fingers tingle, and his feet have permanent pins-and-needles. I book him another appointment to deliver the news about his surgery. Before they even enter the room, I can hear dull, rhythmic thuds under the mechanical whir of his wheelchair, like a heartbeat trapped in a cage of machinery. His mother leans heavier on her walking stick, but it is his appearance that affects me the most. His face is wan and sunken; devoid of colour. The pain has taken its toll. “My boy’s still suffering. Why are we here?” she says without preamble. My expression must have given it away, because he speaks first. “Never getting surgery, am I?” His voice is oddly changed, compared to his face. It’s stronger than before. More resolute. I shake my head, unable to meet his eye. His mother glares at me. Her hand snakes across and rubs his shoulder. “Then I’ve had enough,” he says. “What?” she chokes out. Her attention shifts to him, and the hand holding her walking stick starts to tremble. “Can you do the algorithm again, doc?” he pleads. “It won’t change the result,” I reply. “Not for the surgery. I told you the first time: it’s too much. Can’t live with it anymore. If you can’t fix it - if I can’t stop suffering - at least let me choose a quick, painless way to go. On my own terms.” She's shaking her head now. She watches her son with an intensity I've never seen. As if she wants to memorise every last wrinkle on his face. Two desperate pairs of eyes bore into me as I turn back to the computer. I imagine my Pa in such a position - confronting mortality. I wonder if he would look at me the same way. Ignoring the lump in my throat, I run the algorithm again, this time for physician-assisted dying. The green screen turns blue, chimes joyfully. Eligible. He sighs in relief, all the air rushing out of him at once. A bit of colour returns to his face. For the first time in a year, he smiles. “No,” his mother whimpers. * When their appointment ends twenty minutes later, she pauses at the door. “Run along for a minute,” she sniffs to her son, waving a hand as if he’s five years old again. The whirring fades into the corridor. “How can I help?” I ask, dreading the answer. She blinks and looks up at me. “I’m ninety-four, dear. Everything hurts, and all of my senses are failing. There’s not much left to live for. Only him.” “I see.” I’m already moving back to the computer. She shuffles close behind, still sniffing. I sit down, open up her file, and enter in her details. “Are you sure about this?” Her eyes take on the glaze of long-held memory. There's the shadow of a smile. “Yes. As sure as when I first wanted a child of my own.” I run the algorithm, reminded of what it had once taken from a devastated couple in the same seat. I consider why an equation capable of denying new life can equally save it. How a system designed to preserve lives can easily take them. And I ask myself if I still have the strength to bear the algorithm’s message. It now deliberates the weight of one life - or two. Green turns to blue.


In a place that doesn’t exist, in a time that didn’t happen, eight friends that never met sat around a campfire, telling stories. The topic of their discussions this time was world creation , or how the world came to be . “Ah, that’s an interesting topic indeed,” said an elderly gentleman with white hair and a lush mustache. His eyes were fixed in some distant point inside the dancing flames, as he prodded the question with his mind, squatting by the fire. “Would someone else like to go first on this one? I need some more time to think it through.” “Sure,” said a tall and slender man with long straight hair. “I can go first, if it’s alright with the rest of you?” He looked to his companions. Nobody complained, save for a man in his middle years, wearing a mighty black beard and a green turban cloth, who grumped a sigh. “Somethign wrong, Muhammad?” “Not at all,” the man replied. “It’s only natural that the son of god goes first on this topic.” He raised his palms to reinforce his words. “I’m just a humble messenger.” “Not this again,” sighed another man who sat in a wheelchair by the fire. His voice did not come from his mouth, but rather from a device connected to his brain, which made it sound electric. “Can’t you two just get along? You’re both wrong anyway.” “Stephen!” exclaimed a fifth man, sitting between the wheelchair man and the moustache man. He wore a vintage black suit and had a strong german accent. “Show some respect, will you?” The man in the wheelchair mumbled something. “So, can I begin then? Or would you like to go first for a change, Muhammad?” “Nah,” Muhammad waved his hand. “Is what you get for being nearly 600 years late to the party. Take it away Jesus.” Jesus nodded and cleared his throat. “So, the topic of world creation. As we all know, in the beginning, there was darkness. Then, came a voice. My father’s voice. And he said; let there be light !” The flames burned brighter for effect, sending a column of sparks up to the heavenly night skies above. “It took my father seven days to complete everything. First he divided the light from darkness,” said Jesus, pointing up at the stars. “Then he created the oceans and the land,” Jesus stomped his foot. “He covered the dry ground with plants. Then he went on to create the Sun and the Stars, providing light and energy for his new creations. Next, he created birds and sea animals, and after that he went on to create land animals and all of you, human beings.” He eyed the fellow who sat furthest from the fire, the flame’s shadows dancing on his face. “Well, except for you . I’m not sure how to classify you. But anyway, when all that was done, on the last day, he rested. And it was good.” Stephen couldn’t help himself. “Why did he do it in such an order? Wouldn’t it be better if he created the stars before he created plants? That way photosynthesis could begin uninterrupted.” “I’m sure he had a good reason for it,” Jesus said. “My Father never did anything that would not have a purpose.” “I fail to see that reason.” “Alright,” the man with the german accent jumped in. “You’ll get your chance, Stephen. Let’s listen to Muhammad now.” “Ugh,” Stephen commented. “Your last name should have an extra -ing to it, since you’re so Bohr-ing !” “If you won’t contain your snarky comments until all of us are finished, I’ll turn your voice off!” That seemed to help. “It’s alright,” said Jesus. “I wasn’t offended. Please, let’s not chastise one another here. We are all grown men, having an interesting discussion by the fire.” The men murmured and the atmosphere lightened up again. “I will be next then,” Muhammad said and stood up. He cleared his throat and eyed his audience. “My friend Jesus told a good story. He got most of it right, but there are things where he could improve. Here’s what really happened. “God, which is one and only, Alah, created the whole universe. From a single unity, he made everything, in one cosmic explosion, that Stephen there would call the Big Boom-” “Big Bang !” “Whatever. God said; ‘come together, willingly, or unwillingly’ and they all came together willingly and thus stars, planets and the moon were created, following the natural orders He assigned to the universe. You see Jesus, God only took six days to create the world, not seven .” “That’s what I also said,” said Jesus. “Six days of work. One day of rest.” “Hrmf, fine,” Muhammad sighed. “Well then, God did not create all species separately and individually, as Jesus claims. He created life and seeds for it, and life evolved on its own, following his guide. Only man was an exception to this. God gave special gifts to man and thus made him separate from his other creations.” “What about the Earth?” asked Stephen. “What about it?” asked Muhammad. “How did Alah create the Earth?” “He didn’t,” Muhammad explained. “The Earth came together willingly, following the laws he set for the universe.” “Clever,” Stephen commented, but did not hint as to whome it was aimed at; Muhammad or Alah. “That is all I have to say,” said Muhammad. “Thank you for sharing,” said Niels Bohr. Then he nudged the man squatting next to him. “Ready yet, Einstein?” The man with the white hair didn’t respond, as if completely involved in his thinking. Bohr turned towards the others. “Best to give him some more time. Would anyone else like to be next? Since we’ve started with religion today, perhaps you, Budda? Or Mukutu?” Budda opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get the chance. As soon as Mukutu heard his name, he stood up. He was a short man with thick black hair, and chocolate skin, coming from a secluded little tribe in Africa, consisting of probably no more than fifty people. “I tell story of how world is,” he said, his accent thick, but understandable. “I Mukutu, from tribe Tukibaka. We believe there be two great Sky Serpents up, in the heavens, one gold and fiery like Sun, the other silver and cool like Moon. They fight for dominance over sky, each night and day. At night, Moon wins, but in morning Sun wins. As they fight, they bleed and make oceans and rain. They cut chunks of their flesh with their claws and make earth and mountains. We, Tukibaka, rose from their flesh and we drank their blood. Once one Serpent kills the other, the end of world.” He then landed back on the ground, legs placed in front of him, touching the soles of his feet together. The rest of them were silent, even Stephen had no comment to make. “Thank you Mukutu,” finally said Bohr. Mukutu smiled, showing his teeth as a sign of acknowledgement. “Buddha?” All heads turned to the handsome young man, who sat cross-legged next to Jesus, wearing a vivid orange robe. His eyes were closed and he wore a serene smile on his face, his hands resting in