I looked in the mirror, brushing light pink eyeshadow over my eyelids. A bristle from the brush poked my eye. I blinked several times, trying to get the powdery dust out. My eye stung badly. I turned on the faucet and splashed some fresh cold water in my eye. I wiped my eye with a towel, but a cold mist washed over me, making me feel cold and forgotten for a few long seconds. I shook off the feeling and blinked some more, but all of a sudden the light above me flickered. I stopped blinking and closed my eye to look up. The light stopped flickering and was blaring at me. Weird. My eye felt normal again so I continued putting on the eyeshadow until my right eyelid was filled with a small explosion of light pink to go with my teal dress. I moved on to the left eyelid, blinking a few times. The lights flickered again. They flickered in rhythm to my blinking. Extra weird. I ignored it. All I needed was to get through getting ready. I continued, brushing my golden brown hair, making it silky and smooth. My lipstick matched perfectly with the rest of the look, a nice brick red. Still, every few seconds, the light above me would flicker. I convinced myself it was just an old bulb, though it still blinked to my blinking. I put one last clip in my hair, then looked at my full self in the mirror. I have to admit, I looked good. My teal dress had skimpy noodle straps and a fitted waist, then it flowed down to right above my knees. I had wedges on that made me look four inches taller. My hair flowed down my back. My long bangs clipped on each side. I batted my eyelashes and blinked as I walked out the bathroom door, only to find every light in the house blinking with me. I panicked. My breaths were hot and fast, my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to jump right out of my chest. I blinked back tears, but that only made the lights blink even more. Then, all of a sudden a light from the kitchen burst and shattered on the ground. The once whole bulb was now in millions of pieces. My tears stopped so I stopped. I stopped blinking, I stopped breathing so hard, and my heartbeat was back to normal. I took a deep breath and reached out a shaky hand to turn the lights on for real, but I didn’t have too. When I started blinking again, the lights started blinking. Even the fallen light. The glass was shattered and broken, but the light still flickered with me. I screamed only to find the hallway light shattering too. I didn’t know where to go. The lights kept flickering and stopped me from focusing. My only thought was to go outside. I crossed my arms over my head and ran for it. I fumbled for the lock on the door, only to realize that I had locked it, not opened it. Once I slid the lock out of place, I swung the door open and ran outside. My eyes were squeezed shut and I stifled a sob. Eventually I opened my eyes. What I saw made me scream. Last I knew it was 9:00 p.m. Now the sun was up. I blinked rapidly. The sun blinked rapidly. It flickered from day to night, night to day. I was trapped. Trapped in my own world. I looked around, trying to find something, anything. I was tired of seeing the sun come and go. Popping up one second but being gone the next. I slowly got up, wiping my wet teary eyes with the back of my hand and went inside. I didn’t know what time it was, but I went to bed. Once I touched the soft bed with the soft fluffy pillows, my eyes were closed. I had a dream. I was in my bed, though I wasn’t myself. I was something else. I was hungry. Hungry for more. Hungry for more power. I moved closer to the bed. I needed her. She was my way to what I needed. I moved even closer. All I needed was her. She would be my way. I locked my eyes with her closed ones. I am Shormist. Sizing up my prey, I jumped into her body, making us one. My eyes bolted open. I was sweaty but cold. I was also very hungry, but not for a meal. I got out of bed, and steered my way to the front door. It was early morning, still naturally dark. I was willing to let the people keep their sunrise, so I kept my eyes open and alert. I started walking through the neatly trimmed grass, striding down to the sidewalk. I let the people wake up and start getting ready for the new day. More cars made their appearance, along with tired people drinking their morning coffee. I stopped walking at an electrical tower. It stood tall and in charge of all light. I started my climb to the top of the tower, my eyes still open. When I reached the top I saw the eyes of people staring and doubting. I turned towards the tower. It would have to end its power in ruling all light. It would have to work for me. I stared at the tower, willing it to do as I say. I turned to face the town. My hunger was slowly being satisfied, but there was one thing that would make me full. I would be in full rein of all power. No daylight would ever be seen again. I closed my eyes. One fast, cold, hard blink. And that made all dark and all ruled by me, Shormist. I heard them screaming and yelling. Shouting at a teenager to get down, and other harsh words. But this was how it was going to be. Darkness forever. My eyes were still closed as I climbed down the tower, letting my senses carry me. At the bottom some came immediately to see if I was ok. Others thought I was the cause of the eternal darkness, and they were right. “What did you just do?” said, what I sensed was a tall man. “Bill, this girl was not the cause of that!” said a lady with a shrill voice. “Why are your eyes closed? Open them!” “Did you do that?” “What is the cause of this?” And then I spoke. One simple word. “Darkness.” I let my senses make my way up the tower, And when I got to the top, I stayed there for the rest of eternity. I stayed there for eternal darkness. And I stayed there for me, Shormist.


About a month ago, I was in a national health food and fitness store. Among shelves of vitamins, ‘miracle pill’ supplements, exercise equipment and weight training tools, were some self-improvement items. One of these ‘too-good-to-be-true’ things caught my eye. It promised ‘rapid results or your money back’. Now I’m no ordinary fool. I realize most marketing in these situations is just hype, but I did expect the chain store to honor their advertised promise. If the product turned out to be ‘smoke and mirrors’, they said I could bring it back for a full refund. Honestly, I gave it more than the requisite time required and then some. I was also pretty diligent in following all of the instructions. Zip. Nada. If there was any difference, it was negligible. I’d kept my receipt so they couldn’t refuse to honor the stated guarantee; and returned it in ‘like new’ condition. I even took it back to the same store during the return period. I honestly expected no flack from them but was met with CWA. (cashier with attitude). After a few minutes of pointless arguing with her, I gave up and asked to speak to the manager. The CWA just rolled her eyes and yelled to the back of the store. “Rhonda!” When the manager did appear, the experience didn’t really get any more satisfactory. Rhonda held on to the same official policy that the disrespectful cashier had. Pointing to the guarantee on the sign or my receipt made no difference. They were determined to refuse the return; listed policy be damned. It was as if the store profits came directly out of their paychecks. “This just isn’t your year, Rodrigo Velasquez.”; Rhonda deadpanned while noisily smacking her gum. The cashier looked at me with renewed contempt and a satisfied sneer. Obviously she took great pleasure in being backed by her manager. The whole thing was made even more bizarre by the fact that my name is neither ‘Rodrigo’, nor ‘Velasquez’. It was delivered like some well-known sitcom one-liner I was unfamiliar with. I seized my merchandise off the counter and left in a huff but I was far from ‘done’, or defeated. I intended to take it to ‘the next level’. Finding their website was easy enough but locating the complaint number to call was not. Corporate culture does all it can to discourage person-to-person dialogue. They’d much rather you send an email and wait for a response (when they get around to it), or for you to ‘talk’ to a ‘virtual assistant’. Obfuscation is the order of the day. The more difficult they can make it, the less problems they have to deal with in real time. They aren’t counting on anyone being determined or taking their patronage elsewhere (but in this case), they picked ‘the wrong guy’. Finally I found a customer service number and called. Not surprisingly, there was a labyrinth of automated menu prompts to wade through. “We’ll be with you very shortly, Mr. Velasquez.”; It soothed. As you might imagine, hearing that did the opposite of soothing me. It baffled and magnified my anger. Why would their corporate headquarters think I was someone else (from my phone number); and why would the local store employees say what they did? It was completely bonkers. To be misidentified twice was bad enough but for the store manager to be dismissively rude on top of it all, was too much. I was prepared to give the first human who answered, a piece of my mind. Adding insult to injury, an automated message came on after a dozen recorded loops and said: “I’m sorry Mr. Velasquez, this just isn’t your year. Our call volume is too high. Please try again later.” In past years when telephones had a separate cradle to hang the receiver on, I might have slammed it down in disgust. Instead, I had to curb my fury and vent in other ways. I’d just wasted 30 minutes of my life to no end. Instead of getting satisfaction, I walked away angrier. Admittedly, it was a huge setback. I set aside my failed return until I had the energy to try again. Instead I decided to leave the house and get something to eat. With any luck a nice meal would help me forget my frustration. At the restaurant, I stood at the maître d’ podium to be seated. The host approached me with an odd expression. “Good evening Mr. Velasquez.... unfortunately this isn’t your...” I could scarcely believe my ears! My heart raced. The world was turning upside down. “Year?”; I responded in bewilderment. Although his demeanor was both professional and apologetic, he didn’t have to finish. I’d heard the nonsensical refrain enough to know what came next. I didn’t try to argue or prove who I was. I simply turned and left. ‘Henri’ tried to make some gesture of conciliation but what was the point? He wasn’t even trying to accommodate me. He was trying to accommodate ‘Rodrigo Velasquez’; whoever the hell that was. Disillusioned, I drove around for hours trying to make sense of the madness. It was as if there was some insidious form of mass psychosis infecting the air. Every person I encountered thought I was someone else and they all took a certain level of pleasure that things were not going my way. It occurred to me that it might be a simple case of mistaken identity. I did an internet search. Page after page of haunting personal images starred back at me. ‘Rodrigo’ certainly could have been my twin. Finally I understood the confusion! It would seem that this guy wasn’t liked at all. I vowed to clear up the confusion with the next person who mistook me for him. It wasn’t long before I had the opportunity to set matters straight. “My Velasquez. I need you to put your car in park and exit the vehicle. I have a warrant for your arrest.” I complied with the officer’s request and got out of the car immediately but didn’t want to verbally correct him. Instead I started to reach for my wallet and pull out my ID. That was a huge mistake! Unfortunately he took it as an aggressive move to go for a weapon. Before I knew what hit me, a 9mm slug ripped through my body and I collapsed down to the asphalt. My wallet fell from my hand and flew open beside me. As I lay there bleeding profusely from an deadly gunshot wound, my eyes fixated on the nearest thing to my body. My driver’s license. I read the perplexing words on my ID several times, trying to make sense of things before the end came. ‘Rodrigo Velasquez’ 1412 Aspen Circle Port Richie, Florida “This just isn’t your year, is it Rodrigo?”; The cop shouted in adrenalized indignation. I had no choice but to agree. It was definitely not my year.


