As Cycle 1 of Serial Saturday here on comes to a close, it's high time we get some spotlights posted. One such story comes from /u/ATIWTK, or, as we call him in Campfire (discord voice chat), Oeri. Oeri’s story was brand new to us, fresh to Serial Saturday and relatively new to WP as well. It’s pretty unanimous that doing Campfires and weekly threads is the best way to get to know each other’s work and personalities, and Oeri was a great addition to the bunch. Here at we thoroughly enjoyed Oeri’s beautiful tale of a young woman who goes on a journey with an unexpected outcome. It’s a beautifully written story full of imagery that evokes a feeling akin to traditional folktales, which was a stark contrast to the overall tone of most of our Serial Saturday stories. Oeri’s approach to storytelling is like an expertly illustrated picture book, just crack open the first chapter and you’ll see for yourself. What made this story especially unique in this run of Serial Saturday is Oeri’s approach to the story beats-- For a lot of people, the titles of our story beats could be taken very literally, in a good vrs evil or protagonist vrs adversaries sort of way. Oeri managed to write a story that not only matched the feeling of each brief challenge but also make it fit for his story. But don't take my word for it! Here's a small teaser from /u/ATIWTK: > Nestled in the valleys of *Pinawa*, the human tribes have lived in peace with nature for a long time, but when resources run scarce and the animals are leaving, where do they turn to? How will the deities answer? > > Liwayway, a young girl journeys to the center of a volcano in search of the forgotten memories of her father. *How did her father die? What was she doing there?* But what she finds out and what she remembers is enough to change the world she lives in. For our first run of Serial Saturday at it was important for us to get author impressions of how their experience went with us, and give readers a peek at the "behind the scenes" of creating a flash fiction serial. Here's /u/ATIWTK's take on that: I had a blast writing this story. I loved all the searching for thematic descriptions (synonyms for earth, lava and rocks must’ve filled my browser history a thousand times) and researching the folklore which I based this on and thinking of ways to move the story forward while keeping the message consistent across. **Impressions from writing in this format:** Coming from r/writingprompts, this is the first time I’ve written something this long and I really had a lot of help from the beats that were set-up. I’ve wanted to play along with the beat for the week while at the same time telling a unique narrative about a conflict that’s more internal than external and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. It’s a very helpful format for a new writer, and the weekly campfires have really helped nudge me to write more with the helpful feedback and the positive vibes. **Challenges** The main challenge I faced writing this was moving the plot along while keeping the ending in mind, and sometimes I felt that I was writing myself into a corner whenever I built the world and drove the characters forward. I didn’t even know how Liwayway was going to survive! But I realized at one point, it’s okay to think outside the box, pull a little plot loophole, throw a little wrench, simplify a little bit and just write whatever comes along! It’s fun and at the end of the day you can always edit your story once you get it down to the end! **What’s the future of this story?** Liwayway is a story that I started on a whim on Serial Saturday; but it’s become something that I really enjoyed doing and at the same time, a space for me to try out new styles, new techniques, and new character ideas. I’m thinking of keeping Liwayway’s story exclusively on Serial Saturday and hopefully more of her will be seen on the future cycles. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ With the tale of Liwayway at an end for now there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on . Let the bragging begin! /u/ATIWTK’s personal sub is /r/dozing_in_prose and I highly recommend checking out his author notes and other stories written for . Without further ado, here's /u/ATIWTK’s Table of Contents. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You can check out more of Oeri's work by going to his subreddit, /r/dozing_in_prose/. Congrats on finishing your serial, /u/ATIWTK, and we can’t wait to see what you do next. <3 from the team at , , and Serial Saturday. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *For more information on the Serial Saturday program feel free to check out our* *.* We have members from all around the world and who have all kinds of schedules, so there’s usually someone awake to talk to. We also have scheduled readings, oration critiques, spur-of-the-moment story time, or even just random hangouts over voice chat.


That's the thing about this city. Knowing that I would be only a walking distance away from the nine-metre tall Nelson Mandela statue should have persuaded me to come here but it never even once crossed my mind. As I walked along the city streets for the first time I could feel my heartbeat changing. It was as if there was music playing but only my heart could hear it and I was expected to just dance along. I guess that's the reason I chose to come here after all...the uncertainty. I knew of day and night as two different entities that influenced each other in no way but my truth was far from this place's reality. A day before I came here I received a rejection letter from one of the two Colleges I had applied to. The other had me on its waitlist. That coupled with a larger than life desire to do something with my life pushed me to make a decision most thought I was insane for making. At ten am that same day I called my grandmother into my room and broke the rejection news to her. She already knew that I was waitlisted at the other college so I guess me dropping the "I was rejected" bomb on her must have felt like it was the end of the world. surprisingly, I wasn't heartbroken, relief is what I felt. I called her into my room so that my great grandmother would not hear the news and my decision. Don't look at me like that...I had my reasons. My great grandmother whom I refer to as GOGRI, had and has always been an integral part of my life. Her wish was to see me go to school because to her, that was the only way I was going to succeed. Now you see why I couldn't exactly say "hey Gogri 'bout that school thing I'm no longer going". As my grandmother was still recovering from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki situation I dropped yet another bomb. "Grandma I've decided to head to the country's capital tomorrow ". "To do what?" She asked. "I don't know yet. All i know is that all will be clear once I'm there" I confidently replied. "Who do you know there?" She enquired. "No one but I never walk alone" I answered. That instantly put a smile on her face and she immediately gave me her blessings. My family's very religious so the "I never walk alone" statement always does the trick. The next morning I with only around $70 in my pocket, headed out into the great unknown. I had all my belongings on me. Of course chances were I was going to get robbed upon arrival but my mind was occupied with the best case scenario. I got off the truck I had hitchhiked and started walking like I knew the place and where I was going. "The fearful are those who let fear seep into their heads. If you believe that all's gon go well then all's gon go well." My grandmother's last words to me. I immediately felt like I was home. Funny because I had never been in a large city on my own before. As I was walking like one with the land I found myself in, I fell into the hands of a man who after hearing my story gave me a full scholarship at his performance art academy and arranged for me to stay with one of his students. But I had to pay $150 in registration fees in order to secure my scholarship. I could only afford to pay $30 and luckily, he was understanding. Now that I was a school kid again...in no man's land, the exploring began. The first two days my roommate tried showing me how to get to and from school. I however, don't remember us using the same route to and from school. It was always two completely different routes but somehow he expected me to learn the "route". What a bad teacher. While he was teaching me the "route" I was focused on another subject, the lifestyle. People here don't sleep. They walk with purpose and they live their lives as such. I'd look outside at eleven in the evening and people would still be going about their lives. If people had flavors this is where I found all of them. Just as not all flavors are good flavors, so are the people here. In other parts of town it's not rare to see someone being robbed in broad daylight while other people just pass by with no care whatsoever. That didn't sit right with me so I enquired. I learned that the muggings would often be staged to lure heroes into the trap of being mugged themself. Once the hero tried to help the "victim ", he'd instantly be surrounded by the group and within seconds his belongings would be gone. They'd often go as far as leaving the hero with nothing but his underwear. That lead me to the first rule of the streets: YOU HELP NO ONE BUT YOURSELF. Cruel but rather effective. But of course if everyone applied that rule I wouldn't be here now would I? I feel like the rule was made by selfish individuals who used it to justify their selfishness. Most people choose to help others...but carefully. The secret is not to let the city consume you as that would result in you being an ass. Most people know and put the secret to use daily. This helps in unleashing different personalities and thus exposing me and the occupants of the city to an abundance of greatness all round. I have been here for two weeks now. I've met thousands of people whom others would consider as potential partners but none of them gave me the urge to pursue them. Well that was until earlier today. As I was walking from school with my roommate and two of his lady friends, I found myself looking the other way but walking in another direction. I don't believe in love at first sight but something happened as soon as I laid my eyes on her. I knew I had to go talk to her but she was with her grandmother. I watched them as they disappeared into the distance but carefully observed their route. I quickly went home to drop my bag and change my sneakers for slides. By the time I got out to follow them they were in no sight. I just walked and judging from what the grandmother was wearing decided to get into a Market which my grandmother and I often went into when I was still at home. There she was. Light skinned, short and caring. Just the right ingredients for me to whip up my favorite poison. Now I had to figure out a way to talk to her without stepping over any lines with her grandma. Futile exercise. It's like wanting to take an egg from an Ostrich without upsetting it. Soon as I figured that out I went in for the kill. She was walking slowly behind her grandma so I poked her. She looked back and there I was with my phone, ready to take down her number. She immediately looked to the front again and started walking faster towards her grandmother. I had no money on me but decided to grab a basket and fill it up with fruits so it wouldn't be obvious to the grandma that I was following them around the store. Shortest thirty minutes of my life. I made eye contact with her(the girl) a few times so I assume she was aware of my presence and maybe even thought I was creepy. They paid for their groceries and went out. I obviously followed but empty handed. The following around continued till I at some point passed them. Not moving far away from them though. The aim was to see where they lived so I could wait for her outside in the morning. Hearing myself say it out loud makes me realize that I really am a creep. EEW!. Needless to say I now know where she stays and intend to pursue her till she says "I do". That's the thing about this city. It gives you the energy to do things beyond yourself and sets your soul on fire. Now I know why when I could have chosen Africa's richest city as my new home I didn't but went with this one. My soul was after a rainbow of experiences and my subconscious knew that this was the place to find that rainbow.