his lap. “Buddha? Would you share with us how you think the world came into being?” The man took his time, looking as if he was in deep meditation, before he finally opened his eyes. He rubbed them with the back of his palms and yawned. Jesus and Muhammad looked at each other. “Were you sleeping ?” “I’m terribly sorry,” said the Buddha, smiling. “But the fire is just so nice and cozy. And your voices are deep and pleasant to hear, especially yours, Mukutu.” “We were discussing how the world was formed,” said Stephen, his electronic voice scratching. “Would you care to share? Today , perhaps, so I can be next?” “What’s the rush?” smiled Buddha. “Reality isn’t going anywhere.” He raised a reassuring hand before Stephen could object. “I promise to be short.” “Let’s hear it then.” The Buddha looked at the fire and remained seated, motionless. The reflection of the flames danced in his eyes. “The world is .” That was all he had to say. Jesus and Muhammad nodded and contemplated those simple words, and Bohr also wore an expression of insight. Einstein was still deep in thinking and Mukutu smiled. The figure who sat furthest from the flames, as if not wanting to be illuminated, didn’t show any signs of interest in the conversation at all. Only Stephen had to object. “Yes, the world is. We know that. How did it come to be?” “That is a fascinating question!” the Buddha said. “Would you care to give your answer?” “But I did.” “That was not an answer,” Stephen objected. “It was just a stupid and obvious statement.” “Stephen, Christ almighty! ” Bohr exclaimed. “Yes?” Jesus raised his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way... Stephen, would you stop insulting people already?” Stephen rolled with his eyes. “Bohr-ing!” “Eureka!” Einstein exclaimed all of a sudden. Bohr jumped up and nearly kicked the old genius in the fire. “Don’t scare me like that!” “I have found it!” Einstein proclaimed, raising a finger up and eyeing the men by the fire. “Found what? Your sanit-” “Gravity! Relativity! The universe is static in time and possesses an uniform distribution of matter on the largest of scales, therefore making it a spherical spatial curvature! It all makes sense! All we need to do now is introduce a cosmic constant, which will serve to determine-” He froze in mid sentence. “No, wait. That’s stupid. I didn’t account for redshift and rate of expansion...” “Well, do you have it or not?” pressed Stephen. “Can I present my theory now?” “I don’t know,” said Einstein. “I just don’t know...” He shook his head and smiled. “The universe is a mystery!” “Not really,” said Stephen. “Here’s the real version of how the world came to be. Listen closely.” “This is gonna be good,” Jesus whispered to Muhammad who chuckled. Mukutu showed his white teeth, indicating he was listening closely. “Basically, it’s all matter and energy, randomly interacting with one another, interconnecting and forming into solid objects. At the beginning, as far as we know, there was the Big Bang, a cosmic explosion that sent all matter and energy out into the universe. Slowly, over time, millions and billions of years of it, the matter randomly formed into stars and planets, which arranged themselves into solar systems and galaxies. One of such galaxies is our Milky Way and one of such systems is our solar system. “4,6 billion years ago, our planet Earth was formed from the stellar dust and gas, randomly orbiting the Sun. The conditions were just right for the planet to be big enough to hold an atmosphere, but not too big to become a gas giant. Our distance from the sun is ideal for life to have evolved and the presence of water was also very fortunate, to support life. “Slowly but surely, as life began, it evolved into more and more complex organisms, totally at random, of course. From small bacteria to the first fish, from fish to the first amphibians, then tetrapods and eventually mammals and human beings. There’s no wuwu or magic involved, just accretion, evolution, and random fluke luck. And here we are.” “But, that is exactly what I have said!” protested Muhammad. “Only, you forgot to mention God, of course.” “I didn’t mention god, because I only deal with solid evidence and facts,” said Stephen. The atmosphere suddenly became very tense and Bohr quickly jumped in before words would become fists. “Thank you for sharing, Stephen. Now, since Einstein stated that he just doesn’t know, I will take the last stand on the scientific frontier.” He stood up. “Like my colleague said, it is a great mystery, this universe. And like Buddha said, it is a fascinating question, how did the world come to be? I spent my whole life trying to find an answer. And here is what I have found. “Everything is a cloud of possibility. Matter and energy, they both exist as pure infinite potential, until a decision is made for them to take one specific and exact form in the universe. I have devised a model that explains this in great detail, called Quantum Mechanics. Our Earth, as well as the whole universe, came to be in the exact same way; it existed as pure potential, until a decision was made and it became what it is now.” “Who made that decision?” asked Jesus, hoping the answer would be ‘your father’. “I don’t know,” said Bohr. “The craziest thing is, that the lab experiments tend to show it is us , humans, or any measuring device, that are the observer. And everytime we look, we cause the universe to be in one way or the other, but not both ways at the same time! Our observations collapse the field of possibility into a certain outcome!” “Yes! Exactly!” exclaimed Buddha and smiled. “I see that science is catching up to this. Good job!” Muhammad shook his head. “I just don’t understand, why does man go to such lengths to try and think up some reason for there to be anything but god.” Jesus patted him on the back. “So basically,” said Stephen, “you’ve joined their camp, Bohr? Talking about some godly decisions and potentials?” “Not at all, dear colleague,” Bohr said. “If anything, I believe I stand somewhere in between the two.” “Balance important,” said Mukutu and nodded his head. “Superstitious ignorance,” blurted Stephen. “Why didn’t we just play monopoly tonight? These conversations never get us anywhere...” An awkward silence fell on the group of eight friends. The fire crackled softly, forever sending its playful shadows dancing on their faces. Then, after some long minutes, Bohr finally broke the silence. “What do you think, Sauron? You’ve been awfully quiet this whole evening.” “I find your lack of imagination insulting, but am amused by your guesswork.” The dark lord of Mordor sat on his black mace with arms resting on top of his bent knees, staring intently at the fire, while remaining some distance from it. “Uh, remember me who invited him again?” commented Stephen. “I could perhaps excuse the others, but Sauron ? He’s a fictional character! He isn't even real!” “No more real than any one of us,” said Buddha, staring at his palm with some deep knowing, and his usual smile. He looked at Stephen. “And yet, he sits there. Just like you do. Would you deny this fact ?” Stephen blushed, caught in his own words. “Stupid zen people, twisting your every word...” “Well, how about it, Mr. Dark lord?” asked Einstein. “Would you humor us with your explanation?” “Yeah,” said Jesus. “We all shared our own thoughts. Don’t worry, we won’t judge you.” He looked at the rest of them, especially Stephen. “ Right guys?” They all nodded, including Stephen, who got a stern look from Bohr. “Very well then,” said Sauron, his voice booming from behind the crude iron helmet. “You are all mistaken in your musing, fools of men. Listen to this. “I am Sauron, servant of Morgoth, who was a servant of Iluvatar, the One who created the Valar. The Valar sang the world into existence and they shaped its lands, seas, rivers and mountains. They took care after the seeds of life Iluvatar had placed upon the world and also sowed seeds of their own. This is the short version. So I know what you are thinking right now; Iluvatar is a god who created everything. But no. This is false as well.” Stephen frowned, no longer able to contain himself. “Wait, you knowingly believe something that is false? Even Jesus doesn’t do that-” “Hey!” “-how deluded are you?” Sauron didn’t speak. He just stared into the flames and as he did, they grew stronger. The men had to back up as it became too hot to bear. And then, shapes began to appear in the flames. Images, and a face of a man, smoking a pipe and smiling benevolently. “Behold, my true creator,” said Sauron in a reverent voice. Jesus put a palm over his eyes. “Who’s that?” “Hey that’s Tolkien!” said Einstein, pointing at the image in the flames. “Look Bohr, the man from our own time!” “We already knew that,” said Stephen. “You are a fictional character, created by an author. This proves nothing.” “Yes,” Muhammad, strangely agreeing with Stephen. “Why do you break this illusion? Why not just say this Iluvatar created the world and let that be your belief? What is the point?” Sauron looked up from the flames and the image vanished. He eyed every single one of the men. “The point is that you all need to go meta on your beliefs,” said Sauron. “You who believe in a god and you who believe in physics. What if you’re also like me? Fictional characters, written by society, parents, education or indoctrination, to believe certain things that are actually illusions?” Buddha smiled and gave a nod to Sauron. The rest of them looked at him with confusion. After a long and very uncomfortable silence Sauron sighed, disappointed with his friends’ lack of participation. “Where is that damn monopoly anyway? I want to purchase some lands and build my Isengards and Barad-durs on them!”