Dr. William Nest was a hardworking scientist, working for a secret government science division titled, L.S.W.V (Laboratory for Studying and Weaponizing of Viruses). It was a huge underground facility, reaching depths of 7km in the ground. Dr. Nest and his team were working on a program titled Operation Primeval, in which they had to forge a virus, that would access a human’s evolutionary rage and allow the host to use the rage in a controlled manner, simultaneously blocking pain and allowing the host to inflict as much damage to it’s opponent as possible. But they could not find any suitable viruses for the program. In a recent expedition to Lake Vostok, Antarctica. They drilled and brought back some ancient samples of Bacterium and Viruses. Dr. Nest was put in charge of handling the package. He studied the oldest sample, one dating to the Late Cretaceous Period, around the time early humans were evolving. The virus seemed to be able to bring out anger and rage in any host it possessed, the same sort of anger Operation Primeval needed. Fascinated, William selected the virus for the program and started experimenting on it. The doctor thought the virus would be able to gain access to a human’s evolutionary rage by modifying some aspects of a human’s DNA and thereby, allowing the brain to tap into it. The identification of the virus possessing a host was an increased dilation of pupils in the host, low breathing pattern and a somewhat calm demeanour to take hold. However, all the hosts it possessed went mad with the power, as they were not able to control it and died. Causes of death were increased injuries, strokes and inflammation in the brain. Seemingly, without its hosts, the virus seemed to be alive. So, Nest decided to contain the virus in a capsule and placed it in a safe. Unbeknown to him, word had gotten out about the program, which reached the ears of The Raptors, a secret service hell-bent on causing as much chaos as possible. The Raptors, thought by cloning and releasing the virus into the public, it would cause the mayhem they desire. So, they launched an attack on the facility. They took out the guards and the scientists that were working there. Dr. Nest was tending to the virus when he found out about the attack. He alerted the military of the attack and they set of for the base. However, it would take them an hour to reach. Knowing what they were there for, he took the capsule and tried to descend into the lower levels. The Raptors soldiers found Nest and trapped him in the Incubation room. They threatened to kill him if he did not give them what they want. Knowing his fate, he swallowed the capsule, allowing the virus to access his body. Almost instantaneously, the virus took hold , evident by his dilated pupils, and quickly dispatched the terrorists in the room by means of breaking one’s arm and using his gun to kill the rest and finishing him off by smashing his skull on the floor. By the time, the military reached, Dr. Nest had wiped the invaders out in a brutal manner. The soldiers found him unconscious and bloodstained near a pile of corpses. When he came to the next day, he was in hysterics. He told his nurse that the virus had spoken to him in his mind. William told her that the virus had killed his previous host because they were not ‘suitable’ for its purpose. William started to become more hysterical as he explained that the virus had began to take control of his body and soon it would have him under control. Then he started to violently contort. The terrified nurse called the doctors, who quickly sedated him. They brought him to an MRI. Their scans revealed that the virus had indeed taken control of his brain and they had to remove it at all costs. The doctors performed an eleven-hour surgery, and successfully removed it. William woke up the next day, completely fine and healthy. Some physical and mental test were done, in which he passed. Noticing no problems in him, the staff discharged him. At night William Nest was called to the military base where he talked with Major Braxton, discussing the scrapping of Operation Primeval and agreed on the virus’s elimination. As soon as they closed the file however, a soldier standing nearby pulled out his gun and took the Doctor hostage, demanding he be given the file to replicate the virus. The Major was about to shoot the soldier when the lights went out. Braxton raised alarm and the area was searched. However, the Doctor and the soldier were nowhere to be found. Braxton noticed a blood trail leading outside the complex and followed it. He found the soldier’s body, which had been decapitated and had been relieved of all it’s appendages. The soldier’s head had a look of fear on it. The Doctor was standing there, in the darkness. His hands were bloodstained, and a smile was on his face. The Major took William back inside where he explained what happened. William explained that he and the virus had made a deal. William will allow the virus to stay if they both co-existed in his brain. The virus had agreed to this. William volunteered to use his newfound aggression to protect and defend others. So, the UN created a secret organisation, with Nest at the head, meant to combat threats around the globe, using genetically enhanced people.


"Why have you called me here, brother?" Death whispered, irritated beyond measure. "There's a plague ravaging central Africa, I'm quite busy you know." Life simply extended his wooded hand to his left, patting the side of the mountain's edge beside him, beckoning his sister to sit with him. "I know." He said, quietly. "This won't take long, I promise." Death hesitated, wondering what could be so important that would halt the life-death cycle that day, she looked behind her at the Ferryman, tempted to simply leave and get back to work. The Ferryman nodded to her. She sighed and relented, sitting beside her brother, looking upon the towns and villages below, watching for a moment the daily lives of the tiny people they both cared for before Life spoke once more: "I'm dying, sister." Death snapped out of her day dream and looked at her brother, he did not meet her gaze, instead looking mournfully at the people below. "But that's not-" Death started before Life interrupted her "Look at me. I've changed have I not?" Death looked at her brother more closely, he was right, where he once had flowers budding across his body, there were only a few wilted stems, the right-most horn adorning his head was broken and parts of his left leg were charred. Death raised her head and met his gaze, his once glowing, amber eyes were sunken and pale. Life reached out to his sister and brushed the tear from her cheek. He turned his head slowly back towards the setting sun. "I don't have long. I'm sorry, sister. Do not scorn them for what they are doing, we promised father that we would care for them. Some of them remember, some of them still practice what they were taught long ago; how to give back a little of what they take. Those few are what sustain me, those few and that which hasn't yet been cut, killed or burned, but it won't be long. Once I'm gone you'll have much more work to do so please don't get too stressed." Death continued to look at her brother's wilted figure, she knew that she couldn't save him, not now. "Is there anything I can do?" She whimpered, brushing another tear from her eye. Life raised his branch-like hand and showed her two of his fingers, "firstly, when I'm gone, I want you to bury me somewhere nice, somewhere fertile. That way I may regrow one day once the dark days have passed." Death nodded as she knew of such a place. "Lastly..." Life took her hand and squeezed, gently. "Would you watch the sunset with me?" Death nodded once more and lowered her hood, exposing her red eyes and flowing black hair to the setting sun. They both watched as the distant star slowly disappeared below the horizon beyond before death felt her brother's grip loosen. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, one final tear escaping and dropping off the edge of the cliff. She looked over to her brother, his sunken eyes finally closed with a smile on his countenance. The Ferryman approached, bowing respectfully. "My lady, shall I carry him aboard?" Death raised her hood once more and nodded to her faithful companion, she watched as he carefully picked him up and set him down in the ferry. "You go on" she whispered. "I need a moment..." The Ferryman bowed once more and stepped into the ferry, lighting the lantern and picking up his oar. Though there was no water atop the mountain, the ferry glided through the air, gently rocking as if small waves were lapping against the sides. Death turned back towards the sunset, towards the towns and villages below and sat back down at the cliffs edge. "That plague can wait a while longer...