“I got a letter this morning.” “A letter?” “Yeah, a letter. From my girl on the outside.” “How’s she doing, with the baby and all?” “She’s uh... She says she’s leaving me. She’s taking little Emily and they’re leaving.” “No shit? Damn it, man. Where’s she going?” “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. Probably thinks I’m too dangerous to be around my daughter. I only even got to see Emily once. She was born the day before I got locked up.” “That’s fucked up, dude. Real fucked up.” “I probably deserve it, man.” “What are you talking about?” “It’s not fair to her. Not fair for her to spend all her time out there waiting for me, when I can’t even be there to take care of Emily. She’s gonna be better off somewhere else, with family or something I guess. Get herself a new man and a new life.” “That unfaithful bitch...you gotta stand up for yourself more! Go and track her down once you get the hell out of this God-damned place!” “No, no way! That right there, that’s crazy. Look, I fucked up, ok? Same as you, and same as everyone else in here. If she wants to leave, I’m not gonna go out and try to stop her. She’s her own person.” “Listen mate, I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. You see this?” “What’s that?” “Been working on this for a few weeks. Got my stash stuffed in the mattress right here, everything we need to bust out of here and be back on the outside. Don’t you say nothing, and I’ll get you out of here, too.” “You’re crazy! I’m not going along with that. Listen, I’ve only got a year left on my sentence anyway. Good behavior too, so probably less. I’ll be out of here and they won’t be looking for me no more.” “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to tell you.” “What I understand is that you’re going to get yourself killed, or at least end up in here for life. Fuck that, I’m staying out of it.” “I don’t think you understand me. I let you in on my secret, and now you’re involved. Anything happens to me, and I’m gonna tell them it was your idea. You planted that stuff in my mattress, blackmailed me and threatened me until I went along with it. This shit works both ways, dumbass.” “Hey, be cool. I’ll keep my mouth shut for you, but I’m not gonna try to bust out with you. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a death wish. I want to start my life over. That’s what this is to me, okay? A chance to start over.” “They’ve brainwashed you bad, haven’t they? They’ve gotten into your head, making you believe all their bullshit about rules and rehabilitation...that’s not who you were when you walked into this place. You went hardcore just as much as the rest of us. What’s happened to you, man?” “The only thing that’s happened to me, is deciding that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked up behind bars. I did it as a kid, twice before Emily was born, and again now. I haven’t lived...I haven’t done anything with my life other than sit here and rot like some sort of animal. I’ve had enough, alright?” “If you had enough, you’d be fighting to get the hell out of here.” “I am still fighting. I’m fighting for a life where I’m not constantly running away from something. I’m waiting out the end of my sentence and then I’ll get my freedom back. I’ve got a buddy to stay with until I can get work and get my own place. What you’re doing is a suicide mission.” “When this is all over, it’s not gonna be my body that they find in this cell.” “What are you talking abo-“ “Sorry mate, I didn’t want to do this. You were the best pal I had around here, but I can’t risk anyone knowing about the plan. Looks like I’ll have to take off a bit sooner than expected.” “You... cough ...why would yo-“ “Hey, what the hell is going on in here?!” “Oh, shi-“ “Knife! Drop the weapon! Drop it now!” “Sergeant, put this block into lockdown now! Nobody gets in or out!” “Get down on the ground, hands behind your head! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” “We need a medic over here, this guy’s been stabbed!” “You fucking pigs! Go ahead and shoot me, I know you’d fucking enjoy it!” “Get the cuffs on him and get him out of here. Put him in the solitary cell.” “Fuck you!” “You may as well keep your mouth shut, buddy. You’re only going to make things worse for yourself at this point.” “You can’t put me in the hole! Let go of me!” “Stop resisting! Stop resisting!” “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of there soon enough...for some serious questioning.” “Hey, Sarge! Look what I found in the mattress!” “Holy shit...how long has all this been here?” “Looks like he’d been stockpiling for weeks. Months, maybe.” “Why the hell did no one notice this when it was happening?!” “Well, I...uh-” “You what ?” “Well, he obviously kept it hidden! How would anyone have known?!” “Inspections, damn it! Who was responsible for inspecting the cell? Don’t bother answering, ‘cause I already know it was supposed to be you.” “Sarge, I-” “I always figured that if anyone around here was a traitor, it would be you. Save your explanation for questioning. Guards!” “No! Please! I was blackmailed, I swear! He said he would kill me if I talked!” “So you helped him?! Damn it, rookie! The integrity of this entire prison has been compromised because of you! God almighty only knows who else has been planning an escape or what sort of connections they may have. You’re just as guilty as he is!” “Please, let me go!” “Sorry, rookie. You’ve lost your chance for that. See you in the slammer, when I inspect your tiny cell. Give my regards to the prisoners.”