The wind howled through the twisted, gnarled branches of the ancient trees that encircled the abandoned mansion. As it blew, it whispered secrets of the past, casting eerie shadows on the crumbling facade of the once-grand estate. Alex, Maya, and Jake, united by their fascination with the macabre, stood before the mansion, their breaths visible in the chilly autumn air. They were drawn to the decaying mansion, rumored to be a place of unspeakable horror and secrets. With trepidation, the trio pushed the creaking front door open, which groaned in protest as it swung open. The air inside was thick with a palpable sense of dread, as if the house was alive with malevolent energy. They navigated the long, winding hallways, their footsteps echoing through the hollow chambers as they searched for any sign of the mansion's secrets. Finally, they stumbled upon the door to the room of mirrors, which was hidden behind a tapestry stained with age. With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, Alex pushed open the door, revealing a room that seemed frozen in time. The mirrors reflected images of a bygone era, and the musty air was thick with the scent of antiquity. The room was filled with a sense of otherworldly beauty and mystery as if it was a portal to a long-forgotten time. The room was a disorienting labyrinth of mirrors that stretched from floor to ceiling, the glass surfaces clouded with a mysterious mist. Maya's analytical gaze was drawn to the mirrors' unusual frames--ornate and sinister, adorned with grotesque carvings that seemed to depict twisted faces contorted in agony. Jake, the skeptic of the group, couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he stared at the mirrors. The reflections staring back at him were grotesque and distorted, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were watching him. They seemed to move independently, mimicking their every move with an unsettling delay, as if they were alive and had a will of their own. As they ventured deeper into the room, the temperature dropped, and the air grew heavy with an ominous hum. The shadows cast by the mirrors danced along the walls, taking on shapes that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The hairs on the back of Jake's neck stood on end, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of evil force was at work in this room. As they stepped further into the room, a growing sense of unease began to gnaw at the group's collective subconscious. However, Alex, the thrill-seeker of the group, was undeterred and urged them forward with an infectious excitement that was palpable. He was oblivious to the potential danger ahead, driven only by his insatiable hunger for adventure. On the other hand, Maya couldn't shake the feeling that the mirrors held more than just distorted reflections. She noticed subtle movements within the glass, figures that seemed to shift and sway on the periphery of their vision, just beyond the reach of clear sight. Her intuition told her that something ominous lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Initially, the room was a spectacle of the bizarre and began to transform before their very eyes. The mirrors no longer merely reflected reality; they seemed to have a life of their own, pulling the trio into alternate dimensions that twisted and warped like a fever dream. Every step they took was a journey into the unknown, where time unfolded in chaotic patterns, and reality was distorted beyond recognition. In one mirror, Alex saw a version of himself trapped in a never-ending loop of despair, the reflection's eyes filled with a haunting plea for an escape. Maya witnessed shadows of figures lurking in the mirrors--specters of the mansion's tormented past, their faces contorted in eternal anguish, screeching at her for help. Jake, who had always been the most skeptical of the group, felt a sudden chill run down his spine as he sensed a cold hand grazing his shoulder. He turned around, but there was nothing to be seen except the eerie emptiness of the room. Though he tried to dismiss the sensation as a byproduct of the foreboding atmosphere, he couldn't help but rub his arms, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. As the trio ventured further into the room of mirrors, the atmosphere grew ever more ominous. The reflections in the mirrors turned into grotesque visions, twisting their features into horrifying masks. The trio found themselves trapped in a disorienting maze, with the mirrors multiplying and distorting reality until it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was not. Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the room into an impenetrable darkness. Panic set in as the friends groped blindly through the void, their heightened senses barely able to make out the faintest sounds. Whispers, almost inaudible at first, grew into a deafening cacophony of disembodied voices speaking in a language that had long been forgotten. Then, as suddenly as the darkness had descended, the lights flickered back to life. What they saw before them chilled them to the very core. The once-filled mirrors now held nothing but an abyss of emptiness. The grotesque carvings on the frames twisted into expressions of malevolent glee, sending shivers down their spines. The room was silent, except for the sound of the group's heavy breathing. Suddenly, a low, guttural growl echoed through the room, causing the temperature to drop drastically, and the air became icy cold. The group shivered in fear as Maya's breath formed visible puffs in the frigid air. As they huddled together, the spectral figures, once confined to the mirrors, now materialized around them. Their translucent, ghastly forms cast long, eerie shadows on the mist-covered floor. The group was frozen in terror as the figures floated closer, their faces twisted in anger and contempt. An ancient, guttural voice spoke from the abyss, filling the room with a sense of dread. "You trespassed into the realm of the forgotten. Now, you shall become one with the mirrors." The voice was so old and deep that the group could feel the vibrations in their bones, and they knew that they were in grave danger. Desperation gripped the friends as they searched frantically for an escape. The room seemed to be closing in on them, and the mirrors multiplied until there was no discernable exit. Panic set in, and Alex, Maya, and Jake felt the weight of an evil presence bearing down on them, suffocating them. In a final, desperate act, Maya's gaze locked onto a particular mirror with an ornate, demonic frame. In that reflection, she saw a sigil - a symbol of protection etched into the glass. Drawing upon her knowledge of the occult, she whispered an incantation, her voice cutting through the oppressive silence. The sigil glowed faintly as Maya's chant grew more robust, and the evil presence seemed to falter. The group watched in amazement as the mirrors cracked and shattered, freeing them from their prison. The shards of glass tinkled as they fell to the ground, and the room was filled with relief and liberation. The mirrors in the room trembled violently, causing the entire chamber to shudder as if struck by an unseen and evil force. The shadows previously enshrouded the room quickly dissipated, and the temperature began to rise slowly, dispelling the icy chill that once had permeated the air. The malevolent growling that had filled the room soon subsided, giving way to an eerie, echoing howl that seemed to be coming from the depths of the abyss within the mirrors. As the three friends stumbled out of the room, they were left shaken and battered by their harrowing experiences. The once-decayed corridors of the mansion now stretched before them, devoid of the supernatural horrors that had recently unfolded within. As they looked back at the ominous structure, its secrets still hidden behind boarded-up windows, the room of mirrors now appeared to be a dormant chamber of nightmares, resonating with the residual whispers of forgotten souls. Over the following days, the friends tried to rationalize their experiences. Still, each night, they were haunted by fleeting glimpses of distorted reflections and the malevolent growls that lingered in their nightmares. The room of mirrors had left an indelible impression on their psyches, a haunting reminder that some secrets are better left undisturbed. The abandoned mansion, a silent and eerie witness to their ordeal, stood as a testament to the fragile boundary between the tangible and the supernatural. Its shattered windows and sagging roof concealed the horrors that lay within, waiting for the next unsuspecting souls to cross its threshold and awaken the evil forces that lurked in the shadows of the room of mirrors.


She took one glimpse at his fragile yet stable face. His crystal, Emerald eyes sank deeply through her unravelling, beaming smile. Her intentions were over the limits of expectation; her hour-glass body spoke the words of her exceptional mind! She knew one detail but he knew every last ounce... THREE YEARS BEFORE... The beginning... It all began on a traditional evening; he would wake up, throw on his off white shirt and his blood red trousers. He would grab his Raven jet black jacket and sneakily tumble to his faded grey Lamborghini. His name was Vincent. Vincent was mysterious, obscure, perplexing, mystifying and secretive... Nobody knew his life, his past but only his impression he gave. He was driving rather rapid, he came racing round the corner to find he had to boost his muscly leg right up-against the breaks! He started skidding in circles until he came to a halt. Why did he stop your probably thinking, right? Well he saw her, he saw her flattering legs, her electrifying, golden blonde hair, the way she strutted, the way her rosy red lips stood out. He knew that's what he wanted and that's what he would get... The entrance of her... She ran as quickly as her heels would let her, she raced towards the car and opened the door on her left, she sat on the seat. She reached over and gave him the most rewarding hug he could ask for. She calmly whispered in his ear asking if he was alright. He winked and gave a relaxing reply. "Yes but this only happened cause i seen you!" She gave a suttle laugh and opened the door ; she gave him five words he would always remember, "I will never forget you" and then she fiercely sashayed off... two da ys later. Vincent came across her again, but this time instead of stopping he listened, and that's when his mission truly began... He found out her full name. Vincent quickly searched her and that's when he found her social medias. Her name was so gorgeous and magical. He had to know more! Her name was Tiara-Lee ash Aymara. Her meaning was so powerful and revealing in a way. (princess clears a sexy path for her lover). It is so creative! Then he chuckled. two years later... He knew so much about her. Where she lives, her family, her school. EVERYTHING! Soon he would meet her again and start an extremely fantastic life with her! If only she knew... The day of the meet... She took one glimpse at his fragile yet stable face. His crystal, Emerald eyes sank deeply through her unravelling, beaming smile. Her intentions were over the limits of expectation; her hour-glass body spoke the words of her exceptional mind! He gripped on her smooth bum and pulled her in and said the words she once said, "i told you i would never forget you ..." -this short story is a horror yet romance!