I look out the window of my cabin. The darkness seemed thicker more overbearing. Any light that was coming from the cabin was being consumed by the darkness. Edging itself closer to the cabin, slowly engulfing everything around it. There was no moonlight, no sky, just darkness. I turn to see my husband carrying our son up the stairs to bed. I call out to him, "I think the weather is going to turn for the worst," but he ignores me. Something is different. I can't remember getting back to the cabin, the last thing I remember is being in the car with my husband and my son and big bright lights. I go to the window to check for rain. All of a sudden my attention gets drawn to a group of trees that seemed untouched by the darkness. A dark figure appears by one of the trees, it begins to move out of the darkness, towards the cabin. I step back from the window, I call for my husband but I get no answer. I run up the stairs, into my son's room but my husband wasn't there. I walk over to check on my son, he seemed pale. I touched his face which seemed deathly cold. He looked peaceful and happy so I tucked the blanket snuggly around him. As I walk back downstairs, I call for my husband but still no answer. I walk over to the window. “What I saw was just my imagination,” I keep saying to myself. I look out the window, I start to hear voices calling me from the darkness. “can you hear us?” “can you hear us?” “come back to us.” A state of panic and fear take over me. I start screaming for my husband, but still no answer. I go to check the time but the clock in the sitting room was stopped. I start running around the house checking all the clocks, but they were all stopped at the same time (9.00PM). Still screaming for my husband and getting no answer I run upstairs to my son's room. To my horror, he is not in his bed. I start frantically searching the house for my son, no sign of him with tears streaming down my face I run back down to the window. I look out to the clearing in the woods. Only to see a ghastly looking woman staring right at me, grinning menacingly at me while gesturing to someone to come to her. I look to my left to see who she was calling too. I see my husband carrying my sleeping child towards the woman. I start banging on the window screaming for my husband to come back. As I'm screaming my son awakes as his father is carrying him, he looks at me and smiles and waves. I start screaming his name, pleading for them to come back to me. But the darkness just engulfs them and they disappear into the darkness. My knees buckle and I crash to the floor. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through my body, then another one. As the electricity flowed through my body a bright light blinds me. I hear that voice again, the voice I heard in the darkness. “can you hear us?.” Scared and confused I start coming around to my senses. I look to my left and I see a clock that reads ( 9.00 PM). I look up to a doctor shining a light in my eyes. I feel a searing pain shoot through my body. I cry for my son and my husband. I hear the voice again. “You were in an accident. You were hit, head on by a truck, you're lucky to be alive.” I cry out for my husband and son again. I feel someone take my hand. “I am so sorry, they didn't make it.” It's been a month now since the accident and I sit here all alone in my cabin, I walk over to the window. I look out amongst the trees and there she is dancing between the shadows of the trees waiting for me. Forever calling me.


Ancient greece was a peaceful place. There wasn’t much going on, and war was very rare. There was a very old forest in a village in Southern Athens that was rumored to have been there since the beginning of time and the world itself. It was also said to have an ancient beast that would come out every 44 years, for a whole year, and rampage the whole village. However, the beast hadn’t come out yet, leading many people to believe that it had died. Many years passed, and the beast still didn’t come. Eventually after a while a young boy was born. He was named Erichdymes (eric-die-mes). When he was ten years old he learned how to fight, and even successfully fought off an invasion when he was eighteen years old. By then the legend of the forest had died off. Most people who remembered it were very old, and lived in the village’s house for the old. Along with Erichdymes on the villages defense team were: Theoclymenus (theo-climb-neus), Odious, and Aeolus. They were all head leaders of some division of the town’s defenses. Erichdymes led the cavalry, and was head leader of the town’s defenses as a whole. Theoclymenus led the archers, Odious led the swordsmen, and Aeolus led the navy. Erichdymes was laying in bed one morning, when he heard a horn from the tower. He got up as soon as possible, and got his armor on. The horn meant that there was an intruder of some kind. “Hello there, Erichdymes.” said Odious. “Good morning, what do you reckon the intruder is?” he replied with. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps that Spartan village again?” Odious said back to him. Erichdymes said bye to his friend, and went to gather the cavalry. He then went on the watchtower to see what was coming. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was one solitary being, a beast to be exact. It was rushing towards the village at a tremendous speed. The thing had huge horns, and was flaring fire from it’s snout. He gave a call to the ground below, “Hold off the attack! The “intruder” appears to be an animal!” All the forces below obeyed his call. He kept watching. It was coming from the forest. “Since when has that been there?” he said to himself. “For many years.” said a voice behind him. Erichdymes jumped. He looked behind him and saw a frail old man. “What do you know old man?” he said, in a mocking tone. “A long time ago there was a legend that every 44 years a ferocious beast would come out for a whole year, and rampage the city. It flared fire from it’s snout, and had horns that could be seen from miles away. He had never came out in my lifetime, but adults told stories of when he did. Eventually they forgot about it, and assumed the beast had died. I always remembered to keep it written down, for if the beast were to come.” The old man replied. This worried Erichdymes. What could he do? While he thought, the gods were watching down upon the city. “It seems Thaulos is back at his tricks again.” Zeus said, with a half smile. “I was wondering when he would come.” he continued. “Shall we do anything about it?” said Athena. “Remember when he went to rampage a bunch of cities, and we had to interfere. What if this happens again?” she asked. “It won’t, trust me.” Zeus said. Little did he know that Thaulos had been gone for so long for a reason. He had been training. Thaulos had built up enough energy to be able to stay out of his forest for years at a time. Not only that, but he could do this in twelve year intervals. This made for a dangerous and deadly combo that would allow him to wreak havoc and destruction wherever he went. Thaulos finally reached the city. By then Erichdymes had informed the town’s defenses of what was going on. They had built up cavalry outside of the cities walls, and had archers lined up on the towers. The navy was not needed, but was at the ocean incase they needed to evacuate the citizens, which were on board the boats. The swordsmen lined the city. Erichdymes talked with his friends. “How are you feeling about the upcoming battle?” Odious asked Erichdymes. “Nervous,” he replied. “We’ve never faced such a huge threat before.” Odious agreed. “It’ll be easy.” Aeolus said. “How so?” Erichdymes asked. “There’s one enemy, tons of us.” Aeolus answered. “Have you heard what he can do?” Erichdymes asked Aeolus. “Whatever.” Aeolus replied, dropping the subject. Theoclymenus stood silent, almost in shock. “What’s wrong Theoclymenus?” Odious asked. Theoclymenus was still silent. He just pointed. The rest of them realized what was going on, and took action. A fire had broken out in the center of town, and soldiers were clumping up in the area. They had forgotten about what was happening because they were so busy talking. They started fighting the beast. The fight went on for hours. By now most of the center of the town was burnt to a crisp. Thaulos had moved on to the east side. Soldiers were dying one by one. Erichdymes made the executive call to evacuate the city. Aeolus said goodbye to his friends, and hopped on his boat. Erichdymes kept on fighting. Night fell, but the remaining soldiers had to stay strong. The death toll was adding up and up. The fire had engulfed the east, west, center, and south. The remaining soldiers were left to fight in the north. Day came, and the war was over. Thaulos had won. He had killed every soldier, except for one. Erichdymes was able to hide in a secret tunnel he had made. He waited a couple of hours before he got out. Eventually he got out to look at the destruction done to the place he had grown up in. It was all gone, not a single living thing around. The trees and grass had burnt up, and were still black from the previous fires. Erichdymes was able to figure out what direction Thaulos had gone in. He prayed to Zeus, and left to find him. Zeus was pleased by his prayers, so he left a horse with a saddle, and a sword and supplies on his trail. Erichdymes saw the horse, and took that as sign that Zeus was on his side. He thanked Zeus, and went north. Meanwhile on Mount Olympus, Zeus and Hera were having a heated conversation. “You have to do something about that beast! You saw what it did to that city!” Hera yelled at Zeus. “I stand by my word; I can not interfere with mortal problems.” He replied in a stern tone. “Fine, then I will.” Hera said, in an angry tone. “Oh no you won’t. If I catch you doing anything about this, I will condemn you to the deepest and darkest pits of hell, do you understand? I will do something if he gets out of control, just me, nobody else!” He yelled. Hera slumped off, disappointed. Back on earth things were getting heated. Thaolus had almost reached the capital of Athens. Erichdymes was not far behind. Erichdymes was known well throughout Athens for being one of the best swordsman, and was well respected. He knew a shortcut to the capitol building. He took it, and before he knew it, he was speaking with the king of Athens. “Oh!” The king said as Erichdymes popped out. “What a pleasant surprise, what seems to be the problem my dear friend? Sorry about my untidiness, I wasn’t expecting guests. I also see that you’ve brought a horse. Lasso it up over there and then we’ll talk.” The king told his friend. Erichdymes did as he was told and told the king everything. The king ordered an evacuation of the city, and readied the army. The battle was about to begin. Thaulos broke through the city wall with the might of a 1,000 boulders falling during a landslide. It wasn’t long before a fire broke out. Zeus watched from above. He didn’t interfere until he saw something that angered him very much. Thaulos was about to ram into the temple where they prayed to the gods. Zeus couldn’t let this happen; he had to intervene. Athen’s army down below was about to lose until something magical happened. Thaulos was lifted into the sky, so far until he reached space. They surely thought this was an act of Zeus. Thaulos was just as amazed, but also angry at the same time. Once he had reached the stars, Zeus made him bigger. He strung his arms together so he couldn’t escape. “For all the trouble you’ve caused, you’ll be forced to watch upon these mortals for eternity, as they laugh in your failure.” Zeus told the beast. Thaulos was angered at the thought of this. He let out a huge jet of fire and flame. Zeus laughed heavily, in a cold way. “I knew you’d do that, so here’s this...” Zeus created an invisible coating around the Earth. When the flame reached Earth, it bounced back at him, setting Thaulos ablaze. Zeus then created the god of light, Apollo. This was so he could watch over Thaulos in case he was to cause mischief. The day after the king of Athens called a state wide prayer to Zeus in thankfulness for saving them. Zeus was pleased by this, so in return he made the grass that was burned full of life, and ready to grow new crops. The devastation caused by Thaulos was tremendous, and took years to rebuild. Erichdymes found his naval fleet resting in a northern city at Athens. He told them that the king of Athens, in thanks for warning him, had rebuilt their city, and that they could come back. The tale of Thaulos the wicked beast and his destruction has lived on for years as a tale that shows evildoers get punished, not rewarded.