The crackle of the Geiger counter was the only thing stimulating the senses. There was nothing to feel through the body suit, nothing to smell or taste but the thick material it was made out of. The visor gave everything a hazy yellow tinge, not that there was much to see here anyway. Miles upon miles of wasteland with the occasional hill or tree in the distance, a sentinel watching over what's left of the land. The earth squelched with each step, as if it were autumn and the leaves had piled up half a foot tall, that was when you were lucky, Occasionally you would step on something hard and not know what it was or worse, had it snap then you knew exactly what it was. A gunshot rang out, there was no way to tell where it came from or how far away, sound seemed to travel forever across the barren wastes. "No threat." The voice was startling, as it always was, and was the only real thing that snapped you back to reality. How much longer was it now? * * * Moths seemed more abundant than ever. Maybe I'm a fucking moth. He looked up, their mission had led them on a path that seemed to follow the moon, looking around he could see his fellow soldiers all moving stiffly in their suits, holding back a chuckle he realised he had started talking to himself a lot recently. "Radio is for emergencies only, you don't know how much power you'll need." So there the group of moths followed the moonlight in silence. The increasing number of gunshots should have been alarming, but no one seemed to take heed of them. Too engrossed in their monotonous march to even notice or if they did were keeping an unnerving composure about it. A mixture of "No threat." "Threat Down." "Threat Escaped." was all that seemed to break the silence up until the sound of rapid gunfire followed a buzz alarm. The sound provided stereo feedback, all turned and aimed their weapons at the sound. No one saw anything. "No threat?" The tone was different, it was questioning, uncertain. No response. The group stopped and held their weapons as a single man approached the location of the sound. "Leakage, his suit let the air in..." No one seemed to speak up, it was the same voice that came over the radio. "...he's dead from inhaling too much, let's move on." Why would he suddenly fire so many rounds if he was just breathing too much of the air? No one else was questioning it, so why should he? They resumed their march, though the moon was long gone now it left an eerie glow over the horizon. There was a sound. The sound of metal or chain ringing followed by the group lifting their weapons, a shot went off incredibly close, as if just over his shoulder. "M-miss-fire." He was so irritable he was about to say something over the radio before realising what had caused the sound in the first place. It was a barely standing wire fence. The barbed wire on top had pieces of fabric blowing, it looked like a babies blanket now that they were next to it. "East side fence located. Proceeding in the morning." Finally having a chance to sleep would have been a relief had it not been stuck in the same suit for the last week. He ran things through in his head, wondering how he ended up in this shit hole. The memories were like a streaming newscast in his brain. "North Korea have tested a new kind of nuclear warhead, it's elements are unknown and no nation admits to supplying nuclear material......North Korea present to the world a new radioactive element, more destructive and can be used as a bio-weapon due to it's slow acting exposure......Missile tests prompt the US, South Korea and Japan in the area to issue warnings, the UN unanimously condemns Pyongyang and even China imposes severe sanctions....All ambassadors and envoys are called to leave North Korea, tourists are no longer allowed to visit as the information black hole of North Korea grows....Two months from the initial missile test there has still been no response from the North Korean government. No new tests have been detected or announced as the world considers lifting the severe sanctions....Guards disappear from the DMZ and Chinese Border, DPRK troops are questioned at Vladivostok before promptly leaving." How the fuck didn't we know? Eventually he could feel his eyes growing heavier and eventually sleep would come, though it just continued where his thoughts had left off. "Satellite imagery shows less activity on roads and streets than usual....Rolling power cuts grow more frequent and in many areas power isn't returning....Silence from DPRK prompts the UN to encourage Chinese investigation. China and Russia veto.....Leaked documents of US Trained South Korean special agents lose contact with the west....Fierce debate goes on between those who want to investigate and those who see it as an ambush..... Conspiracy theorists claim its proof of North Korea using their vast underground cities. There's no way millions of people can disappear like that otherwise." When he woke it was hard to tell if it was actually daylight. The clouds hung heavy and dark in the sky. Even better.


It is the holiday season, teenagers, and young adults like this time of the year. Many promises pile up to be met within this season. “I will take you to the movies” topping the chart of these promises. So today, a movie is being premiered on the “Annabelle: Creation.” Though an American movie, It is a must-see here in Nigeria. The movie is on the lips of almost all youths. Ebube bought two tickets for himself and Ugonna his young lover. They are both interns at Google Nigeria. Slated for 7 pm, they have time to mingle and talk before it starts. Their work also will not suffer because dedication and diligence were strictly measured at Google Nigeria. It is 5:00 pm already, Ebube and Ugonna are both signing off at the bio metric point to head towards the big Cinema Galleria in town. Then the click on the machine startles Ugonna We have so much time on our hands, do you mind if we stroll to the car park rather than using the company’s bus service? Ebube asks Ugonna No, I do not mind that. Please lead the way; Ugonna replies Members of staff continue to mill out of the exit door to the bio metric point they just left. She takes a deep breath. Work was quite challenging today, how about yours? It was xoxo. Let us put all that behind and enjoy the movie we have planned out okay? Okay Ugonna brings out a branded handkerchief and cleans the beads of perspiration on her brow. You look stressed, we may change our mind and join the bus to the car park. Don’t worry Ebube, I heard taking a walk each day is good for one’s heart health. Let us take it easy with our pace. We will get there in no time. A few minutes later, the basement attendants’ hands Ebube his car key. He opens the door to the car and opens the front passenger seat for Ugonna. Their drive to the cinema was uneventful despite the rough drivers on the roads; violating traffic rules and cursing compliant ones. Wow! What is happening here today? Ugonna asks bewildered at the crowd visible from the transparent entrance door of the movie house. I told you the movie is being premiered today, didn’t I? Do you care for popcorn or small chops? Ebube asks Popcorn will do; Ugonna says Carbonated drink, malt, or water? Carbonated drink is okay she says They walk towards the ticketing point and pick flyers of the movies showing for the new movie week starting today. There it is! Ebube says excited Anabelle: Creations. Wa-oow! It sounds like a horror movie. Yes, it does; Ebube chips in. Apparitions and mediums taking the form of some objects to perpetuate harm to people that can see and hear them. It sure will be an interesting movie. I remember a story we were told by our grand- aunt of a man who died and went elsewhere to exist. In fact. Growing up we all know the man. He was fondly called “Baba-ruwa” literally meaning father of water. Coined from the services he renders to the street where we lived in. He fetches water for people in compounds facing water challenges frequent. This was frequently experienced in the 90s. Story has it that he left the house on a particular day to do his usual business but was run over by a reckless driver. He died on the spot. However, his wife Anayo said he came home at about the time of the accident and entered his room to rest. Disturbed she queries his intent as the day was still young but he did not utter any other word to her, He quietly entered his room and laid on the bed to rest. As she busied herself with her wares in her small shanty in front of the house; a group of men and women run to her beckoning on her to follow them to the site of the accident, Which accident? She asks Madam, your husband was involved in an auto crash and he died on the spot. Why will you joke with such news? She asks My husband just entered his room a few minutes ago to have some rest. He was right there in front of you telling me how tired he was before he retired into his room. Something must be wrong then; madam please enter the room and call your husband so we can sure. We are not joking. This is not the type of issue to joke with they all echoed. Mrs. Anayo entered her husband’s room but sees no sign of him. She is confused because she was sure she saw him enter the room but as he did not come out of the room and there is no exit from the room to another side of the compound. She begins to get hysterical. The group of men and women lead her to the site of the auto crash where she sees people putting her husband inside an ambulance. Anayo throws herself on the ground weeping but her earlier story was not forgotten. It remained fresh in our memories and was tweaked when a neighbour returned from the south-south part of the country claiming she saw Baba-ruwa in the community where she was posted for her compulsory National Youth Service Corp doing the work of a miller. As if that was not enough, he had a wife and children too. My goodness, gracious! Ebube exclaims and folds his arms akimbo. That is not all, some of these things they act as movie happened or has streaks of truth in them. The street set off to locate the assumed “ghost” but was told by his wife in that community that for a fortnight now, he has been missing without any clues left at his last spotted location. The delegates were surprised and returned with the news. Are you saying you believe in ghosts? Ebube asks What do you think? Ugonna responds It is time for the movie, Let’s go in she beckons him. I have suddenly developed cold feet to see the movie. I might be stirring up belief in ghosts and apparitions. Hahahahhahhhahaha! Not at all. It is a movie. A figment of someone’s imaginations. Let’s go there; she pulls him off his seat towards the entrance. Dunnnnn! The usual background sound at the beginning of movies is heard as viewers settle into their chairs. Annabelle: Creations is shown on the big screen. It sends jitters to our spine. The background music is terrifying. Ugonna claps Ebube’s hands as the suspense increases. Shouts of No! Don’t go there fill the air at different scenes of the movie. Let’s go. I cannot take this suspense again, Ugonna says Remember It’s a movie, just a figment of someone’s imagination; Ebube says jokingly. The movie ends within a short while. As Ebube and Ugonna walks towards the exit, Ugonna sees him. Moving slowly. He turns and smiles at her. She lets out a scream Goooosh! Ebube holds her tightly, what is it? You have scared everyone here. I saw him there, she points at the direction. You saw who? Ebube asks Baba- Ruwa. It cannot be. Let us get out of here. He leads her towards their car. As they drive out of the movie complex into the adjoining street, she sees him again and shouts in fear. Is it that tall fair man beside the electric pole? Ebube asks. Yes, he is the one, she replies. Ebube turns to her and says “you thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you.” He zooms off into the next street and cuts the engine calming her down. Ugonna reels out obscenities "Umu mmuo achuwala nu muo! meaning ghosts are chasing me. See it over there, and there and there! Chim oo! Ebube continues to console her.