PROLOGUE I don't know how it happened. Only that it was a slow process. First the weak, the young and old, the Ill and poor. They were the first to show signs. They slept more and more which wasn't that noticeable because they sleep all the time anyway. However we noticed the problem when they stopped waking up. Then the average people and even the well off started sleeping. This went on for the next six months. No one could figure out how to wake them up or to stop people from falling asleep. At the end of the first year all the people who were still awake moved everyone else to a central city. The sleepers were put in pods that kept them alive providing them with nutrients and other basic needs. The pods monitored them and recorded data in hopes of finding some answers. Every one else was also give a pod in preparation for the worst. Luckily the city runs itself so all we had to do was research and by the end the computers were doing that too. By the end of the second year I was the only one awake. Which I question every day. Why me? Of the millions in the pods why am I awake? CHAPTER 1 : AWAKE I started recording this as a precaution, in the case that I do become a sleeper or if someone wakes up I can fill them in on what happened. This camera is powered by solar panels with a backup plasma battery so I never really need to worry about it dying. ..... Dying that's something that you forget about when you have an entire world that just fell asleep. For two years now I haven't thought about death. Sleeping seemed so much more likely. The fear of going to sleep and not waking up. The ever present possibility of a necessity becoming a prison. That seems more real. Every day I do the same thing. I wake up it gets a little later daily, two years ago I woke up at nine am, a year later it was ten today eleven. After awake up I check the pods, I know the alarm will sound if anything happens. High pitched if a system failed. Low pitched if someone wakes, but I check away. Then I eat, the auto farm produces enough to feed everyone but I carbon freeze the rest for reserves. After breakfast I play pokemon go. It's dumb but it passes the time I carry two phones and play against myself, valor verses mystic, I take the gyms and hit the pokestops one day and the next I switch to the other phone. I helps me feel like it's the good old days. Not to mention it helps me stay active. I come back for lunch around two and after lunch I conduct my research. I'm not a scientist but you pick up a few things when there are ten people awake in the world and the other nine are fading fast so I learned everything I could and now I do the research while they sleep. Five o'clock is quitting time I eat dinner and shower then bed by seven. Then repeat over and over. When I'm lying in my bunk trying to sleep but being too afraid to let it happen, I often think of the days before. They seem like a dream now so surreal that it couldn't be the truth. That life had to be nothing more that a dream. CHAPTER 2 : DREAM I was a handyman before. Nothing special, not a man of science or a politician. Just someone to call when you needed a carpenter or a plumber. My dad always said that's something that will always be needed. They may have computers for everything else but they can't duplicate the human touch. The craftsmanship. So I followed his words. I served in the army first though. The draft for the war with Russia had just kicked off when I turned eighteen and sure enough three months later I was at Fort Benning, Georgia for basic training and infantry school. I served two tours in Siberia as forward forces against the attack on Alaska. When the sleep started taking people I thought it was the Russians attempting some kind of biological attack. But when most of Russia fell asleep I knew I must be wrong. I'd give anything to be back on that battlefield now. At least then I had allies around me and a clear objective. Now the gun shots are silent, the battle cries are only echoes in my head and the died are only sleeping. So it's my job to them wake up. I've had to become a scientist and put down my hammer spending hours researching book after book to find an answer that's never been found. Now instead of fighting with a rifle my fight is one of the mind. CHAPTER 3 : MIND I've been completely alone for about two months now. I have a routine which makes me feel safe. However I can feel my mind slipping. Talking to sleepers, talking to myself, Talking to walls. Desperate for something to talk back. To help me focus I've begun to play my recording back each night. Not to mention pokemon go actually really helps. I pretend that the other phone is someone else and I'll look at some of the other phones, if they have it I use them too. As a "guest appearance". CHAPTER 4 : APPEARANCE There is a lure! A pokemon lure! I didn't place it but it's there. I opened the app and there it was twenty five minutes left on a pokestop maybe 7 miles away. Someone else is here. Not me and not a sleeper but another person who is awake! They know I'm here and that I play pokemon go. So they've probably been watching me for some time now. Do I go to it and see what they want? Do I start building defenses and prepare for them to attack? If I get captured or killed there will be no one to protect the sleepers but this lure could be an olive branch and I have been extremely lonely. That settles it I'll go. I am taking a rifle and sidearm though, just in case. *The man moves out of view as he turns the camera around and straps it to his helmet* let's go see if it's friend or foe. CHAPTER 5: FRIEND OR FOE *The man rides his bike check the phone every few minutes to make sure he's heading the right way, once he gets close he drops his bike. He pulls up his rifle and starts moving forward, slowly moving his head back and forth between buildings scanning for danger* OKAY I'M HERE! What do you want? *A second voice answers from the shadows *"I'll answer with another question. What do you want?" I want to know who you are and why you've been watching me. "Is that all you want? How boring." Answer me and show yourself. " I am the reason your friends are asleep and I have been watching to understand why you are not yet asleep. I wanted to place the 'lure' to see how you would react. I will answer nothing else at this time. Goodbye" wait! I have more questions. *silence* Damn, what the hell just happened. *biking back as fast as he can the man arrives to the pods and does his checks* no harm has come to the pods so why draw me out? Was that really the voice of who ever was responsible for all the sleepers. If so how. A virus? A poison? What could it be? And who are they? Most importantly what happens next? CHAPTER 6: NEXT For the last five days I've rode back to the pokestop where the voice was but nothing else has happened. I'm more paranoid than ever now. I've built fortifications all around the area, trip wires that trigger alarms, and pit falls. However if they really have been watching they'll know exactly where to step. Other than to check the stop I don't leave camp. No more casual pokemon go. Who ever that was they definitely have pushed me closer to insanity. CHAPTER 7: INSANITY Its been a month since the event. A week since I checked the site. I have been hearing voices from the pods. The sleepers I think they are trying to tell me something. .... maybe if I close my eyes I can focus on the words. Yes I hear them. They know the secrets. They say they'll tell me. *the man sits quietly for a few minutes eyes closed face still. He then falls forward dropping the camera. As he lays there asleep foot steps are hear from behind the camera.


This story contains adult language and physical violence. With the audacity that could only be exhibited by someone working as a lab technician as long as he had, Jack picked up his first cerebral spinal fluid sample of the day with an ungloved hand. He had picked up more than a dozen bad habits through many years of working the same job. Today, he was trying a new technique which involved using one glove to pipette, and the other bare hand to hold the test tube. “Shit,” he mumbled. Not even ten minutes into his work, he managed to miss the tube he was pipetting into and dispensed cerebral spinal fluid onto his exposed skin. Immediately something felt wrong. Jack heard someone mutter something behind him. “What was that?” Jack asked. “No one said anything,” responded Mary. If I hear one more stupid remark from him, he’s fired. Practically hyperventilating, Jack spun around in his chair to look at Mary. She was facing the computer screen typing away diligently and his other three co-workers looked none the wiser as they worked at their benches. Ugh, I feel nauseous. Jaimie shifted in her chair and gripped the bench in front of her. Jack sat there for a few moments in disbelief as he desperately tried to think of a way to confirm his sanity, “Maybe you could ask to leave early Jaimie.” “What? We are understaffed as it is, why are you saying that?” Jaimie responded defensively. Can Jack hear my thoughts? Why is he acting so much weirder than normal? I think I forgot to pay Mary for the coffee she got me last week. Jack was assaulted by a plethora of what seemed to be his coworker’s anxious thoughts. Well that certainly wasn’t helpful; he thought as he abruptly stood up and ran to the sink to vigorously wash his hands. “I have got to get out of here,” he said to no one in particular. His heart was racing and his whole body was on fire. He really messed up this time, how stupid was it to not wear gloves, there are rules for a reason! It would’ve only taken three more seconds to put another one on. Dear God, I think I’m dying. He ran out the door and straight for the bathroom stall. He sat in silence, trying to count his breaths. It’s Friday, I only have to get through one more day. One.... two... I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. He noticed the lights flicker about him. One... two.... three... The sink started to drip. Are the pipes leaking? One... two... three... four... I hope no one is wondering where I am. What if someone tries to come find me? He heard the women’s bathroom door open and close. Listened, as someone walked down the hall. One... two... three... four... five... six... should I go to the doctor? Jesus christ, if I could just get to ten! One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... Nine... Ten... Not soon enough, his breathing steadied enough to return to work. No one noticed as he hesitantly stepped back into the room. So far so good. He thought; his eyes darted nervously from person to person. He walked back to his bench and shakily sat back down in his creaky seat. Following every rule in the book to the letter, he worked hyper vigilantly for the rest of the day. He even followed the speed limit on his way home. Feeling exhausted and stressed over his mistakes from yesterday, he got ready much slower than usual. He lazily dressed in blue jeans from the day before, a mostly unstained polo, and his fanciest pair of Vans. He tried to muster up some excitement though, because today was his sister’s birthday and he was heading over to his parent’s house for a family dinner. He loved his sister even though he didn’t know her as one, not really. His parents were not the type to have an empty nest so they decided to adopt her after he had moved out. She was entering her first year as a teenager today and was already acting more responsible than he ever was. She made fancy invitations to send out, organized a dinner menu, helped their mother with the shopping and her father with the cooking. She loved planning more than party itself, it was inspiring... well almost. With a deep breath, he grabbed his keys, turned his dingy door knob and walked to his gray Honda Civic parked on the street. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at his parent’s house with the fanciest planner he could find for Juniper’s birthday. Letting himself in, he shouted, “Mom, Dad, I’m here!” “We’re in the kitchen!” his mother responded. Jack walked into the brightly lit, pale green room where Juniper and his parents were in various stages of cooking, cleaning, and chatting. He felt the mood of the room immediately shift into a dull, listless aura as he walked in. Wow this all this cleaning has really worn me out, I must be getting old. He heard his mother think. What. Is. Happening. Thought Jack, as he started to panic once again. Never in his life has he experienced anything like this. The cerebral spinal fluid must have done something to him. Maybe it was an illness? What if no one likes the menu I picked out? He heard from Juniper. Oh my god. Am I... influencing people’s emotions with my own? Thought Jack. “You know you could at least put the gift on the table, Jack” scolded his mother. He had not realized it, but he had dropped Juniper’s gift on the floor and he was just standing there, staring at nothing. “Oh, yea I know that. Sorry, I was just thinking about something that happened at work,” Jack grumbled apologetically. “Alright, well you should try leaving work at work. It is much better for your mental health,” his father added. Jack picked up Juniper’s gift and nearly missed the table he was trying to set it on. He was attempting to will his emotions in a different state to test his new theory. To call it a long shot would be an understatement, but he couldn’t do nothing, it was against his scientific nature. Jack thought of the day he finally got his first lab job. Despite how jaded he’d become over the years, he was very proud to have gotten a job in a field that he actually went to school for. He thought of how excited he was to tell his parents and about the easiest--and admittedly the last --resignation letter he had ever written. The look on his bosses face at the grocery store was priceless. Jack is going to love the main course, I cannot wait for him to try my twist on Chicken Alfredo! He heard his sister think. Meanwhile, his father was putting on disco music and his mother started to dance and sing along. “I haven’t heard this song in years!” exclaimed his mom. He watched his parents dance through the kitchen, laughing and spinning as Juniper put the finishing touches on dinner. Huh. I think this is actually real! The possibilities of this are endless! I can make people feel happy being around me! No more resentful coworkers! No more disappointing my parents! No more being single! Jack thought, elated as he got lost in his thoughts about big plans to go to a bar after dinner. He was noticing something else though; he could no longer hear anyone else’s thoughts. He started to question if he needed to re-supply. The idea of exposing himself to more biological contaminates was terrifying but this could solve all of his problems... Jack was hardly involved in the conversations for the rest of the evening. He couldn’t hear any thoughts from anyone and everyone seemed to exhibiting their own emotions. He almost forgot to thank Juniper for remembering his favorite dish and trying to make it better for him, despite it being her birthday. The twist on the Chicken Alfredo was just adding lemon and capers, but it was still delicious. After Juniper opened her gift--which she loved--he said his goodbyes and quickly ducked out to his car. He sat in the dark and in silence with his hands solidified to the steering wheel, for several minutes. He couldn’t really be considering breaking into the lab could he? He can’t steal patient samples... what if someone has some other infectious disease not listed in their file? What if someone catches him? It is a 24-hour facility but he had never worked the night shift let alone overtime, people would have questions! I can’t let this go un-explored; I am a scientist after all. We could just consider this... a little experiment. He started to talk himself down again, this is so unethical and against everything I was trained for. Although in the recesses of Jack’s mind, he knew he planned on breaking into the lab because he was never very good at following the rules, especially when it came to things that made his life even a little bit easier. “Ah what the hell,” Jack said as he started his car and turned left towards the lab. He got in no problem, the security guard even waved at him. He knew they kept frozen samples in a storage freezer that was hardly used, but the hard part was going to be if he saw anyone he knew. He could maybe pass as a new person to the night shift crew, but his coworker Jaimie was known to take on extra hours for the extra money. Jack feigned nonchalance as he made his way past the sterile white walls and lab equipment on sturdy black benches. Without donning a lab coat, he slipped into the bitterly cold back room full of freezers that stored old patient samples. No sign of Jaimie yet, maybe I’ll get lucky. As quick as he could, he opened the freezer door and grabbed a handful of cerebral spinal fluid samples and popped them into his pockets. He slammed the vault-like freezer door shut and frantically stumbled out of the room, to his dismay, right into Jaimie. “I don’t remember you being on the schedule,” she said condescendingly, in a grating tone. “Uh, yea, no I am not.” “Soooo, what are you doing here then?” she snapped. “Well, you know, you actually aren’t the boss of me and I don’t feel the need to respond to you,” Jack said as he started to walk away from her. Arms crossed, Jaimie continued to follow him down the hall way too closely. “I may not be your boss, but I will tell Mary if you don’t tell me what’s going on. You have been acting very erratically and its creating a hostile work environment that I do not appreciate...” “Fine! I just forgot to archive something yesterday and I wanted to take care of it before anyone noticed,” and added to what he thought was already a very clever explanation, he feigned remorse, “I’m tired of everyone cleaning up after me, and I want to start pulling my own weight around the lab. I am turning a new leaf, you could say.” Jaimie did not look convinced in the least, but you could see the mental debate she was having with herself in her eyes and body language. This was a problem she did not have the energy for right now. “While I don’t believe your explanation, I don’t have time for this. I hope you have a mediocre rest of your weekend,” with pursed lips, Jaimie uneventfully turned around and left Jack at the edge of the entryway doors. In disbelief, Jack stopped midstride and stared at the glass paneled double doors in front of him. The security guard looked at him and asked if he was alright. Snapping back to reality Jack responded, “Never better actually!” He promptly turned and sauntered out the door and back to his car. Sitting outside of Gough-Nuts, a bustling bar near his work, he rolled the nearly thawed tube of cerebral spinal fluid between his fingers. The more I question this, the more doubt I will have. I already took the fluid I might as well just... go for it! Jack popped off the cap and stared down the tube at the clear non assuming liquid. He held in a deep breath and poured some of the fluid into his cupped palm. He held it there for three beats. Well... it’s too late now. Jack proceeded to rub the infectious material into his hands and up his bare forearms. He held is arms out in disgust while it dried out like water. Immediately, he started to hear little pieces of thoughts from those walking past his car and into the red-lit halls of the bar. I hope Sheryl doesn’t find out I’m here... I cannot wait to be catatonic... Does this place check IDs? Holy shit it actually worked! Jack thought, as he tried to transform his emotional state to one of joy. It wasn’t hard because he was already thrilled over his new superpower. He got out of his car and practically ran inside up to the sticky wooden bar, pushing his way past the row of people who were already there. “I will have one of whatever your hoppiest IPA is!” Jack shouted to the bar tender who glared at him in turn. Jack scanned the crowd for a potential victim while he waited. There was an older blonde lady desperately trying to look younger than she was with filler and makeup who seemed obtainable, although he wanted to go as far as he could with this. He saw another gorgeous woman laughing with bright white teeth and flipping her shiny mahogany hair that practically glowed in the dim red light. Perfect. With a confidence outmatched by everyone else in the bar, he walked right up to her, beer forgotten. “Hello, gorgeous what’s your name?” Jack smiled. She looked him up and down and giggled, “Names are for second dates.” “Is that a promise?” “Only if you buy me a drink first,” but in her head he heard, I wonder how long it will take for Kev to notice this guy. Unfortunately, Jack’s self preservation was very low and he did not care how long it would take Kev to notice, nor who Kev even was. He started to move his hand to touch her hair, to twirl it between his fingers. He felt the softness of it for just a moment before he felt sudden, throbbing pain radiating through his head. Her hair slipped right out of his grasp along with any joy and excitement he had. Jack felt fear and he felt anger, how dare this stranger hit him. “Who do you think you are?!” said a heavily tattooed gruff looking man who was probably Kev. “Who do you think you are!?” responded Jack very unhelpfully, pushing Kev into someone else. “Hey!” yelled the disgruntled stranger. Faster than Jack thought was possible; a giant mass of a man was pushing them out of the bar with the ever so faithful mahogany goddess following closely behind with thoughts of worry and feelings of fear. It was unclear if her thoughts were a mirror of his own, or she was actually worried for them. Jack delusionally took her fear as concern for him and started to console her, “Don’t worry baby, I can take you to a way nicer place than this.” Kev pushed him hard onto the dark and cold asphalt, his elbows slamming into its gritty surface. Jack’s anger and pain increased, inflating the anger and pain in Kev as well. “If you even look at her one more time, you’re gone man,” Kev spat in a dark and deadly tone. “I can look at anyone I like! There is not a single thing you can do about it; she probably doesn’t even like you.” There were alarming thoughts coming from Kev now, a lot more anger than Jack thought any one man could hold. Finally sensing the danger he was in, Jack started to scramble back on his palms and feet, like a frightened crab. Except, Jack was slow and his head was fuzzy unlike Kev who was very fast, and unbeknownst to Jack, a close friend of violence. Quicker than Jack could process, Kev was on top of him. Punching and punching and punching. There was screaming too, but not from Jack. He didn’t have the lungs for it; all of the air had quickly been knocked out of him. Jack felt his consciousness and anger drain from his body as it also drained from Kev’s much too late for it to mean anything. Ten long seconds later, Kev was panting over Jack’s bloodied lifeless body. It turns out the mahogany goddess’ fear was her own, and it was for Jack. There was no one else who knew Kev’s anger more deeply than she did.