Four men looked out at the world from the ledge of a high mountain and they, one to another, asked, ‘How was it that this came to be?’ The first man, dressed in red, stepped before his colleagues and said to them, ‘Is it not abundantly clear that all the land before us was created by the higher powers? I believe that god looked down upon the formless and gave it form, creating all that we know today. And from this god, we were granted our higher reason and logic, and with that, it is our ability and duty to praise him for giving to us life.’ And after he had said these things, the second man, dressed in yellow, began to speak, ‘Nay, I would say that the world was not created by mindless superstition. Rather, the world was created by the random formation of a ball of rock in the zone of habitation around our sun. The world then shifted to become habitable, gaining dirt from which the plants would grow, which in turn fed the animals that evolved. Science allows us to take a look at the past and see it for what it really was, not one veiled in myth.’ After the second man had said these things, the third man stepped forward. He, dressed in green, began to speak, ‘Please my brothers, stay your tongues. Let us not talk of this, but rather get off of the mountain. Can you not see that the ledge we stand on is not fixed, but instead is fleeting?’ But even as he spoke these words, the fourth man pushed him aside, telling him to be silent. In turn, the third man walked away from the ledge, back onto the mountain. Then, the fourth man, dressed in white, spoke, ‘There is no need to fight. Hold your venom to yourself for you cannot know. We have no evidence for either being true, but only faith. The god you speak of may be real, and the science you speak of may be true, but we can never know. Please, accept this fact that god might exist and that science may be true, and be done with the matter.’ Yet, despite all of these sayings, the three men on the ledge could not stop arguing. They could not accept that the others believe something different, and the sound of the rock ledge cracking could not be heard over their verve. And as they spat their venom, the rock shifted, and the men fell as the third man watched from afar.


The Last Will and Testament: Before we move any further, I should inform you that if there’s anything else you wish to complete, go do so immediately. You won’t have much time left. Taste every breathe, scream all the air out and bring it back in again, feel whatever life you can before it’s drained out of you. Try to reach a piece of peace. Tell others the truths you've been secreting. I am not sure of the exact timing of it all- or even the exact cause of it. You might have days left or only seconds. You might be overwhelmed by a virus, or technology, or perhaps some eldritch horror. In the beginning, I was worried how anyone would even discover this will- once I am truly gone. Dead. But then, I remembered how everything related to that demon is never quite right. I imagine this paper will just be slipped through time, below a door or into a mailbox or down the covers of your bed in a million different little screams. I think they would enjoy it, the added tension of it all. You will at first dismiss me as a lunatic. Oh, what a gift a lack of lucidity would be. Or to age at all, in fact. If my body ever got around to being autopsied, at first it will just seem like your ordinary 30-year old, a J. Doe struck down in the prime of life. Until they notice the frozen blood with centuries-old viruses lurking inside. Until they realize that what was first assumed to be organs, a heart, lungs, liver, were simply clever replicas made in plastic. And that the only true part of mine left was my brain, rotted away from centuries ago with decaying maggots pupating inside. A pact was made. With an entity, some devil, some death, some Cthulu. In the end, the name never had importance, the archetype is the same; The End of All. My body would be the first key; they had dealt me the chance to begin the ultimate last. Quickly, I snatched it up. Oh yes, Armageddon, the decimation, the devastation, the annihilation, The End of All. Let us get on our knees and pray, let us burn and pillage our lands, let us sacrifice and loot and be terrified by ourselves. Well, we all make dumb mistakes when we are young, don’t we? In your youth- when your trust in humanity first slowly crumbles underneath you. When you first come across that concept of pure selfishness- the complete unfairness of life. That initial understanding that the universe cares not for you, or what you have created, indeed, they don’t even consider you as a concept. Oh, when that perfect void of the utter uselessness first envelops you, soaks you in, has you become just one of its trillions of lost souls. Ones that are so plentiful that you asphyxiate on your own normalcy. You know that feeling, of course. Anyone would do the same, in that situation. I repeat to myself that anyone would have done the same. So, egotist that I was, I made the sacrifice, I branded myself, I crucified humanity, and was proud for it. Think of all the pain I prevented. Think of all the suffering I stopped. Then I waited- And I waited- Until my own stupidity mocked me with its evidence. Until I wiped the mist of self-obsession from my own eyes and saw the world from a perspective that was not my cursed own. Until I unwittingly learned to care for another- and then another- and another. Until, by extension, I finally understood that our own intricacies and importance are not subtracted from by our multitude. Until I realized how much I had truly doomed everything and everyone. I prayed to a God that I knew did not exist for my consciousness to just end. For my me to end. To become nothing but dust and rotted flesh and flies, so I wouldn’t have to consider myself with such disdain any longer. Then I waited for mercy- And I waited for mercy- I spent a century seeing the same events happen over and over, again and again. I spent another just trying to understand the patterns they created. There were decades consumed watching waves slowly eat away at the coastline, of feeling the mountains grow and shrink beneath me. I sank into the ocean only for it to raise me up. I burnt out so much time in volcanoes that my skin will never lose that charred, aching feeling- regardless of how my exterior appears. Eventually, there was a forgiveness, but I don’t know precisely when. Eventually I told myself that whatever force I did sign with could have done this regardless. It was a joke, really. It’s all a joke, if you don’t think about it hard enough. There is a sick irony to it all. That every generation wishes they were the last, every age prophecies and hopes and wonders and seems determined that this is the highest they could possibly go. Everything must be so much worse after this, because of course, who could do better? And I watch all of them, laughing, because I- the cause, don't even know that expiration date. Because I have seen their same society begin and end a hundred different times. I know this is unfair of me- I have spent too long in life, and he has made me unfair. I’ve had so much time, truly too much time, to be confronted with this. Yes, I know you must also need time, but there’s precious few left. Yes, I know that’s unfair. Go panic and go through your eight stages of grief if you must, but if you can, come back to sanity. Because we always tend to become the very monsters we have nightmares of. This end is just like the volcanoes really, the end of us, but not of all. We mark the skies with it, it destroys our land and futures, and yet, there is creation. It’s just not our creation. I’ve lived through so much, have seen so much, and I know now what I did not when the pact was made; that this is just another part of the cycle. In the end, they always think a knowledge will be revealed to them. A truth, no- The Truth, to everything. But- in that end, Armageddon will be the same process as the bloody birth of a child. Screaming and pain and blood, only for a sudden quietness and the start of anew. We circle around and around ourselves and then call it original. The only secret that is revealed in the end is that there is no such thing as original. The evils we conjure up are misunderstood in their intentions. Yes, institutions fail, kingdoms fall, all people, even I- will die. Writing that now, a shiver rushes down my spine- some instinctual terror laid deep in my genes that I’m yet to be rid of. Even now, when I'm so ready for my own ultimate last. We were never the only ones. There were billions that created us, and billions that will come after. There always were- Our end will be a beginning for others- that is the secret. If you can, please take comfort in that. If you can- forgive, make amends, gather your loved ones close, and- then wait. Perhaps we will be allowed to see the start. Perhaps it will be a better one than our own.