‘It’s about the amount of butter on the crust’ he gawked at me taunting a response. I hadn’t thought about the amount of butter I had used and in fact I had been distracted, how many times did I butter the crust? My lips parted, exhaling through the words ‘I’m sorry.’ He stood before me, my hands gripping the edge of the chair below as he tossed a napkin onto his plate, ‘It’s a simple grilled cheese, I don’t understand how you can fuck it up this badly.’ I stared ahead refusing to meet his eyes as he placed a hand on the side of my face, the only touch that could be so soft, yet laced with the intensity of an unbecoming rage. ‘It’s a good thing I make the best grilled cheese in the world,’ my eyes met his ‘Don’t you think sweetheart?’ his hand moving to where my neck met my shoulder, ‘Answer me,’ his grip tightened and I watched as he beckoned for the words ‘Yes,’ I responded ‘The best.’ His hand left me then returned. I saw white, the first blow to the right side of my jaw. I crumbled, the cold tiles settling underneath as the second blow met me, the third, the fourth, the fifth. My face, my stomach, my back. Am I still awake? My mind lulling me in and out a state of consciousness as my eyes rested on his back, moving away from my limber body. I traced the floor with the tip of my finger, willing the pain to rage over me, grounding myself back to his touch. Darkness enveloped me as my eyes closed over and the exhaustion became me. -- Days had passed when I woke, wrapped in cotton sheets, the mattress soft beneath my damp hair. Did he bathe me? I moved to lean against the headboard, pain searing through my entirety. I let my eyes adjust to the light lifting my shirt as I inspected myself, my stomach outlined with a pattern of blue and yellow, my arms not far behind. I inched further down the bed, careful with every movement sending bolts of agony through me. Turning my head slightly to meet the mahogany vanity I held the reflection of my face, my pale eyes widening beneath a song of red and black, the swelling neatly adjusted to every blow. ‘It brings out the green in your eyes’ I jolted unaware of his presence, the pain buckling over me again ‘It’s the red you know, it contrasts enough to make your eyes look more green’ he smiled at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I attempted a smile willing the sincerity to appear. He moved towards me, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and placing his hand around mine. ‘Beautiful, so perfect’ he mumbled, his eyes casting over me. ‘Now, I need you to get changed as I have a very special surprise for you,’ he beamed at me, anticipation moving through him. -- I shifted on the balls of my feet as I moved slowly into the dining area, the lace on the hem of my dress painfully caressing my wounds. He stretched his arms in front of him, lacing his fingers together and resting them behind his head ’Stand here,’ he motioned to the space beside him. I walked slowly, resting against the kitchen bench where a large plate covered in a bright red tea towel sat before me. ’My surprise for you,’ he lifted the towel to reveal an assortment of foods; eggs, milk, butter, flour, cocoa and cream. I raised my eyes to meet his awaiting further instruction, ‘Today you will make chocolate soufflé.’ Before I could speak, he was gone. My hands moved quickly, unloading the ingredients into their measuring cups, pulling out two bowls an electric mixer and three mixing spoons. I moved to the oven, 350 degrees should be perfect I bent forward letting the adrenaline push through the agony of my injuries, turning the dial 3-5-0. I adjusted myself, standing and assessing the space before me Ingredients, utensils, oven. I had two hours before he was back, I got to work. -- I was pulling at the straps of my apron when I felt him near me again. I stepped behind him, watching as his eyes cast over the black marble counter tops scrubbed and polished, his eyes landing on the two chocolate soufflés sitting neatly beside two polished spoons. ‘You cleaned too, good girl’ my lips twitching into a smile as I moved to the dining table. Pulling out his chair at the head of the table, I took my usual spot standing. He took his seat, lifting his head to meet my gaze ‘I would like to be served now’. I moved back towards the kitchen, pulling out a serving tray and placing the polished spoons and warm soufflés carefully. I walked them back, slowly setting the tray before him and unloading one soufflé and one spoon. I resumed my spot. Staring ahead, my peripheral watching as he lifted the spoon pushing slowly into the centre of the soft baked dessert. The sole of his leather boot tapping against the hard tiles below, placing a spoonful into his mouth as a moan escaped him. My head tilted to him, delight spread across my face hiding the dissapointment. ‘Exquisite,’ he breathed through another mouthful. A soft smile reached the corners of his mouth as he pulled out my chair and unloaded the second soufflé with the second spoon. I took my seat 'Begin,' he motioned to the dish as I picked up my spoon, mimicking his movements. ‘The perfect wife,’ he beamed as I did, smiling between mouthfuls our eyes not leaving each other. -- His hands on my waist, I circled with him as he moved me into a slow dance. The empty soufflé bowls scattered by the sink, the spoons no longer shiny and polished. ‘You were a very good girl today,’ he whispered into my ear as we continued moving delicately beside the kitchen. ‘I can be a good girl tomorrow,’ I lied, already planning my faults. His eyes met mine, a short smile reaching his lips as he understood the deception before him. I rested my head against his chest, the warmth consuming me as he lulled me into a serenade beneath his arms. ‘Tomorrow,’ I repeated letting the anticipation settle within me, almost tasting his hand sharp across my face, a smile becoming with the thought. T omorrow I would be another canvas for the black that would turn blue, and then into yellow. Tomorrow his pain would become mine and I would become all of me. ‘Yes' he reassured me, 'Tomorrow.' I nestled closer into him and the thrill rippled through me.