_(note from author- I have posted both parts before on different subreddits, and this is an ongoing series. I'll add links to the orginal posts here if you want to read them in their OG format:_ _)_ _PART 1:_ AITA for leaving my bf over a cup of coffee? Before I start, I should establish a few things. I am F28 and he is M27. We have been in a long-term relationship for 3 years, and have been living together for the past year. Before this, he has done nothing to hurt me or offend me, he was practically the perfect partner. I guess that's a lie now though. Some outside perspective would be helpful. My bf has struggled throughout his life with a few addictions, the main one being teeth. He crushes them up and either sprinkles them on meals (including drinks) or just snorts it. He has been to rehab multiple times but was kicked out for trying to pry out the other residents' teeth and I have since given up on getting him to quit. I've just made him promise not to do anything of the sort near me (like when eating meals/drinking) and not to try and make me try, which he has done before. We've had a lot of problems in our relationship due to this, he's been arrested countless times after assaulting people on nights out for their teeth, and will sometimes even catfish on dating websites/apps to satisfy his teeth addiction. His friends don't seem to care about how much this is ruining his life, hes lost so many jobs because of this and sent us both into bankruptcy but they just ignore this obvious problem, encourage it even. I've broken up with him multiple times, just for a break whilst he got his life back on track a bit, and it worked for a while but now he's stopped caring. I'm scared for myself but also his health. I do love him and I can't bear to leave him when he's so vulnerable. That is, until today. Excuse spelling, my hands are still shaking and I'm still processing all the shit that went down. I woke up this morning with him hovering over me with a huge grin on his face. He thrusted a tray with a cup of coffee, some peanut-butter toast, and a single rose onto my lap and said "Suprise!!" He had prepared a whole tray of food so I could eat breakfast in bed, and, I'll be honest with you, I cried a little at this adorable gesture. Like I said before, our relationship has been really strained lately, and this out-of-the-blue act of romance seemed to be a sign to me that our rough patch was over and he was ready to move forward as a team, like we were before. Of course, I was a bit suspicious that maybe he'd done something drastic and was trying to soften the blow, but my naïve self pushed that thought to the back of my mind and settled down to enjoy my breakfast. I took one sip of the coffee and spat it out violently, retching. I looked back at my boyfriend fearfully and he was just sitting there on the other side of the bed, smiling thar strange smile. I admit I overreacted here, because I was scared he had tried to poison me or something, I yelled at him for about 5-10 mins, all "what the FUCK" this and "WHAT were you THINKING ASSHOLE" that and he just sat there with his stupid grin until i had finished. He then explained calmly that he hadn't meant to hurt me, he just put some ground teeth in my coffee because he was fed up with me trying to manipulate him into stopping when I hadn't even tried it myself. He thought maybe I'd change my perspective on the matter once I'd tried it but knew I would never do it willingly so he spiked my drink instead. I told him that this was a huge violation of my trust, and told him to "get the FUCK out of my house, IMMEDIATELY." He tried to object but, after realising I was not going to budge on the matter, picked up his stuff and left to go stay with a friend. I've since texted him saying that we are done, and to not contact me again. He's gotten all his friends to message me non-stop about how much of an AH I was, since it was an innocent attempt to get me to see things from his perspective, and that it's irrational and toxic to end such a meaningful and long relationship over a cup of coffee. I honestly don't know, so I need some outside perspective. Reddit, AITA for ending a relationship over a cup of coffee? EDIT: I fixed some spelling, have calmed down a lot now. For some reason I can't help but feel like this is just the calm before the storm, so here's my promise to make an update post if any more shit goes down. _PART 2:_ MY BOYFRIEND HAS A STRANGE ADDICTION AND IM SCARED ITS GETTING WORSE (UPDATE TO THE TEETH POST) So. A lot has happened (people of reddit, you are going to hate me). We... got back together. The situation stands as thus, for those who can't be bothered to read the previous post: -my (F28) bf (M27) is addicted to teeth. He refuses rehab and will go to drastic measures to get them. - he spiked my drink with ground teeth to get me to 'see from his point of view'. -I broke up with him and all his friends called me an AH over it. This was three weeks ago. ...about two weeks ago an adorably decorated basket with loads of cute shit inside it was left in front of my doorstep, along with a homemade card he (my bf) made himself. It was a picture of me and him with the note 'I'm a fucking idiot, I've given up teeth and EVERYTHING ELSE, please love me again, your dumb bitch of a bf, (his name here).' I was so taken aback by this cute as fuck show of love and guilt, he knew what he had done was wrong and call me an idiot but I was willing to give it another try. He had even started to give up his addiction for me, which truly meant something, right? The next week went by like a dream. He treated me well. We spend all day together (and the nights too... if you get what I mean). But, most importantly, he gave up teeth. I was so proud, honestly. He was doing so well. So, so well. Until last Monday (A week ago today). I- I dont really know the best way to say this. Holy shit. I'm still in shock, i- He killed someone. Scrap that. He killed multiple people. He was gone on a 'business trip' (he had found good work) for a few days and came back with a 'suprise' for me. (The business trip was about 4 hours away so I wasn't worried about him doing anything whilst he was gone, if you're worried) Anyway, the suprise was a cooler box full of this weird meat..? I thought it was strange that he just had this unpackaged meat in this box, but he wove this elaborate story about it being gourmet pork from a butchers in the area he thought I would enjoy. He said himself that he had some and said it was the best thing he'd ever had. By the end of his ...what i can only call a rant, saliva was practically dripping from his mouth, he was smiling broadly and had this rabid look in his eyes. I got scared, honestly. It was so unnerving. He looked like he was high, super dilated pupils and everything. His head was turned ever so slightly so that his cheekbones stuck out at unnatural angles and his neck was just too long for the rest of his body, making him look like some monster, not quite human. I cooked the meat to the best of my ability, turning it into some kind of stew, and I noticed as I was cooking that some especially bloody bits of meat kept on disappearing. I shrugged it off and put my stew into the slow cooker to cook overnight. It was only when I walked into our bedroom that night that I found out he was sneaking them out of the cooler and eating them raw, leaving blood and small chunks of raw meat all over the bed and carpet. I slept on the sofa that night. I didn't say anything, by now I knew something was up but I was scared to do anything about it. The stew was ready just in time for lunch, so I served it up with some roast potatoes and sat down at the table to eat. Bf was asleep, but woke up as soon as I called out that lunch was ready, and ate his whole plate (and all leftovers) in seemingly no time at all. Before I could say anything, he quickly hugged me tight and whispered into my ear, 'Thank you for seeing sense, I knew you would turn around in the end. We make a great pair, you and I.' He was breathing really heavily, and his breath had the unmistakable smell of teeth lingering on it, hidden slightly behind the stew. I spun around and grabbed his wrist just as he was retreating back into the bedroom, and I asked him 'what the fuck he meant by that'. He looked shocked, and then began violently punching himself in the face, yelling 'stupid, stupid, STUPID-' over and over again. I was super fucking freaked out, I grabbed his other wrist and sat him down, and waited until he stopped trying to hurt himself. Once he had calmed down, I calmly but firmly told him to tell me what he had done or I would call the police. Turns out the 'business trip' was an excuse to go out with his friends, who I had told him to cut out of his life because of their toxic behaviour, and do loads of teeth without me knowing. He also told me he had been dabbling in cannibalism, and was really enjoying it. He and his mates found a few people making out in an alleyway, and killed and ate (some of) them. The stuff they didn't eat, they split between them to take home. Bf sprinkled teeth over his portion for what he calls 'food of the gods'. He said that he doesn't see what he's doing as wrong, since he only eats what the gods tell him he can(?!), and believes that the gods thank him for exterminating the unholy and purifying them by eating them(?!?!?). Needless to say, I called the police anyway, and him and his friends are now being charged with multiple counts of murder (first degree). We are now officially broken up lol. People of reddit, I know I was wrong for giving him a second chance, but I have a bigger question that's been playing on my mind and eating me up from the inside ever since I found out about what he did. I feel like this is all partially my fault.


You may have heard by now that there’s an ocean under the earth’s crust. It’s not just an ocean, but an amount of water comparable to every ocean on Earth combined. Cool, right? Kind of like one thousand leagues under the sea of Journey to the center of the earth, right? It’s so much more than that. The last seven years I’ve been trying to come to terms with my reality. I’ve filled notebooks writing the same thing hundreds of times, trying to get it right, trying to make sure you understand. In 2014, a brown diamond rose to the surface of the earth from what was estimated to be 320 miles deep in the Earth. It contained ringwoodite, which itself had a 1.3 percent water content. It may seem like nothing, but it indicated something amazing - water under the earth’s crust! That same year, a group of hand-picked scientists including myself were tasked to dig as deep as possible into the earth by the government. We began slowly, making sure the latest technology could support a dig that would reach blazing temperatures. With our state of the art drill and a spot on the Earth’s sea floor cool enough to drill into, we hoped to reach into at least ten percent of the Earth’s crust. We were eager to begin what would surely be an incredible discovery! How young and naïve we were. What we found, it is beyond comprehension. They wanted to make sure nothing got out, so that in the event something went wrong they could protect the citizens of the world from mass panic, and protect the valuable resource we found from greedy corporations. I signed endless forms, pacts punishable by prison, swore my mind to secrecy, but this is something the world deserves to know. After all, we live on the same Earth, and what lies beneath me lies beneath you too. You were lied to. I’m so