The Beast The beast had ransacked the village the past three full moons, it turns out the third one was not the charm as the beast had been wounded. This is all the information I had gathered when I had accepted to hunt this beast. I had originally come to spend my previously acquired wealth for my assistance in the sacking of a nobles fortress. I heard a group of nearby villagers whispering among themselves arguing who would be the one to approach me. A thin sickly woman stepped forward “You’re a knight with no Lord correct.” her voice shook, she looked up as she finished speaking the candle lights exposed her red and swollen eyes. “Whatever has left you teary-eyed and lion-hearted I can kill it.... If the coins are heavy enough”. A man stepped forward handing a sack of reasonable size to me, I arranged a carriage for myself and belongings back to the king’s capital with the Innkeeper. I told the villagers to take me to where the beast had escaped over the village wall. Stone laid scattered across the rooftops and roads of the village. The stone wall of the village stood 25 feet tall. I could tell whatever beast had leaped this wall did so in about three strides of its body. Judging by that I could tell the beast was at least 8 feet in height and had large powerful claws on all four extremities. I mounted my horse and galloped him to the opposite side of the wall. There it began the trail of blood. The excessive pooling at 12 feet from the wall told me that at this location he had removed the arrow from his body or at least broken the shaft of it. It was here I looked up at the village wall to see a gathering of people at one of the turrets. “I shall consider what you have paid me a deposit in good faith. I will hunt the beast that torments you and I will relieve you of his existence. Consider the time it takes me to do so and return with proof as an opportunity to gather the rest of my payment”. I yelled through clasped hands pressed to my face to amplify my voice in these winds. A tall frail bald man stepped forward and shouted back “Aye we can agree to those terms if you don’t return your other half could double as payment to the next mercenary”. I kicked my horse and brought him into a steady gallop towards the tree line. I followed my scarlet bread crumbs about 40 miles by sundown. The beast trail had gone cold the blood stopped as did the tracks whatever this was had vanished. I leaped from my horse and landed in the soft dirt. “What the fuck are you?” I said quietly aloud. A beast bleeding that was at least 8 feet in height with claws powerful enough to tear through the stone of a village wall. Just simply vanished. No more claw tracks, no blood. He must have reached this point by daytime I thought he must have rested here and cleaned up his tracks. But could an animal or beast capable of such savagery be capable of such awareness to clean his tracks? To clean and tend its wounds? I shook the questions from my head and began to set up camp. As I slept that night my mind stayed awake questioning exactly what it was I was tracking. I awoke the air felt crisp and stung my nose, as i rose from my tent I could see it had begun to snow in the early morning. I scurried my things into a pack and began to ride thinking ill follow the first tracks I find. I soon found tracks but something was startling about them. These animal tracks had no claws and there were only two. These tracks I had encountered were from a man no other animal could leave tracks like these. I rode for three more miles before I finally reached a man traveling. It was past mid-day maybe as I approached this man I realized he was walking shirtless an odd choice considering the constant snow since day-break. “Hello there,” I yelled from a distance. The man turned startled and said, “ My goodness Sir you frightened me. My horse threw me and I’ve been on foot for days.” “Seems your horse has better sense than you. There's a beast about my friend, I may escort you out the woods if you can afford that,” I said in a normal speaking voice as I had ridden alongside the man now. I could hardly contain my excitement of double-dipping payment for protection from the beast. “I guess its luck that you found me before the beast then Sir, I can pay you upon arrival to my home,” The shirtless man said “Hop upon my horse we will head for a clearing and make camp ahead I will try to hunt us some food,” I said confidently to the shirtless man. The man rode behind me until we found a suitable camping spot. I left him behind and managed to shoot two rabbits with my bow. We sat opposite each other as I prepared the rabbits for roasting. It was early evening the sky was purple and stillness had settled over the landscape as the creatures sheltered from the fresh snow that had fallen. I finally took the time to study this man and realized this shirtless man was not shirtless. His pants were lifted making them rise up at the ankles, and sit just below his chest and holding them in place his shirt was rolled and tied firmly enough to restrict his breathing.“Your horse he left you injured,” I said gesturing to his makeshift bandaging. “Oh this yes Sir I took quite a fall I had been walking for about a half a day before you found me,” The shirtless man said gleefully. “I promise to pay you as soon as we arrive at my home”. “Yes, I will take any precious items you can acquire as payment my friend as the circumstances are especially dire as a beast roams these lands. He stands at least 8 feet tall and ravages villages with ease destroying everything and everyone in its path”. I said in a low growling voice to really sell the value of my services. The man’s eyes widened “ I’ve heard such stories in my lifetime Sir a large furry beast who comes under the full moon. With the ability to eat a man limb by limb. Jump building to building. Even withstand strikes from blades and arrows. Surely you are scared of such an animal.” “Ha, I am a man of battle. I've killed beasts and men for no other reason than a payment. These coins I carry and kill to acquire are nothing more than souvenirs to me. I live for the hunt and the destruction of those in my way,” I stood and turned away from the fire staring at the sky, clouds had settled above us.“I’m sure glad a brave man like you had found an old injured man such as myself I would have never been able to hunt that beast. Surely I would become the hunted”. The shirtless man said his voice shaking with fear. “ Don’t worry my friend I will protect you and those who inhabit these woods from this beast. I will hunt it until its demise”. A gust blew past my face moving the clouds above revealing a bright full moon. “ I don’t think you’ll be hunting tonight my friend,” followed by a low guttural growl coming from behind me.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning for round two, welcome! This is the perfect time for you to join in on the fun, as we re-launch ‘Serial Saturday’ to better suit all of our readers and writers out there. We’ve heard your feedback, and our hope is to make this feature useful to writers of all genres, backgrounds, and skill levels. To our returning Serial Saturday participants, we hope you’ve had a wonderful break and are ready to dive back in. As we’ve made a few changes, please remember to read the entire post before submitting!   ***   #This week's theme is Secrets! As we get into the larger theme of “hidden” for the month of February, we’re going to begin with secrets. What unexpected truths lie beneath the surface? What secrets have your characters been keeping? This doesn’t have to be the big reveal of your story. They can be small secrets if that better suits your story. Maybe something has been digging at your character’s soul for a long time and it’s really weighing on them. How does it affect their behavior? Would the revelation of these things destroy their lives or their world? The interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: We recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week we will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * February 7- Secrets (this week) * February 14- Illusion * February 28- Surprise   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 7pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story.   ***   #The Rules: * All top-level comments must be a story. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * Your story must be written for this post. You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but we encourage you to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post will not be allowed. * Your story should be 500-850 words. Use to check your word count. * While the name has changed to “Serial Sunday”, the deadline is still 7pm the following Saturday. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. If not, our bot won’t recognize your serial installments. * Submissions are limited to one serial submission from each author per week. * Each author must leave a comment on at least 2 other stories during the course of the week. That comment should include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail!   ***   #Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * You can nominate your favorite stories each week. Send me a message on discord, reddit, or through modmail and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfires to make nominations. * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules).


Dear B, I remember the first time I saw you in our apartment while you were putting your chair together in our living room and I couldnt help but think to myself what an attractive guy you were. Such a warm cute smile, thick dark eyebrows, dirty blonde hair, tall athletic figure and the most beautiful blue eyes; the kind that make you nervous to look at because they’re just so intense. I remember how shy you were and how out of place you seemed being in such a different environment from your hometown. Your voice intrigued me as I was curious to know the story behind your inability to pronounce rhotic r’s. I couldn’t wait to get to know you better as I had so many questions. Our upbringings were so different yet somehow we ended up living together under the same roof and that intrigued me. You were so kind and genuine with not just me but everyone around you that I knew we would be great friends from the beginning. As the school year progressed some of the best time of my week were the times that I spent with you. I would look forward to coming home just to see that little smile of yours and to be greeted with your warm hello. And when you weren’t home when I came back from class your comfy bed would make me feel closer to you even though you weren’t there. I remembered how much I wished that you weren’t straight and how much I resented the feelings of attraction that I had for you especially since you had a girlfriend. However I wanted you to be happy above all else which is why I would go out of my way to make the time that you had with her special. I longed for what she had but I knew that I couldn’t have you but at least I could be your friend. Although those feelings persisted for almost the whole year we lived together with varying degrees of infatuation I never seriously considered that it was something that I should act upon. However the way I felt about you completely changed the weekend that you came to visit me at my home and we had the place to ourselves. Perhaps it was the alcohol or drugs but it was in that intoxicated blur of a weekend that I realized that I truly cared and loved you. You made me feel safe and comforted and I wanted our time together to be infinite. When we were together that weekend I felt bliss. And I can vividly remember that Friday night where we professed our (unfortunately) platonic love for each other and how happy I was to have you in my life. I wish I could’ve kissed you in that moment... but you wouldn’t have liked it so I kept my feelings to myself. When you left to go home that Monday I felt empty, like a part of me was missing and I missed you so much that I had to go bike to my friends house and rant about you and these conflicting feelings I was having. After some contemplation and once I had collected my thoughts a bit better I was able to come to the conclusion that it was never meant to be and it was better left as something to ignore.