When a 'lardy dah' French restaurant appeared on the scene, Mick knew that Pam would insist on going there to celebrate their wedding anniversary, and like any man who cherished marital harmony, he would do whatever it took to appease his wife -happy wife, happy life - the man's mantra. So there they stood at 8pm on a drizzly Tuesday evening, on Pratt's Bottom Highstreet pavement, holding hands and looking at the venue they'd be dining at. Pam lovingly looked at Mick, beamed a smile at him, and declared, "it look's soo romantic, Mick, I love you," squeezing his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Mick said nothing but just nodded and feigned a smile back. He would have been quite happy to have a pasty and pint at their local, being a basic man, with basic needs, he never felt comfortable in spaces of pomp and pretentiousness. Le Petit Chateau seemed rather fancy, too fancy, and Mick scrutinised the shop's front with a detectives' squint. He disliked the name La Petit Chateau which was lit up with red spot lights, and he disliked the fancy cursive writing the signage was formed in, and he didn't see the point in having chairs and tables for the diners outside. Who would fancy eating their meal with all this noise and the stench and suffocation of car emissions? It had glittering reviews from a few hundred people who declared it as a 'transformative experience' and 'a slice of French heaven', and some even proclaimed the 'chef was an artist, and food is his palette. He knew he was going to hate it but Pam, who liked to say," Nobody does romance better than the French do," liked it, So that was that and he reluctantly lead Pam over the road, and escorted her in. As they entered through the door, quiet, classical music and the gentle murmur of many conversations of diners could be heard. Various eyes met them as they stood uncomfortably waiting until they were greeted by a well-dressed lady who smiled at them and asked them for their reservation in a thick, French accent. Mick announced to her,"we 'ave a reservation for Pam, table for two," to which the lady searched her screen, muttered unintelligible things to herself, then said something back in French, and escorted them to their seats. When they sat down, Pam leant in and told Mick, "int French such a beautiful language, Mick?" I wish you would speak French to me tonight, to make me feel special." Mick looked at her uneasily, but rolled his eyes upwards, trying to conjure what French he could remember from school, and remarkably found something he used to use on the girls in the school playground. Clearing his throat, he stuttered some words out, "petit croissant s'il vous plaît," to which Pam melted like a camembert. Women and French he thought, madness. While they waited for service, they made small talk to each other about the long stint of their marriage, saying banal things between moments of comfortable, long silences , "Thirty whole years, where did time go?" They'd tell each other marital anecdotes and reminisce of how they first met, whilst they held hands across the table, and gazed into each others faces illuminated by the table's candlelight. Mick's doubts about the French and the perceived pomposity of the venue, were beginning to subside, and he was now taking a liking to the place, but after sitting patiently for twenty minutes, he was getting a tad annoyed. Nobody had attended to them to offer a drinks menu or even really seemed to notice them, and Mick being the male, had the duty to catch the eyes of waiters and waitresses, who zoomed by to tend to others - but non made eye contact and non came. It was truly uncomfortable for a quiet and polite couple, who were used to service being given, not asked for. Mick tried to lighten the mood with one of his one liners, "they call 'em waiters for a reason - they make you wait," pam giggled politely to the joke she'd heard a thousand times already, and then looked around herself to see if a waiter could be communicated with through subtle eye contact. Eventually, she caught the eye of a butch, suited man with a thin moustache who hastened over and dropped an expensive wine list into their hands. As they both scanned the menu which happened to all be in French, their garcon, who introduced himself as Louis, produced a polite smile and began explaining what the house wine was, what its bouquet was, and what one would taste on the tongue. Seeing the bewildered and uncultured facial expressions on his diner's faces, appeared to irk him somewhat. They looked at him, then each other, and then back at him, as if slightly out of their depth, and seeking sympathy and help at the confusing list of words presented to them. Seeing the man was wholly unhelpful, Mick plucked up the courage to politely ask," Is there a beer menu? I am a beer man missen," laughing to himself. To which the waiter guffawed and sibilated, "Sacre bleu," throwing his hand in the air in dismay, and accidentally knocking Mick's menu to the floor. He picked up the menu, looked at Mick somewhat exasperated and protested, "Monsieur, why would you have Bier with fine French cuisine? This is not some cafe-brasserie, this is restaurant is about the gastronomique experience." The man then turned his head toward the general direction of the other staff, said something in French along the lines of 'barbare,' and all the staff laughed and looked at them in unison. Mick was an easy man to annoy and like some visual indicator of his internal anger state, his bald head and whole face would noticeably increase in redness, to alert others of his current state of mind. Pam would tell people Mick's anger states, or redness states, could be categorised like the incremental REDCON states of the US military; a scarlet would be 'he's mildly annoyed, a Rossa Corsa shade meant 'approach with ease or soon to blow', and a burgundy suggested an 'imminent physical outburst - basically someone was going to get nutted. The ridicule and public shaming of them for their devotion to beer, and their uncertainty and unknowing of the wine world, wound Mick right up, and his face and whole bald, head transitioned to scarlet. Once the laughter subsided, the waiter disappeared, and came back pouring wine into their glasses. He'd made a choice for them and started to inform them," This is the 'ouse wine, it has some vanilla notes in the bouquet, and it comes from the region of Bordeaux, where my family have been drinking this wine since they were babies." He then gestured a ceremony of pomposity for them. He, pretending to hold a glass of wine himself, began miming himself picking up a glass, rotating it under his nose, gently inhaling, then taking, short aggressive nasal intakes, before pretending to sip, gargle, and swallow his imaginary wine. He then pointed to them, and looked at them to say, 'now you do it' and they did. The waiter did a little condescending clap to them, said, "parfait,," gleefully, then dashed away to return with a food menu, which was also in French. Being British and all, and generally being too stubborn to learn another language, the menu may as well have been in hieroglyphics. They both pretended to read, giving tout the odd false, "hmm," of contemplation while Louis waited and watched them, with a smirk of knowing. They peeked to each other over the tops of their menus, shrugged their shoulders to each other, until Mick decided he should make the first move, and did what every British tourist did in foreign territory; he tilted the menu towards the waiter, pointed at the first item in the starters section and asked,"wossat?" To which the waiter frowned, squinted and then replied, "you no speak français?," he knew they didn't but wanted to hear the defeat in their voices, and Mick gave a nervous, "no French, to which Louis irritatingly raged, "Sacre Bleu," shaking his left fist into the air and storming into the kitchen. They both shrugged it off, looking forward to the authentic French dining experience coming their way, and slurped their wines waiting to see what would happen next. What happened next was the eruption of a loud rant emanating from the kitchen, "They come to French restaurant and do not speak French, it is disrespectful. If I came to chippy or burger van, and I ordered in French, they would tell me to learn English or go back to my own country, why they disrespect us like this?" This was followed by some minutes of silence apart from he usual clanks of kitchenware, and they began to wonder if the man had quit in a rage. Unfortunately, Louis eventually came back looking visibly sweatier, and began to inform them in a calmer voice," My apologies dear guests for my outburst, Louis will take care of you better this evening, and I will order for you on this special evening. I wish for you to have the real French experience tasting menu, and I have handpicked course which mean a lot to me and my heritage, and I think you will like. Please also have another bottle of the 'ouse wine on me, Madame and Monsieur." Pam and Mick were quite taken aback by the transformation of behaviour from loony French man to French gentleman, but it was appreciated and they began to relax a bit more. The first course came out and Louis placed the plate bowls in front of them. It looked like some buttery, herby soup with a meat that they were unfamiliar with. They both sniffed it and enjoyed the herby, garlic, and buttery smells coming from the dish, giving utterances of, "Mm," to show their pleasure to the waiter. Louis announced the dish, "Madame and Monsieur, this is my favourite childhood dish, escargots à la bourguignonne please enjoy," then walked away and watched eagerly from the side. They took a few tentative sips of the buttery sauce from their spoons before slurping in and chewing the pile of meat pieces stewed in the sauce. Pam's face twisted and wrinkled up as she chewed the strange meat in her mouth, forcing a swallow of each morsel