sorry. We found evidence of water, and proudly presented it to our superiors. They paraded it to the highest-ups, shared it with everyone they could, and immediately closed the project down despite our insistence that we should continue and see if there was anything else down there. We told the world that we found water underground, lots of it. We were expecting perhaps microscopic, dead bacteria from eons ago. The superiors ordered us to stop, but greedy as we were we pushed farther in the name of science. I wish every day that we had left it alone. Instead, we pooled our money and appealed to whoever we could, and eventually found an eager sponsor. Have you ever wished you’d never learned the truth about something? That your hunch that your husband having an affair was false? That Santa was actually real? On day forty seven our seismographs went off the wire. The readings were something akin to a deep sea creature’s call from the bottom of the ocean. Except, as we came to find out, it was the movement of the things making our scans go crazy. We assumed it was crust movement from a tectonic plate, like a natural disaster close to us. The readings were erratic and lasted for hours. Our sponsor helped us get our hands on a new model of a machine that could show shapes based on the readings, technology unheard of at the time. We were hoping for tectonic movement, and how I wish that was what it was. We expected a breakthrough, just not the kind we got. We realized one day the erratic readings were actually patterns that lasted for Hours or days at a time. We checked in about any natural disasters close to us, and only heard of a small earthquake in California. We called in two more people, experts in tectonic plate movement and deep sea readings respectively. They were as baffled as we were. It was something solid. And then another solid thing. And then another. Huge, and moving as if they were alive. That night after a few drinks we laughed at the sarcastic suggestion that they were sea monsters. In the following days, we held multiple meetings that lasted anywhere from sixteen to twenty hours with little. breaks, trying to find out what kind of rock or mineral could move like that and after scanning hundreds of research papers and both classified and de-classified documents, nothing came about. There was a promising lead in boiling water and debris creating the movement, but it hit a dead end. Theory by theory, the possibilities slowly fell away until we had to face the idea that what moved in the water was indeed, in some ways alive. Horrifyingly, the size of the underwater ocean stayed the same, but the volume of water was diminished to accommodate what we are still trying to classify. Sharks? Snakes? Eels? Megoladons? Nothing sticks. They have no oxygen, no food source, no reason to even exist. What is their purpose? I am beginning to truly believe they are titans, something more than any tiny stupid human brain can understand. I’ve sat with this secret for so long that some days I wonder if I’m still the same man, still a sane man. I swear I can feel them now, moving, swirling under my feet, and if they moved too much surely the crust would crumble and I would fall into the gaping, slithering darkness. One of the scientists couldn’t handle what we found and hanged herself the year of our discovery. Two died in mysterious freak accidents in as many years after coming close to sharing the truth. Another disappeared from the face of the Earth just weeks ago. Now seven years from our discovery date, I don’t know how many are left - I don’t dare try and find out. I’m afraid that I might be the only one. I went into hiding when I realized what they were doing to us, but running away from reality has only diminished my psyche. I live a hermit’s life - my desk covered with books I don’t read in an attempt to cover the obsessive drawings and possible answers. The titans appear in my nightmare black as night, slippery and beastly. Long and thick like snakes, but beyond anything we have in our oceans. Every time I fall asleep, I wake up floating in the horrible underground ocean. Through the inky blackness I can see them - they surround me; I feel them sliding by my skin as they close around me and smother me with their horrible bodies. I live near a pond to which I’ve rigged a lighting system. Every day I go out and compulsively check to make sure I can see the bottom. I can’t get close to it without my knees giving out and panic taking hold of me, but I still need to check. Life lost meaning with no one to hear or believe me. I am afraid of the dark, but perhaps death is not darkness. I tried to take my life. It didn’t work, and bitter as I was at the time that my attempt to escape my constant and all-encompassing depression failed, I believe it may have been a sign to finally do something. The moment you see this, I’m a dead man, but knowing someone will see this has lifted an immense weight off my chest. I may have lost parts of myself, even parts of my mind, but finally alleviating years of guilt and obsession may make the last of my days more peaceful. When they come for me, I won’t fight, and I won’t die afraid. I have done what I can, and I can rest peacefully knowing I finished what my colleagues set out to do. Unlike my little pond there is no air in that magnificent cave below us, no light, no green. There is only the huge creatures that haunt the dark water. How they have survived for millions of years I am sure we will never know. But still they live, two hundred times larger than a blue whale. I am losing my mind. I hope that if I go to hell it is truly at the center of the Earth so I don’t have to be near what dwells just beneath our feet. Nothing I do can distract me from them. Every time I lay down, every time I wake up, they will always be there. They exist beyond this delicate crust we call home, beyond your science, your cities, your gods.


“What are you doing?” The little boy asked. The old man seemed startled, how did he not see him? “I’m sweeping the train tracks.” The old man replied. “Why?” “Well... they don’t have the money to keep the track clean like they used to. It wouldn’t do for the tracks to get cluttered.” He said, brushing aside some rocks on the tracks. “Can I help?” The little boy asked, picking up a branch to use like a broom. “Where’s your mama? Won’t she be worried about you?” “No. I just have to be back for dinner. I play in the woods a lot. Do you ever play mister? My daddy says grownups don’t play but I think that’s boring.” “I used to play in these woods every day when I was your size...” more debris was swept away. “Here, why don’t you help clean the outside of the tracks? There like that, good. Careful now, always keep your eye out for the train a comin’.” “Why? I’ll hear it. I’ve got the best ears around!..” The boy proudly proclaimed. “I can hear anything!” The old man chuckled. “Oh yeah? What’s that squirrel doin?” “That’s easy, he’s chewing on a nut! Gimme something harder.” “Oh ho, well then can you hear that chickadee off in the distance?” The boy went quiet for a while, trying to listen to the woods around him. Finally his shoulders slumped and he shook his head no. “That’s because there isn’t one there.” The old man said with a mischievous grin. “No fair you cheated! You cheated!” The boy complained. “Alright, you got me. I can’t compete with the best I see. Here boy, will you help me move this big branch here?” “I can do it myself, watch!” The boy ran around and started to tug on the fallen branch. After a little effort from both of them they were able to pull it mostly off the tracks, and the little boy broke off some of the smaller ends. The sun was getting low in the sky at this point; they’d been walking and talking most of the afternoon. They were in the middle of singing a song from the old mans childhood when the little boy felt a shove and landed in the dirt. “Oww. Why’d you... oh no!” The little boy turned around to see the train rolling by. Why hadn’t he heard it? He didn’t see his new friend. That meant... Tears filled his eyes, his new friend was gone. He should have been listening! He should have... “Ta daa.” The old man said with a smile. He was standing on the train tracks completely fine. “What? But... where did you?” The asked in between sniffles. “Magic...” the old man said with a wink, “and a magician never reveals his secrets.” “I’m glad you’re okay.” The little boy said, running up and hugging his knees. The old man wobbled for a moment unsteady. “Whoa there, I’m not as sturdy as I used to be. I’m glad you’re okay too.” “Is my husband bothering you?” A voice said with mock frustration. It belonged to an old woman who was walking towards them from the train station they had reached. “No. I was helping him today. We cleaned the train tracks.” The boy said proudly. “And you were an excellent helper, now do you know how to get home? Don’t want to be late for supper.” “Aww do I have to?” The boy complained. “I’m afraid so dearie, you don’t want your mother to worry do you?” The old woman said. “Okay. Can I come back again?” “Well I don’t know...” the man pretended to think about it. “Please?” The boy begged. “I suppose so. As long as you promise to be careful. You know where to find me.” “Okay. Bye!” The boy said as he ran off. The couple stood there for a while, hand in hand. “You almost had to take him with you today.” The old man said. “But I didn’t, thanks to you. The rest of us miss you, you know.” “I know, but I can’t...” “We know. We’re proud of what you’re doing. I’m proud of what you’re doing.” “I don’t want somebody else to end up the way we did.” “I know. I love you.” “I love you too.” The two shared a long embrace as another train passed through them, never knowing they were there. Once it was gone the old woman turned and faded away, and the man set off once again down the tracks.


No-one knew that the briefcase contained the means to erase mankind. Most of the homeless population beneath the Orwell Bridge assumed that it was stacked with cash and left unfastened in a naïve act of compassion by some businessman, or other. After all, it was no secret that the majority of the city’s homeless spent each night beneath the rusty iron bridge. There was simply no reason to suspect anything sinister, especially considering the kind nature of the countless visitors that had come with charity in mind. Who could have known that within the briefcase, neatly placed upon the cream cushioned interior, were eight vials that were filled with a clear but apocalyptic virus - the virus that would soon be airborne? Such thoughts would be considered irrational, surely. Is it not natural for man to come to the aid of his suffering kin? With this forever in mind the vagrants were quick to tear into the briefcase like hyenas into a ravaged carcass. You can imagine their shock once its contents were revealed to them. *What...what the fuck is this?* One of the vagrants exclaimed, disgusted by what could only be a practical joke of the sickest kind. He removed the first vial from the briefcase and held it close to his nearly blind eye. *Hmmm, looks empty to me, whatchu think?* One of the other vagrants snatched it from his hand and began to inspect it for himself. *Yessir, definitely empty!* There was a high wind on this cloudy afternoon by the riverbank, which laced the air with a potent chill. From the comfort of his car a man in a black suit watched as one of the vagrants tossed the open briefcase into the garbage, the vials smashing and releasing their contents into the howling wind.