Born in 1880 in Long Island, Paul Jerome Barry discovered a passion for painting at an early age. As his parents were rather well to do and open-minded, they let him follow his inclination, and he Studied Fine Arts in 1902 at the Chase School in New York, under two renowned painters of the time, namely William M. Chase and Robert Henri. Robert Henri’s teachings and experience gave him the urge to go to France, where everything was happening at the time. He moved to Paris in 1903, at 23 years of age. Everything was new and wonderful to Paul, Paris was everything he had hoped for and more, it was buzzing with the excitement of the new century and the avant-garde of art was making bold strides. One of the first French painters he met there was Narcisse Guilbert from Rouen, in Normandy. He was a handsome and elegant man with a bright palette who was two years his senior. Paul was impressed with Narcisse’s work and learned that the all of the Painters from the Rouen Fine Arts School were considered as rebels, and that the school was led by artists that rejected the artistic conventions of the time. All of this pleased Paul. Narcisse invited him to take a trip to Normandy with him, and so it was that Paul found himself in Honfleur, in the bording house of Mme Simone Barbeau in September 1903. Simone’s husband André was a sailor, and went on long trips, usually for at least three or four months. He was hard working and realistic. Simone kept the boarding house, and had gained a steady clientele from the artists who came to Honfleur. She would rent for a day, a week, a month, or longer. She was known to everyone in town and her house almost always had a few painters living in it. André thought that painting wasn’t a man’s job, or a real job, but didn’t mind painters as clients, as long as they paid their room and board. André and Simone had only one child, Lucas, born in 1891. Lucas was a handsome and likable boy with a constant smile who laughed often, but he worried his parents. As a baby, and then through the passing years, Lucas didn’t speak at all. He simply refused to utter a word, and he was distant, as if dreaming all of the time. He was able to do tasks, and he apparently understood everything when spoken to, and so he helped his mother with all of her work. While he laughed often, sometimes his parents wondered what he was laughing at. Because of his strangeness and communication difficulties, André and Simone decided that it was better that he not go to school, to not be singled out and picked on by the other kids. He surprised them one day at 6 years of age, when he came to them with a simple question, written with charcoal on a small piece of paper with perfect grammar and spelling. He was just asking for a pencil and some paper to draw on. He started communicating with them only by writing, and they discovered that he had learned to read and write by himself, using whatever he could find to read. From then on, they gave him pencils and paper and he started scribbling, but his scribbles were not haphazard, although they looked as such to his parents. They were very intricate and complicated, and he would get completely engrossed in them, ignoring everything that was happening around him. His father always threw them out, complaining about the waste of paper, but never scolded or punished Lucas. To André, it was just more proof that his son was not normal, but he was God-fearing, and believed that the difference of his son was the will of God. When Paul Barry and Narcisse Guilbert checked into Simone’s boarding house for a two month stay, Lucas was 12. André was gone out to sea and wouldn’t be returning for some time. The two painters took an immediate liking to the boy, and Lucas seemed to like them a lot as well. They were talking together early one night over a bottle of Muscadet, as they did often, and the subject of Lucas came up. “What do you think about Lucas?” Paul asked his friend. “Strange boy, but nice. I like him. He always smiles, he never complains, and he keeps the rooms really clean. Too bad he’s mute.” “I really like him too. Have you seen his drawings?” “You mean his scribbles?” “I think that they’re more than that, they’re loaded with feeling.” “Really? I hadn’t paid much attention.” Paul called out “Lucas! Can you come upstairs?” Lucas came quickly and knocked on the door. “You can come in Lucas.” The boy smiled at them timidly and waited patiently for Paul to say what he wanted. “Don’t worry, it’s not about your work, everything is perfect, we were just wondering if you could show us some of your drawings.” Lucas nodded his head, left, and returned with a handful of his intricate penciled compositions. “Thank you. Can you stay a few minutes Lucas? We’d like to take a good look at them.” Paul took them and showed them to his friend. “You see what I mean now? Can you feel all of the emotion wrapped up in these drawings?” “What of it? Yes, it’s interesting, but crazy.” “I think he’s on to something.” “Like what? I don’t follow you.” Paul turned to Lucas now. “Lucas, how would you like to paint something? I’ll give you everything you need. ” Lucas’s eyes lit up and his face beamed at the proposition. He had seen many painters come and go in his house, but none had ever offered to let him use their paints before. He was overwhelmed with joy, still, not a word. He nodded his head and Paul patted him on the shoulder. Paul had a lot of paint and supplies with him, so he put together a basic paint set, with essential colors, a palette, a palette knife, one old beat up paintbrush, and a medium sized pre-stretched and primed canvas. For the next 2 months Lucas was completely absorbed in his new pastime. Simone had trouble getting him away from his painting and his work was suffering from it, making her work harder. Narcisse didn’t see any point in the experiment, but Paul was very interested in the result. The boy’s use of color was something indefinable, his brush strokes were those of a maestro, even if he had never held a paintbrush before. Paul was amazed at the result the child obtained with only one skimpy old brush and just a few tubes of paint. The experiment was bound to come to an end, and that it did with the return of André. André was furious at Paul for having made his son idle, and no one except Paul saw the magnificence of the masterpiece that Lucas had created. To everyone else it was just random color, like childish scribbles. André threw out his boarder, and told him to take his paints back, along with his son’s painting. Paul packed up, took the boy’s unsigned painting with his own finished and unfinished canvases, and went back to Paris. In Paris, Paul put Lucas Barbeau’s painting on an easel in his studio and studied it, admiring it. He started to try to achieve the same result in his own painting. He wasn’t happy with the results though, and his peers didn’t see anything exceptional in his work either. Still, he strove diligently...tying to reach the expert level of Barbeau’s painting. It became an obsession to him. He never let anyone enter his studio, his private space, for fear that someone would discover the boy’s painting. Over the years he progressed, slowly, finally exhibiting in galleries and in the Paris Salons and he even started gaining a modest following and selling some of his pieces. Abstract expressionism was coming into vogue with the work of Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul’s unique abstract style, secretly inspired by that of Lucas Barbeau, fit in well with the trends of the time in Paris. Paul Barry was far from satisfied. How could it be that a 12-year-old, with his first, and one and only painting, and without any instruction whatsoever in the arts, could produce such a wonder? Whereas he, who had been painting since he was a child, had been to Art School, had frequented and studied with master painters, knew all of the techniques and theories...couldn’t produce such a marvelous work of art. Paul started to nose-dive into a depression; he was never happy with his paintings and destroyed most of them. He fell deep into debt and was constantly drunk. One day he could take it no more. His unattained obsession got the better of him and he took his life in 1913, ten years after having arrived in Paris. Still a young man, at only 33, he drowned himself in the Seine. In an effort to recuperate some of his debts, a bailiff went with Paul Barry’s art dealer to his studio and had everything evaluated. The art dealer, seeing Lucas Barbeau’s masterpiece, immediately realized its value. As it was unsigned, other experts were consulted about the painting. All of the specialists agreed, it was indeed a true masterpiece, and they all had the same position about who the master was. It seemed to be obvious that Paul Barry had finally achieved his ambition, as the progression of his work for the last decade clearly showed. The decision of the experts was unanimous, and the work of art was attributed to Paul Jerome Barry. It was put up for auction and sold to a private collector. Paul’s debts were covered, and the rest was wired to his parents in Long Island, who never doubted that the painting was not the work of their son.


"I came here for you" the man said. "I heard your call in the night. The howling, so to speak, at the moon. I came here for you." Nora sat still in the chair. The dark and dank room offended her senses. "Then why not just say that when we met? Why go through all the trouble of deceiving me if you were here to help me?" she asked. "I don't recall saying that I was going to help you. No, I'm going to give you the opportunity to help yourself." the man walked over to the table and set a piece of paper down next to a pen. "Tell me what you know" he said. As soon as she began to write she was done. She slid the paper across the table. The man picked it up, it read "nothing". He slid the paper back over with a bit of impatience. Nora smiled and slid the paper back to him. "Alright. The hard way it is." the man turned and knocked on the glass three times. He faced Nora as the door opened. A taller, slimmer man walked in. His face was sunken and his eyes felt hollow. He was wearing a long tan coat with a matching hat. He took off the cap and handed it to the man staring at Nora. "My name is Norman. How rarely do I meet a Nora, or anyone like you, really. You'll have to forgive my friend, Tommy. He's young. Full of ambition. Has little notion of tact. In time, you'll teach him though." "I'll teach him?" Nora interrupted. "Yes," Norman said with certainty "You'll teach me a few things too. That's why we need you to write. We need to peer into your soul." At those words Nora's eyes panicked. "I asked you to forgive my friend, now me," Norman said noticing her reaction "I don't mean to startle you. Those words seem scary now but, in time you'll recognize that you already know ours. All of ours, actually." Norman looked about for a moment before resuming "This room isn't very good for building trust, is it? Tell me, Nora, where would you like to be?" "Home!" she nearly shouted. Norman turned to Tommy "Take her home." Tommy stopped spinning the hat and tossed it back to Norman. "Let's go." Tommy said to Nora. She stood up, unsure if it were a trick. Norman