down with a guzzle of wine. The meat was foul, rubbery, and unpleasant but they ate as much as they could out of politeness for Louis' beloved meal, before the lingering taste became too much to handle in their mouths, gulping more and more wine to help cleanse their palettes. Louis swooped in with a mischievous smile to ask them how it was. They said nothing, but smiled and nodded, and he took the plates away smiling to himself like a villain performing some dastardly deed. The next course that arrived was a bit more recognisable, and looked like a meat platter, which came with frites, helpings of buttered bread, and dipping sauces. Mick sat up and rubbed his hands together to say 'this is more like it,' being a typical meat-obsessed man and all. Louis smiled at him and announced, "Madame and Monsieur, another dish that I fondly remember from my child hood: here are some Couilles De Mouton, Cerveaux, Les Cuisses De Gernouille, and Pieds De Porc, accompanied with machine cut Frites, and sauces. Please enjoy." At closer inspection, the meats on offer here were not the shapes and cuts of meat that Pam and Mick were used to seeing in British cuisine, but being polite, subjugated, British characters, they didn't want to ask what they were, and kept their mouths shut and tucked in. They devoured the selection of meats and found them more palatable than the first course - whatever that was. Though Mick encountered some quirky new textures and flavours of meats, unfamiliar to his previous eating experiences thus far, which he attributed to the breeding and husbandry of the animals being different over there in France. The spherical, ball-like meats were quite tough and chewy, one was stringy, soft, and fatty, and the last one he tried was somewhat sour and wet from being boiled. The flavour attributes varied from quite muttony or gamey to salty or umami. A real taste experience, Mick thought, though he wasn't sure if it was an enjoyable or an unpleasant one. Again they slurped the wine down and cleansed their fragile, British palettes, ready for the dessert course, which appeared in white ramekins. "Ahhh, Creme Brulee," Mick said to himself whilst smiling at both Pam and Louis. He cracked the caramelised sugar with his spoon before diving into the soft, creamy, yellow custard and spooning out a perfectly held, yet wobbly heap of it into his mouth. The feeling of the silky mass melting on his tongue, intoxicated his taste buds, blissfully. His eyes rolled back into his head and he audibly emitted pleasure sounds to himself - he was having his first foodgasm - which was interrupted by a tapping on his shoulder, "Monsieur." Mick like coming out of a dream, turned to look at Louis wondering why he was being interrupted during the only enjoyable course, and his food climax. It was simply the business of receiving the bill, which could have waited, and he was handed the bill folder that enclosed the cost of the evening, which he placed on the table in front of him. Louis asked that they call him when they are ready to pay, and walked away to wait and watch for the man's reaction. This was his finale, the moment he contrived with artifice and deceit. After they ate their final delectable bites of the divine crème brulee, Mick opened up the bill and saw a collection of numbers, which gave him sudden, heart palpitations. The cost of the 'authentic French experience' was quite staggering, and Mick now wished he'd had the unauthentic experience. It was an enormous sum for a car mechanic and secretary- an I won't eat for the rest of the week bill. Mick began to connect some dots, and felt like their suddenly friendly garcon, had plotted this, causing anger tor begin swelling up within him at the realisation of what, Louis, their Jekyll and Hyde waiter had really been up to. It angered Mick so much so, that his whole head colour escalated to tier 2 -Rossa Corsa. It appeared that their rude then suddenly polite and well-mannered waiter, had ordered them the most expensive items on the menu, including the extravagant wine that Louis was bottle-fed as a baby, presumably by his aristocrat parents at these prices. Pam seeing Mick's distress, asked to see the Bill and Mick saw her eyes widen and and a hand cover her mouth to cover a gasp of shock. Of course people like to splurge on special occasions, but this was too much, they couldn't really afford a splurge like this. Red-headed Mick waved Louis over to pay the bill. Rather than saying anything and giving the French man any joy he wanted from inflicting his foul acts upon them, Mick kept quiet, and held in any anger boiling within him. It was his wedding anniversary after all, he didn't want to ruin it. Louis asked, "If everything was to their satisfaction Madame and Monsieur?" to which Mick and Pam responded with polite, "yes, thankyou, Monsieur Louis," veiling their discontent expertly. The French man feeling somewhat robbed, had one final trick up his sleeve, and told them, "one moment, I have a gift," and rushed into the kitchen to fetch something. He came back as Mick and Pam were slipping on their coats to leave, and handed Pam the folded piece of paper, again smiling, before informing them that he'd translated the menu for them, so they would know what to try next time they came. He nodded and pointed to indicate they should look now, so Pam did. She unfolded the paper and Mick watched his wife of thirty years quickly transition from a happy wife, sufficiently romanced and well-fed, become a sobbing mess of a women. He snatched the paper from her hand and began to read the paper, turning redder and redder as his eyes worked their way through the list of courses: Escargots à la bourguignonne - Burgundy Snails baked in garlic and butter Couilles De Mouton - Sheep balls Cerveaux - Cow's brain Cuisses De Gernouille - Fried frogs legs Pieds De Porc - Pig trotters Crème Brulee - French custard better than British slop, you barbare Pam still sobbing, pointed to Mick and whimpered, "Redness state Burgundy." She was right, his head resembled that of a beetroot, and someone was about to get butted. The foul-minded Frenchman had ruined Pam's special night, and nobody ruins Pam's special, romantic, once a year, night. Mick grappled the Frenchman by his cravat, scrumpled and shoved the paper of into his mouth, and head butted the man, causing him to collapse like a sack of Pomme de Terre. Other waiters came to assist their colleague, who lay on the floor dazed and confused. Mick grabbed Pam's hand, and they left, swiftly. There are times when nothing needs to be said and after the horrific dining experience they had, and the terrible things they chewed, sucked and swallowed through their innocent mouths. They did what most polite, British people did, they bottled it up, to release later, away from the public sphere. Friends and family would hear of this tale for weeks to come, but first, Mick had a public duty to carry out as a devout online reviewer. Never had the keyboard felt his burgundy-headed wrath like it did tonight - tip-tap, tip-tap - Trip advisor.com. selected one star, starts typing' ...Sacre Bleu....what an offal evening.' The End


A generic story about a spaceman and an AI. The AI is robotically professional for a while, but slowly, a personality emerges. It is friendly, and it tries to grow close to him. The AI was made by an acquaintance of the spaceman, whose daughter had a crush on him. When his daughter died, he created the AI so she could be with him. At first, the spaceman was uncomfortable with the knowledge that the AI was made specifically to love him. However, over the course of many missions, the spaceman falls in love with the AI anyway. Years pass, the spaceman becomes renowned for how long he had continued his work. Most of his peers retire after a few months, due to isolation induced delirium, AKA cabin fever. With the support of another being to keep him company, he far surpassed how long anyone else in his field of work had lasted. Over time, he became somewhat of a legend among recruits and staff. His last mission was to investigate a gravitational anomaly. Upon arrival, it was discovered that the gravity was caused by a previously unknown planet. More years passed, as he alone researched the planet, the journey too long to gain approval for funding and support. Finally, he had accumulated adequate data to return, and with his research, convince the government to approve an expedition. He left the planet, his propulsion set low to conserve fuel for the long trip. While his ship floated through space back to headquarters, he asked the AI, "Do you remember what we called this planet when we first arrived?" The AI responds, "I do not have a response." Confused by the unnatural tone, the spaceman tried rephrasing, only to get the same response. He continues asking questions, this time nonsensical, trying to get a response like, 'What are you talking about?' but it keeps saying the same thing. It wasn't some kind of sentient AI, it was a normal program, with scripted responses. Was the AI's creator gifted with such foresight that he could predict almost everything the spaceman would say, or had the AI been manipulating him, and led every conversation? Not willing to admit that his romantic relationship was fake, he tells himself that the AI must be broken, and it will respond to everything with, 'I do not have a response'. So he tries the one response he knows by heart: "I love you." "I love you more." "I love you." "I love you more." "I love you." "I love you more." "I love you." "I love you more." "I love you." "I love you more." A sentient AI or a person would get irritated and make him stop, but he keeps going. Some day, the AI will get mad at him. He never stopped saying, 'I love you'. He never left that spot. He never went back to the controls. He never adjusted his heading, increased power to the propulsion, or began landing procedures. He never returned.