Niomi walked down the street on her way home. She had always enjoyed walking home at night after a show. It was her time to unwind. Tonight she had taken a loop around her block, trying to rid of the adrenaline rush that always cascaded over her when she got to the end of a performance. There was something about the role of Queen Margaret in Henry VI that had always invigorated her - even in high school, before she thought theatre was a viable career. "Niomi." She thought she recognized the voice coming from behind her. She turned. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she looked through the darkness. His dark blonde hair and dark clothing didn't serve to give any hints, but she felt her adrenaline rush through again and knew he was watching her. The light shone on his face and shock darted through her. It was Ian. Ian who had been assumed dead when he disappeared in the Amazon the year before. Sometimes it didn't seem like it had been a whole year since he'd been gone, other times it felt like an age. She didn't want to think about him. Ian had abandoned her. They'd been dating when he'd disappeared and she had tried to forget him for months before Patrick had phoned her and asked if she wanted to be Queen Margaret in a new production of the three parts of Henry VI he was going to be directing at BAM in association with the RSC. The idea that Ian felt like he had the right to track her down when she was finally in a good space made her more angry than anything. Ian have that right anymore. He'd lost it when he had chosen a photography trip in the Amazon over her closing night for Small Island . She had begged him not to go. She had yelled and screamed and requested that he stay, but going to the Amazon was a trip Ian felt like he couldn't turn down, and on some level Niomi understood that his art was as important to him as theatre was to her, but their relationship had always been about compromise, at least until that moment, that phone call and he took the opportunity, packed and left without a word. To the theatre community, Niomi had performed that night and then dropped off the face of the earth. She knew she was the reason BAM hadn't announced the cast list until a week after the tickets were released. The industry had started thinking of her as a flake and stopped calling her with jobs. She had lost friends who were tired of her attitude. The man who was reason for all of that, who was the reason Patrick had had to convince the casting director to take a chance on her, was standing before her like he'd never gone away. Niomi slapped him. "I thought you were dead!" she snapped. "Do you knew the pain I've had to suffer and the questions I've had to field in the last year? Everyone wanted to know where you were. Everyone wanted to know if I was okay, because guess what, Ian, when you disappeared that messed with my head." "I'm sorry." "'I'm sorry'! Is that all you have to say to me?" "It's all I can offer. I know you're not going to let me back in the house." "There's no point in you coming up. I dumped your camera equipment in the dumpster the night you left." "That was thousands of dollars of equipment." "You were missing, presumed dead. Did you really expect me to keep your shit?" "Let's go inside." "No, I'm going inside and going to sleep. You are getting a hotel room for the night, we are having coffee at 8:30am tomorrow when we'll have our last conversation and then you're going back to Inverness or the Amazon or wherever the fuck you're living now and not contacting me again." Niomi slammed the door. *** Niomi poured a glass of red wine the second she got into her flat. She normally didn't drink when she got home from a show, but the shock and anger from seeing Ian again had shaken her. If there was a moment to drink alcohol at 1am your ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead was a pretty good reason. She wished he had stayed away and for the first time she wished had moved in with Olivia when Liv had thrown the offer on the table. Niomi hadn't wanted to upend anything else, but now she wished she had somewhere else to hunker down, somewhere where Ian wouldn't know where she was. Why had he come back? Why had he stopped by? Did he want her back? Did he think she would want him back after all this time? She felt like she was going insane; like whatever she did, whatever decision she was made, Ian was always going to be lurking there. "He needs a dog," she muttered. "Someone who will be there for him when he leaves for a year." Ian had brought her a cat before leaving. The cat had gone to the pound when the police had reported Ian as dead - or at least that's what they thought. Seeing him again with his dark blonde hair and leather jacket had made her think of the first time she'd seen him, and for a second the old feelings had come back. Mostly it was relief though. It was relief that the anger, which had lain dormant for months was still there. Niomi thought about calling Liv, but Liv had been bothered enough by Niomi calling in the middle of the night that Niomi thought Liv deserved a break. Niomi took her wine and walked into the living room. She turned on the TV and started watching a soccer match she had recorded. She wasn't necessarily a fan of either team who was playing, but she recorded these matches so she would always have a distraction. Tonight it would get her mind off Ian who was hanging in the back of her mind. Niomi didn't want to think about Ian anymore. He didn't have to right to be there with her. She would never deny they had had some good times, but they were over and she was ready to move on with her life. She liked the way it was. She was grateful to Patrick for pulling her back into the theatre community. The stage had always felt like a home to her no matter where she was in the world. She was ready to put all of her energy back into that and right now she didn't have the energy for a relationship. She had Patrick, Olivia and the rest of their friends and that was enough. For now at least. And as she watched a Liverpool midfielder score a goal from eight yards out, she knew she had done the right thing by leaving Ian in the cold. *BAM = Brooklyn Academy of Music in Brooklyn, NY, USA and RSC = Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-upon-Avon, UK *The play Small Island premiered in April 2019 at the National Theatre in London, UK


They say the truth will always come out but Clementine hopes she can change her destiny or more likely her brothers. “Clem! Get down here we have to be at the house in an hour that's what the landlord said. Clem?” yelled Tess. “I’ll be down soon T!” Clementine screams back. “Alright but if we're late it's your fault.” mumbled Tess. Clementine hurryingly grabs the rest of her boxes and runs out the room almost tripping over a coat hanger she didn't see. “This house ughh glad to be outta here.” She said to herself in a frustrated tone. She stumbles down the stairs and grabs her iced coffee off the mantle. She takes a sip and makes her way to the kitchen where Tess is standing, not acknowledging the fact clementine is behind her. “Boo!” shouts clementine. “What the hell clem.” says Tess flustered. “Well you better get used to it. We are moving into an old, creepy house. We should prepare ourselves for all the creepy pasta, right?” clementine asks. “Not this again i told you we are moving there because it's quiet we cant keep coming back to this clem he is gone!” she says sternly. “I know but i just can't forget him, maybe we can contact him and...” she is cut off by Tess “NO!” she yells “he's not here not there not anywhere! I’m sorry clem but it is just the truth.” she exclaims walking away and leaving clementine in the kitchen alone. A single tear runs down Clementine's face and she proceeds to quickly wipe it off. Before getting into the car clementine makes her way back upstairs again and stands motionless in front of a door with a goofy no entry sign on it. She pushes the door open and reveals a packed up boys room. She sits on the bed clenching a football t-shirt gently sobbing into it and her eyes wander around the room looking at all the photos of her and the boy around the room. “Goodbye Liam I'll miss you big bro” she says her voice cracking. After leaving the room she wipes her tears of that are now streaming down her face quickly and goes outside. “I'm here sorry forgot a box” she mumbles. “No problem clem.” Tess says. “Ok lets go.” exclaims clementine gathering herself. A few hours later they arrive at a small ancient looking cottage and begin to unpack. Clementine grabs a box and cuts it open revealing a spirit board she quickly snatches it away to not let Tess see and runs upstairs and sticks it behind a loose ceiling beam. “Clem you alright?” Tess questions. “Yea I'm fine, I just needed the toilet.” she answers. A couple minutes later clementine walks back downstairs smiling at Tess and grabbing another box after which she runs back upstairs alone. “Weird.” Tess mumbles and ignores her best friends mysterious behaviour as she goes back to unpacking the kitchen. Meanwhile back upstairs clementine is unpacking the toiletry box. “So call me mmhmm find me a mmMmMm true loves kisses.” she lightly hums. “CLEM HELP ME!” she jumps up immediately slightly frightened. “LIAM?” she says shaking. No answer she calls again no answer she brushes it off and goes downstairs for a break. “Oh good, your downstairs dinners ready.” says tess. “Great.” says Clementine, still a bit shaken. “Are you alright clem?” Tess asks worried. “Its just...its stupid but i thought i heard him...its fine lets just forget about it like you said earlier he isn’t here he cant be right right?” she speedily exclaims. “Oh clem you just miss him its ok it gets better now let's eat. After they finish eating the leave to go to sleep in their own rooms, night t. '' says Clementine, rubbing her eyes. “Night clem” answers Tess opening her bedroom door. Clementine slowly dozes off to sleep. A couple hours later at around 2 am the spirit board thuds to the ground waking up Tess and clementine the both run toward the board and see the planchette in the middle they hesitantly place their hands on and a shiver runs down their spines. “Is anyone here?” asks tess. The planchette slowly moved to yes. “What's your name?” asks clementine. The planchette slowly moves to the letters spelling L-I-A-M. “Are you touching it tess?” says clementine in an annoyed tone. “Noo...oo.” whispers tess. The girls look at each other in horror and something in the darkness grabs Clementine's leg and starts pulling her towards the darkness that is now consuming everything. “HELP ME! TESS!” Clementine screams but Tess sits there like she is possessed senseless and drops to the ground as Clementine is trying to tug her shoulder to not get pulled into the darkness. “I told you cc what is done is done.” says liam. Clementine knows its liam only he called her cc she screams as the darkness consumes her and her final screams echo throughout the house waking up tess who is now shaking on the freezin k floor surrounded by deep claw marks in the floor. She jumped up and still in her pyjamas gathered her things and left to call the police but everyone thought she was lying. She couldn't prove anything and she got stuck in a mental asylum to help her get better but she never did. Everyone thought she was a crazy lady who imagined that her best friend made a deal with the devil but things went wrong and instead of one soul it took two but that isn't fair. On the hand no one said the devil is a righteous chap with a cheery soul because he doesn't have one very often at least but this year he has two. He must feel very lucky he has the soul of a sister who sold out her brother to the devil and accidentally her guilt took over her and she sold out herself. So just a reminder if you're dealing with the devil don't feel guilt or darkness just might consume you.


He looked at himself in the mirror, a thin smile stretched across his face. The smile seems forced and his face looks more like a mask. He closes his eyes for a brief moment before opening them and forcing a larger smile on his face. Still he was not satisfied with the man in the mirror. Why must you pretend to be happy? He ponders. He thinks back to when he was only a young boy when he was diagnosed with a rare heart condition that would ostracize him his entire life. He thinks back to the moment he turned to heroin to mend his frustrations and hurt. He thinks back to the moment when the doctors attached a permanent heart monitor onto his body, impeding him to even go out to the bars with his friends. He looks back in the mirror, no longer even smiling. Then he breaks into the most genuine and happiest smile he had ever seen. He felt strong and empowered, he felt invincible because in that moment he understood how truly unlimited he was. He thought of his friends as a young boy, how they stood by his side through it all. He thought of his two year sobriety medal, his personal proof of his own pure determination. And he thought of the nights when he snuck out to the bars with his friends against the doctor’s orders, those are the people he lives for and the nights he’d always remember. He looks in the mirror and gives himself a wink before shooting a photo commemorating this moment. He leaves the room with a smile on his face to attend the last surgery of his life. He was truly unlimited.