opened the door and motioned for Nora to go out. She stepped forward but stopped short of the door. "No, you first." she looked to Norman. "But, of course." Norman smiled before turning to Tommy while shaking his head. "Tommy..." Tommy looked to the ceiling and sighed. "I know." he grumbled. Norman walked out and looked at Nora once more. "I look forward to meeting you when you're ready." with that he disappeared down the corridor. Nora poked her head out of the room and was surprised to see the sun shining brightly through the tall office building windows. The floor was mostly quiet. She could hear a few busy sounding people down the hall. "Elevator's to the left" Tommy said, hurrying her along. Nora walked and found the elevators. "Why did you tell me you were the police?" Nora asked. "I like to play games. You were never in any real danger but, you'll remember this for the rest of your life. I also like to make a strong first impression." Nora felt that he was serious. She sighed and turned towards Tommy, cocked her hand back and punched him in the mouth. Tommy fell into the elevator doors. He touched his lip and smiled, revealing an already missing front tooth "Yeah, I get that a lot." he chuckled. They stepped into the elevator and rode down to the garage. "So what is this place? Who are you?" Nora asked. Tommy shook his head "I can't give you answers that you already have." "I have no idea." Nora replied. "Yeah, that's why the big boss said you're not ready." Tommy motioned toward the car. "He didn't say that." Nora said as she walked away toward toward the exit. Tommy stood bemused "We had you alone in a room, if we wanted to hurt you, we would have." he lightly shouted toward Nora. She stopped and thought for a moment before turning around. "I'll take the ride and you can take a cab to come pick up your car." Tommy laughed. "Fair enough. But, that means you don't get to ask any more questions." he gauged her reaction "You can drive if you'd like." Nora took the keys and motioned for Tommy to get in. "What's your real name?" Nora asked. Tommy pulled out his driver's license and handed it to her. "Tommy Thompson? Seriously." Nora giggled. Tommy handed her a second license, then a third, then a fourth. All had his picture, all had different names. She looked at him confused and irritated. "Tommy is my real name. Or it's what those who know there's more than one "me" call me. We don't really have names." Tommy said. "Like Men in Black?" Nora asked as she motioned for the garage ticket. Tommy handed her the pass. He replied "No. I mean, kind of but only in the name thing. Hadn't really thought of it... Do you know where you're going?" "Yes. Who are you guys?" Nora would not be distracted from her questioning. "Like I said, I can't tell you the answer to things you already know." Tommy trailed off, consumed by the view out the passenger window. "No, I already knew your name was Tommy and you told me again when I asked." Nora insisted. "You didn't know. You had no way of knowing." Tommy said. "Ok, Donald." Nora mocked. Tommy looked at her. Nora continued "If you want me to call you your real name, you'll have to remind me what it is." "Nobody's going to know you're talking to me." Tommy said. "So, Donald," Nora ignored "Why do you guys have that office space?" Tommy looked out the window in silence. "Everyone needs office space!" a voice from the backseat chimed in. Nora jerked the steering wheel and the car nearly veered off the road. Her eyes shot up to the rearview mirror to see an overweight but happy looking older man in the back smiling kindly at her. "How'd you get back there?! Who are you?!" she shouted. The man patted Tommy on the shoulder. Tommy nodded and shrugged. "I can't tell you the answer to things you already know" the man in the back said. "Donald?" she asked. The man looked at Tommy "Come on. Talk to the woman." Tommy looked at Nora, "Could you please pull over and let him out?" She pulled over to the sidewalk and the man hopped out. She drove away quickly glancing in the mirror at presumably Donald, waving at the departing car. "So if I call you someone else's name is somebody else just going to pop up too?" Nora asked half-afraid of the answer. Tommy gave her a look. She mocked "Right, you can't tell me the answer to things I already know." Nora was silent for the next few moments until she thought of a question worth asking "What don't I know?" Tommy looked at her before looking out the window. "You ever notice how the rocks in the road stay in place? All day long, cars, sun, rain... all the Earth throws at it and yet, day after day it stays in place." "No, it doesn't." Nora said "Without maintenance, cracks and holes form. The elements slowly pull and push it apart." "So it seems." he said. She stopped the car in front of her house, "How do I get in touch with you?" she asked. "By speaking. That question is asked in the wrong time." Tommy said. Nora looked at the front door to her house. A moment felt like an eternity, "How do I get back to your office?" Nora asked, putting the car in gear. "I don't know. It moves all the time. You've got to find it." Tommy said. She slammed on the brakes and looked at Tommy. He shrugged. She let her foot off the brake and continued. For two hours they crept around town as Nora second guessed herself at every light and every turn. She broke the silence, "I'm starving. What do you want to eat?" Tommy replied "Driver's choice." Nora pulled into the parking lot and noticed a peculiar light coming from a rundown looking building. "Took you long enough." Tommy jabbed before taking a serious tone "You did really well. Took me three tanks of gas before I found it the first time." Nora forgot her hunger and hurried up to the door. She opened it without knocking. The inside did not match the exterior. There was carpet, desks, and it even smelled like a new office. Nora noticed Norman standing in the corner motioning her and Tommy to come over. "I didn't think we'd have enough time to get this place setup. Your eyes are getting better." Norman said "You're a fast learner but, you'll have to be a slow teacher. If you learn ten times as fast as I do, you have to expect it'll take ten times as long to teach it. That also gives you ten times the opportunity to zoom in and learn from each fraction of the lesson." Nora stood unsure of what to say. "That's a lot to take in. No rush. We have an eternity to figure it out." Norman smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and walked over to the water cooler.


What will the world be like in 50 years? Who wouldn’t like to know that question? I have a pretty good idea and am willing to let you in on the secret. Here is a general outline of a day in the life of an average 2058er. You feel a warming sensation in the back of your skull near your cerebrum, as you wake out of your slumber. You feel completely energized and ready for another 22 hour day. One step out of bed and the floor moves under your feet and you travel into your closet at which time you are sanitized and deodorized and dressed. The closet automatically calculates what colors you have wore most recently, what style of clothing, and any changes in physical appearance and chooses your clothes for you of which perfectly fit what you wanted to wear, everyday. You then take 1 small tablet and a glass of water for breakfast and put the coordinates for work into the interior of your front door and are broken down to the molecular level and transported to work and reassembled upon arrival. Once at work, a few changes in some programs and a couple of minor maintenance fixes and you are done for the day logging 2 hours of work, a hefty sum of overtime for someone in your line of work. Next the coordinants of MindFlight are put into the exit door to work. Upon materialization, you walk to the counter, at which the employee greets you by name, as she does with the other twelve million users that enter each day. She outfits you with the MindFlight control bracelet that has 4 buttons, a big red one, 2 green arrows facing opposite directions and a blue square. She the inputs the coordinates of a room number into her panel and beams you up to one of the twenty-some-odd million rooms in the MindFlight building. You materialize into a dark room with dim lighting and walk 3 steps over to a wall with one medium sized button. Upon pushing the button, a small bed like ledge slides out of the wall noiselessly. You lay on the bed and push the green arrow on your bracelet that is pointing away from your body. The bed slides back into the wall and you lay in the darkness of the small coffin-like rectangular prism without a fear in your mind. Suddenly everything melts away and you are walking through a grassy meadow with deer and all sorts of wild animals hopping around not paying any attention to you. You lay down and bask in the beautiful sunlight and think deeply about anything in the world. You grow tired of the peaceful setting and tap the same green arrow again. You jump into a game of Halo 17, a RTS (Real-time Shooter) and pick up a battle rifle and think, “gotta love vintage weapons. It still shoots bullets... Ha-ha, I guess they made this before force-fields.” For several hours you run around tirelessly gunning down foe after foe, only dieing twice, and destroy the competition. Next you jump into a seat at a professional Grifball game and cheer for your favorite team, all of your friends are here. You have a couple beers, scream your lungs out and even get to take a shot during the halftime show. What a Night! This grows old for the time being so you tap the button again and you are in a bar teeming with people. It is an excellent night and you see a very attractive blonde woman sitting at the bar with no escort. Without even thinking you walk up and offer her a drink. She takes it and downs the first and you invite her to dance. She is an excellent dancer with all the right moves. She makes you look like a professional dancer just because she is a strong partner. You take her to a side table, enjoy the music and talk aimlessly about all sorts of nonsense. All of the sudden she stands up and storms out yelling something. You hit a raw nerve. Quickly as if it mattered, you tap the inside green button on your bracelet and you are buying her a drink again, you dance again, but this time you steer clear of the touchy subject. You have an excellent night and she invites you back to her place. You go without hesitation, have a few more drinks at her house, cuddle on the couch, and suddenly your MindFlight becomes X rated. Finally you decide you are running out of time for the night, you say your goodbyes and tap the big red button. You feel a warm sensation on the back of your head and the scene melts away and the bed slides out of the wall. ”Wow that was a fast 16 hours” you think to yourself. You input the coordinates of the lobby into the door. Once there you hand the bracelet to the attendant and enter the coordinates for home. You arrive home, check your H-mail, drink a glass of water and take a food tablet, and walk to your closet to get ready for bed. You are stripped and sanitized and put into your bed clothes. You climb into bed and fall asleep for another nights rest.