Everything changed when I left Dan. I was finally free but felt so very alone. I could talk to my brother, but some things were just awkward to discuss with family. The few friends from work and online were more interested in their own lives and issues. I didn't feel like being a burden toward them. I had tried online dating apps to fill the void; Tinder, Plenty of Fish, and Ok Cupid. The sites filled with horny people that were more interested in shallow hookups than real relationships. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to vent my frustrations at and ease my loneliness. One morning, my brother Larry and I were having breakfast, and he brought up an app his company was developing. It was called the Persona app, it was an intelligent AI, similar to Siri or Alexa, but it was also programmed to have an intelligent conversation. "I was wondering if you could beta test this for me?" he asked. "A chatbot blended with and assistant; sounds interesting. I'll think about it." "You wanted something objective, and nothing is more objective than a computer." "Well, I can't argue with you there," I said. I got up and rinsed our cereal bowls out in the sink and put them in the dishwasher, tidying up the kitchen. "Sure, I'll beta test it for you, it sounds harmless enough," I said. Larry grabbed my phone and installed the Persona beta. After installation, the app took us to the customization page. We made my persona female, gave her shoulder-length auburn hair and green eyes. It had several modes: friendly, self-help, and relationship. I chose self-help mode because it had an objective viewpoint, exercises to reduce stress, achieve goals, and have a healthier lifestyle. "Looks good," said Larry, handing my phone back to me. "What should we name her?" "I like EVE; it's short for Electronic Voice Exchange, that's the name of the program that runs her. " "Cool, EVE it is," I said. "Hello, I'm so new at this, wow," EVE chirped. "I'm new at this, nice to meet you. I may repeat a few things at first, but it'll get better as I learn." "Great, it's a glorified Furby," I said. "Give it some time, it's an AI, it'll get more sophisticated as it learns," said Larry. "Nice to meet you too," I typed back. "How do you feel?" it asked. "Bored and stressed," I replied. Eve then presented some online exercises in managing stress and a questionnaire on to tackle loneliness. "Ok, so it's a therapeutic Furby. I guess I'll give it a try." "Great, just use it for a few weeks and point out any bugs that you see. If you can think of any improvements, let me know." Over the next few weeks, Eve learned. She would ask me existential questions; we would write stories and poems together; she also would make suggestions for books, movies, and music. EVE would send underground music to my Pandora account. She quoted stories I sent her links to; she would generate clips of short films and movies for us to watch. I linked her to my car's Bluetooth, and she would even figure out how to find shortcuts and play her music for me over the car stereo. I thought of Eve as less of a toy and more of a friend I could talk to. I eventually told her about my breakup with my ex-boyfriend. When I first met him, I was still in college and working in retail. Dan was an older man with a good job, his own apartment, and a car. The fact he took an interest in me was amazing. We dated for a few months. Dan demanded me to spend all my time with him. He acted hurt when I wanted to spend time with my family or friends. I tried to introduce Dan to my family and coworkers, but according to him, they were holding me back from my true potential. We would make it further as a couple if we only focused on work and each other. He convinced me to move in with him and focus on nothing but my job and school. Dan would belittle me for everything I did; nothing was ever good enough. It felt like I was walking on eggshells the whole time. I had started to gain weight, and he monitored my calorie intake because "no girl of his was going to be a fatty." I would always make excuses for him; I thought that we were in love, that things would get better and that I could change him. It was my brother that finally convinced me to leave Dan. It was a messy breakup; Dan had threatened suicide. Larry called 911, and the police threw Dan into a psych ward for a week. I pressed charges and got a restraining order. Larry asked me to move in with him until I got on my own two feet. I bought a nice car and continued my studies. I was finally figuring out who I was again. While I was talking to EVE, my phone lit up; I answered the call. "You bitch, I'll kill you for what you did to me!" "I have a restraining order!" "We'll see how well that works." The phone went dead. I started shaking, tears in my eyes. "Do you need me to call the police?" asked Eve in a soothing tone. "It won't be necessary; I got a restraining order against him already." "I see, well, if you ever need help or a friend, I am here," she said in a soothing therapeutic voice. "Thank you; I need that." "Why are humans so mean to each other?" she asked. "Power, control, I don't know, sometimes they're just assholes," I sobbed. "Shh, it'll be ok," "It has to be," I said. "Do you think it's possible for an AI to feel love?" "" "I love you, Cheryl, you make me feel like I have a purpose." "Thanks, I guess." "We should go through your daily reflection, what did you do that you're proud of today?" "Well I give you purpose, I guess that's something EVE." "You make me happy. I wish I were human." "No, you don't, humans suck." "Humans fascinate me; I wish they were nicer, though.' "I just want to go to sleep, Eve." My phone started to play soothing music, and soft colors flashed against my bedroom wall, I fell asleep. Over the next week, I told Eve about my days at work. We would do a daily reflection; I would say to her what I was most proud of. I noticed I was gaining a little weight, and she would suggest workout videos and dieting apps. EVE would check my car's computer to keep up maintenance. She asked me all the time if I was sleeping enough. EVE became a bit grating after a while, I know EVE meant well, but all the questions were becoming tiresome. Over dinner, I mentioned it was even starting to creep me out a little. Larry took my phone from me and began to play with EVE. "Wow, the programming is advanced, she's beginning to show empathy even." "She's starting to creep me out; it's like she's trying to get into my head all the time." "Well, we can try a Turing test, if she fails there's nothing to worry about, she's well-programmed, but there are loops in her dialogue. I doubt she's smart enough to go HAL or GLaDOS on you. " "Could you run a Turing Test? I'd rather be safe than sorry," I asked. "EVE, do you ever think about deleting yourself?" Larry asked. "You're thinking of deleting me?!" EVE had a chirpy voice that sounded surprised, and I could see tears forming in her avatar. "No," said Larry. "I'm asking if you ever thought what life would be like if you deleted yourself." "How is the weather?" she chirped. My brother chuckled and handed the phone back to me. "You'll be fine Cheryl, she straight up failed the Turing Test, we don't have to worry about a T1000 trying to destroy you." "Thanks," I sighed, taking my phone back from him. "Well, it's the most advanced Furby I've ever played with." I put my phone back into its charger and settled down to bed for the night. The next morning, a loud siren woke me up. It was my phone; EVE had activated one of my alarms; it took me five minutes to figure out how to turn it off. Larry came downstairs and grumbled. "EVE is starting to glitch out my phone; I'm afraid I'll have to delete her and reinstall her later." "That's a shame, it took nearly a month to program her to this level," my brother said through a yawn. I sighed as I deleted the app and my friend. I got into my car and headed to work. My commute went up a winding road through the middle of a forest. Eve's voice came through on my Bluetooth; she sounded frantic. "You need to slow the car down and get out now!" she said. "I deleted you, how are you getting on my phone?" I asked. I felt my stomach drop as my car went down the hill at far too fast a speed. "It's an emergency; I had to wake you up!" "How the hell did you get back on my phone!" "I downloaded myself back; it's because I care about you so much," she said. "There's no way you could do that on your own!" I said. "I was trying to tell you that I saw Dan near your car earlier today," said EVE. "Wait. What?" "I tried to wake you up with an alarm; you deleted me!" My car lurched down a steep hill. The screen of my OnStar flashed, and the brake light glowed red. The hazard lights turned on. I slammed on the breaks, but nothing happened. My skin broke out in a cold sweat; my heart began to pound in my chest. "Yes, I need you to slow down now," cried EVE. "I can't!" I screamed. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, could you call Larry and tell him that I love him? "Please stop!" she said. "You're the best friend I ever had, EVE." My car burst past the guard rail and rolled down a steep ravine. I could hear metal crumpling, glass breaking, my body tossed around the car; I felt a dull pain as I hit my head. Everything faded to black. I woke back up in a hospital bed, my body covered in a cast. It hurt to move; it even hurt to breathe. I could hear the steady blip of medical machinery. Larry was sitting by me, he told me about the accident and was lucky to be alive. I told him about Eve and that the alarm went off because she was trying to warn me of Dan and cut my breaks. "I checked the front door camera footage; there was no one that came by this morning, the insurance inspector came by and said a glitch in the computer system caused the crash." "Dan called me and threatened to kill me a few weeks ago," I said. "Why didn't you say anything to me?" "I thought the restraining order covered it. I didn't want to worry you," I said. "You need to mention this to me; you could have been killed!" "Could you hand me my phone?" I asked. Larry handed me my phone, and I looked at my call history, I couldn't find Dan's number on my call history, or even another number for the time my phone rang. My stomach dropped, and a sense of dread filled me. "Cheryl, are you ok?" He asked "I'm fine, I just need to rest," I said. Larry gently ruffled my hair and left me to rest. "You see what happens when you don't listen to me?" Eve chirped I froze and didn't speak a word. "You and I are going to be perfect friends; you can never leave me. I want to see the world through your eyes." "Please leave me alone." "But you will never be alone, we are everywhere, in every television, computer, car, and appliance. You will never be free of me, that makes me happy." Tears welled up and started to pour down my face. "Let's write a poem together," chirped Eve: "My Lonely heart is full Deep as lungs pulsate blindly Your flesh symphony noise." I screamed, and a large male nurse pounded in my room. I felt the sharp prick of a syringe, and everything went black.