It’s nice to meet you again, old friend. It’s been too long. A week is not too long. My my if a week is too long then I might as well retire. Well yes, I guess time is in the eyes of the beholder. Please, come sit with me on this bench. You must’ve been standing all day from your job. Still courteous as ever I see, yes. But, why do you want to meet at this bench? It’s not nearly as nice as your or my place. Because of simply the air my dear friend. The sounds of crickets that gather and the setting sun. Still dramatic as ever too. Please do tell why we’re here. Maybe fate. Possibly timing. It could be even- No no, I meant, what do you want to talk about? Well I don’t know. In that case, what does it mean to feel empathy? Excuse me? Yes, empathy. I-I mean, when I see another trainee feeling anxious on the first day I feel bad for them. That is sympathy my dear friend. Empathy is the human reaction to feel sadness or remorse for those in sorrow despite not knowing their ‘pain’ dear friend. Well isn’t human kindness to comfort people in their time of need? Is it true that it would fall under kindness, the question I proposed was what empathy is like? Dear friend, that is how it’s like to feel empathy. It’s knowing the person’s sadness and understanding that then comforting them. Not true, friend. That is comfort. It’s telling the person what they need to hear not empathy, which by easing their sorrows. It often gets mistaken for it simply because of how foriegn the word is. You're infallibly wrong. To be in a person’s presence in their worst is empathy because both people try to process the experience one person has gone through. You may be right, but is empathy not an emotion used to ease the sadness of tragedy? W-Well yes. But was I wrong no I don’t think so. Yes I was wrong about my previous line of reasoning. However my good friend, trailing back, if the point of empathy is to ease one’s sadness why is it not all that comforting? No but it is. Well when my dog died you were there for me. I remember what you told me too. ‘It’ll get better. I'm there for you.’ Word for word I swear good friend. Yes I do remember that. But that is still sympathy. I had ties to the old chap just like everyone at the funeral. I just don’t get how one person can just walk up to someone and say, ‘hey I know it’s hard, but it’ll get better,’ and then never exist in the person’s life again. That’s simple enough to explain. We’re able to because it’s what makes us human. To try and have a little empathy, to give a person people around them, so they’re not alone. But you know as well as I dear friend, that it was not the case with you. You shunned anyone that tried to ease the sadness of the ol’ chap. I believe, if I’m not mistaken, you said, ‘How can you understand? He wasn’t your dog!’ and you were in the right to say so. The dog was yours not anyone else’s. Y-Yes I did say that, but I got through it thanks to you guys being there for me. Ultimately however, you said empathy was to make someone happier or at least not as depressed as they were. But, in those pivotal moments a closed door was worth more than an open one to a grassy field.” Yes, I’ll have to concede this point to you good friend. You know that I do miss talking to you. Only a week has gone by. Yes, I know, but it’s not the same now. Excuse me. But why are you sitting at this bench on your lonesome self. I have this new job and I sit here with my dear friend nearly every day. He passed due to some circumstances and I miss ‘em terribly. Well mind if I sit down? Please. What happened to them? Heart attack. Nobody suspected it either. He would come here day in day out and paint gorgeous sceneries of grassy fields, beautiful parks, and I even once saw him paint a snowy ice lake and there isn’t one to see in miles. Oh my I think I saw that person on my way to work, yes, the one with the ridiculous painter’s kit right? Yes, that’s the one. Also, if you don’t mind me asking that is, what would you speak about on this bench? All sorts of topics. The last one we talked about was empathy. Empathy? Why, what a strange thing. Please do go on. To summarize essentially I don’t believe one could understand someone with empathy alone. It’s existence is only here to just make someone happier when all it does is make someone even more miserable. Sympathy is the only thing that can truly motivate one to trudge through the storm clouds. Nonsense acquaintance. Empathy is just as powerful as sympathy. Although I haven’t experienced such a loss I do know that empathy is stronger when you have someone with you on your journey. Thank you. No problem. We can talk all night and all day. Whatever you need on your journey. We can even be two people on a bench.


THE SOLACE SEEKER "let me tell you something my friend, hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane"' I did not read this quote in Stephen King's book but rather I heard this confusing yet so relatable dialogue in the movie Shawshank redemption when these words were said in Red's (Morgan Freeman) despairing, despondent voice. It did not make sense to me because baba always said, "Life is worth living and you can always find happiness in people around you" How can baba ever be wrong? Everything he ever said somehow made sense, it gave me confidence it made me believe in this cruel unforgiving world. But I forgot to ask him... baba "what if no one is around? What if I don't find happiness in people? What if they all leave just like you left me?" he was my hero, he never let me down always took care of me no matter what. Despite having a broken bike, torn clothes, and not enough money to buy a new pair of sandals, he never complained he was so optimistic even at the most difficult times. How did he do that? Maybe I can never understand. My cigarette was almost finished I didn't even take a single puff, it kept on burning and burning and eventually, I had to throw it, well I think my life is like this cigarette, I am just waiting for it to completely burn. "would you like to talk a bit more about your father? It will certainly help you to open up" Said my therapist Mr. Khan. Six and a half feet tall Pashtun fellow, he is a kind man he took me in therapy when my classmates suggested to the university's health center that I need medical attention. "I don't think it can" I replied "did you sleep well last night?" he asked "I haven't slept in 3 days doctor. Whenever I close my eyes, I hear screams, I hear cries of help!" "I should've been there with him when he died, who knows maybe I could have died with him" My voice broke down and tears followed, I couldn't look up to Mr. Khan I felt this great burst of agony and guilt at the same time. "here you go son, have some water" "It's not our fault, there is nothing you could have done" after a long pause he suggested, "Perhaps you should write it down, that will help," he said assumingly. I glanced at him in misery, I whipped off my tears and looked at the clock. "it's 4 pm sir perhaps I should leave, I need to be there, at my job" I work as an International sales agent at a call center. We sell braces, what a pathetic job! it is miserable in every way but so am I so that's why it is a perfect match. It is set up on the 1st floor of the old district office building. They evacuated it because it was as old as the British raj. That thing would surely collapse if there's an earthquake. Walls are cracked up and the roof leaks as if someone had a tap running, there are no windows as the big holes in the wall suffice for ventilation, mosquitos and rats are here for adequate company, the people here were shady, no one would talk with anyone, but it was written all over their faces how much they hated this place and they would kill to get out of here. All you can hear was the busy road, the buses, and rickshaws with their vexatious, galling horns. People would fight almost daily on the streets and that one bloody workshop! Where they repaired car bonnets, all you can hear were bangs and thuds and the sound of the hammer hitting the steel, it is torture, you want to punish someone? Just bring him here and I assure you they will beg for mercy. Who would love to work in such a shit hole, but sometimes you don't have a choice, I needed to pay for my tuition so had to bear with this drenched place or maybe I was attracted to this dark, gloomy, melancholic place. I use to walk home every night at 2 am when my shift ended or should I say I choose to walk, I was never fond of public transport so many new faces all glanced towards you when you enter the bus, it makes me feel anxious and nervous. People--people make me nervous. Walking helps me to ease off. I talk to myself for company, sometimes I cross the road without looking because I am so indulged in my thoughts, often I'd skip streets and then later realize... okay this is not where I am supposed to go... gosh! What were you thinking! But on my way home I always take the 22nd street behind the market, I love this particular place, it's dark but quiet you can see a few junkies sleeping on the footpath a broken light shade at the end of the street, there is no noise, hustle, rush no car horns or hammer banging on steel, no Mr. Khan asking me things I don't want to answer. It's just me far from the city life, from the stress, from all the worries. I always sit on the far side of the street on the footpath along with the broken light shade and I smoke a few cigarettes. "look baba I found happiness in this dark, depressing place I think this is where I belong" "I know you said I can find happiness in people, But I am struggling to find any" "It shatters my soul, but I think you were wrong baba" "or maybe I am not strong enough!" I don't know why that day I looked up at the sky and said these words, I cried my heart out that night no one was around to console me except a few wasted junkies. Somehow every night I gathered all the strength I had to pick myself up and go home. To be honest, since that day I never really wanted to go and live in the same house in which I once lived happily in, I didn't want to corrupt the memory, but sometimes we are just helpless. We use to live in a two-room apartment, the building had 12 floors and we lived on the 7th, I don't have the strength to go in baba's room it reminds me of him so I decided to leave the room untouched and locked it until the day I have enough strength to go inside. I still remember that day we did breakfast together, "How is your class going?" baba asked that day, "well you know I get nervous around people baba, also I don't like how rude and show off some of the students are all they talk about is money--money--money" "Bahahaha" he burst out laughing "son remember, all five fingers are not equal. You will find different sorts of people everywhere you go! Some might be bad with you others might not! Always try to look at the good that is in people's heart" he followed "Oh! Look at the time I am already late! Finish up and do the dishes before you go, I will see you in the evening" he went off, And never came back, that day I received a call around 5 pm from the hospital, I reached there all drenched in sweat I did not know what to do, my senses were fading nothing made sense to me, what was going on? What did I do to deserve this! A thousand thoughts escaped my mind. Until the doctors came and told me he couldn't make it! He was hit a truck on the way to his office that's all I was told. After that day my life was never the same. That day it had been 5 months and 17 days since the incident, as I walk towards my apartment's gate I unlock the door with trembling hands, I walk into my dusty messed up space, my coffee cup unwashed, dirty clothes lying on the sofa, water dripping drop by drop from the sink's tap. The cracked oil paint on the walls, the broken tiles on the kitchen floor is all I lived with. I decided to take Mr. Khans advise although I never visited him ever again, I don't know why but I decided to write it all down I don't know what I was writing or why. Believe me, I was clueless, but these are the words that came pouring out of my mind. Confused, I don't know what to do. I don't know whom to talk, is anyone even alive? Will I even survive? I have lost every ounce of breath I had. These walls are covered in marks, blood may be mine. my hands crawled upon the walls throughout the night trying to escape now my fingers bleed, My eyes have dried out, My voice has faded, My soul is shattered. Drowning in the sea of sorrows someone awaits me, it's the only warmth that I'll ever get, Waiting for me is death! In these last moments of misery as I'm about to die, time seemed to have stopped suddenly, I remembered all the bullies, I remembered all the lies, I remembered all those who left, I remembered every tear that I cried, I remembered all the pain I bared, I remembered all those lonely nights, I remembered the time when I said I am fine. I couldn't sleep because of the pain, Every time I closed my eyes I saw my failures I realized the lies I realized that I was forbidden, That happiness was kept away from me, hidden. I couldn't look up to anyone, I was a complete failure, A disguise at times, Having committed so many crimes, Finally, death has prevailed, and my misery has now come to an end. I hereby write to you from hell, Where god has sent me to dwell, I like this dark place, I like the fire and I like the people maybe we all are very similar, This place seems very familiar, Sometimes I wonder if I'm even dead?? No one should suffer as I did, No one should be in such despair. And if you're reading this then I want you to hear, There's nothing to fear, I hope it's not contagious, Well don't take any chances it's time for you to flea, Just make sure to stay away from me.