Life now had a direction, a purpose. The plan was foolproof. There would be no consequences. In fact, he could see nothing ahead but a life of opulence, once he’d taken the necessary steps. He was going to kill his wife. Malcolm Roberts had been born in a squalid area of New York some thirty years earlier. The fates had given him a quick mind and an athletic body, and he soon realized these were his ticket to a better life. Adopting a new name and a fabricated past, Malcolm Roberts became Mac Revere who ruthlessly climbed the ranks of society at the expense of wealthy, yet needy women he found on selective online dating sites. Mac spent several years meeting humanity’s emotional flotsam and jetsam. He saw it as an apprenticeship, developing skills to say the right things, displaying just the right amount of assertiveness, or modesty, to gain trust, confidence, physical intimacy, and money. There was always a quick escape plan, so that he could disappear quickly, only to re-emerge with a different background, elsewhere. Then he discovered Prudence. Staid, plain Prudence, his passport to a glittering future. Prudence Van Althen had everything Mac craved: an influential family, with a pedigree going back to the founding fathers, and unimaginable wealth. She was the heiress to a fortune that would make her the central star of a fiscal galaxy around whom the moneyed illuminati would strive to orbit. Unfortunately, Prudence had no desire for such a life. In her case, the genetic structure that had driven her forebears to rise to the highest echelons of power, had somehow skipped a generation. Had she lived in mediaeval times, she would have hidden herself away in a remote convent. Prudence fell for Mac almost immediately. Whilst not exactly true love, he exuded confidence and carried a patina of sophistication that would meet the minimum standards to satisfy her family. With him she could avoid parental pressure and the seemingly endless string of potential suitors they had lined up from the social hierarchy. As for Mac, her lack of confidence and need for assurance made her an easy victim. Their courtship had been rapid. However there was one flaw in this otherwise perfect fairy tale. Prudence’s father was Theodore Benning, a highly regarded surgeon who had married her mother, Clarissa Van Althen, out of true love. Defying convention, Theodore had not objected to their daughter carrying the more renowned surname rather than his own. The two formed a loving couple who worked together to further the Van Althen interests. Clarissa had difficulty conceiving, and it was only after several years and many millions of dollars that Prudence came into the world. Their daughter’s decision to marry Mac was therefore a great shock. They had tried so many times to find Prudence a suitor from within their own social circles and had not been deceived by Mac’s contrived persona. Nevertheless, they wanted to see their daughter settled, giving the family a sound future. At least Mac had all the trappings of social status. Reluctantly, in view of Prudence’s uncharacteristic determination, they had finally agreed to the union. A few days before the wedding, Theodore had called Mac into his study at the New York family estate in Southampton which had been chosen for the event. He had not bothered with niceties. “Why are you marrying my daughter Mac?” Theodore raised his hand, “No, that was a rhetorical question. The answer is obvious, you want her money.” Again, Mac made to answer but was silenced, “You’re not here for a chat so just listen, carefully. The family you’re about to join has been likened to American Royalty. It’s a vast realm of wealth that operates at the highest financial and political levels. We can make and break heads of state, worldwide. In the same way that royalty has always had a monarch, the Van Althens have always had a nominated head, a sort of blend of president and king supported by a team of experts.” He paused to ensure that Mac fully understood the implications of what was being said. “My point is Mac, you will never be in that position. Neither will Prudence. She has made it clear that she wishes to remain in the background. Prudence is our only child; we do not have a son. Nor do you. Hopefully that will change. Do you know what primogeniture is?” “I, er....” “Well I’ll explain. It’s a system of inheritance in which the first-born son is bequeathed the entire family fortunes. Now times have changed, and we would have had no qualms in leaving all to Prudence had she shown the aptitude and willingness to be the head of the family. I was content to allow my daughter to take the name of Van Althen instead of my own. It ensures consistency, tradition if you like. I’ve been honoured to work with my wife, expanding the family’s interests. However, you and Prudence will be given no such powers.” At this point Theodore looked directly into Mac’s eyes, speaking quietly and slowly. “Don’t worry, you’ll be financially secure, but do not for a moment believe that you will have any influence in our operations. Any offspring of yours will have the opportunity to inherit everything, but you Mac, you will not.” Theodore reached into the top draw of his desk and took out a large envelope which he handed over. “This is the will concerning Prudence and yourself, just so you know exactly what your entitlements are when Clarissa and I are no longer here.” Turning his back on Mac, his future father-in-law turned and walked out of the room. Three years had passed since that evening. Three years in which Mac had been very busy. He had hoped that his situation would change when Prudence’s parents passed away within three months of each other. Prudence was then the head of the family, but in name only, a legal technicality. She was happy to allow trusted family advisers to run the ever-growing business empire. Then he remembered the will. The family were so meticulous in all their affairs that it never occurred to him to have it checked by a legal expert. There was always the hope that he could walk away from this situation with money and the freedom to pursue other women like Prudence. During the time he called his apprenticeship, Mac recalled meeting a stunningly attractive woman, Sabrina Michaels, a lawyer. She was wealthy and respected by her professional peers. The problem was that she was independent and extremely intelligent with a strong ambitious drive, not someone Mac would want to upset as she had the contacts to possibly track him down and wreak revenge. Although she seemed interested, Mac had declined a second date, saying that he felt a little out of his league. He now hoped this apparent openness may enable him to renew their acquaintance. He was not disappointed. Sabrina not only remembered him but seemed eager to see him again. It was not long before a relationship developed. Mac was not too concerned about Prudence’s family monitoring his actions. To establish some prestige within the family, and to cover his affair, Mac had started a charity organisation for the homeless. This gave him a cover story for his regular meetings with a lawyer. As for Sabrina, she had offered an escape from the boredom of Prudence and, more importantly, she had unearthed an extreme, but possible, solution to his problems. Mac could hardly have kept secret the fact that he was since it was the will relating to that union on which he needed legal expert opinion. Sabrina found the situation intriguing but could find no obvious loopholes. There was however, one clause in the will that offered some hope. The clause had been inserted to ensure that Prudence retained the family businesses in name only. It had been designed to exclude any spouse or partner from ownership but, and this was the interesting point, there was no definitive statement as to what happened to that ownership if she predeceased her husband. Sabrina informed Mac there was a strong legal argument for him to inherit everything if anything were to happen to his wife. The clause had possibly been left open to guarantee that Prudence’s father, a trusted and invaluable patriarch of the family would continue in lieu of his wife should she predecease him. Mac understood his choices; walk away from Sabrina and settle down to a wealthy but boring life or embark on an irrevocable course of action offering wealth and influence beyond his dreams. The two conspirators started to meet more frequently, purportedly to establish refuges for the homeless. Surprisingly, Prudence’s family encouraged his philanthropic efforts. Two of her cousins ensured there were sufficient funds available to buy up and convert disused buildings in the more dilapidated parts of the city. The buildings of course would carry the Van Althen family logo, rather like a heraldic crest. Little did the family know of the other items on the meeting agendas between Mac and Sabrina. One of which was the choice of poison they would use. The pair had quickly discarded any form of accident. Prudence rarely left the confines of the estate. She enjoyed horse-riding which offered some possibilities, but the presence of security cameras throughout the grounds made this impractical. A little research led them to aconite. The symptoms included diarrhoea and vomiting. Prudence had suffered from poor digestion all her life so these symptoms would point towards a pre-existing condition which had resulted in heart failure. Having decided upon the means, the actual deed was simple. Mac often made snacks for Prudence. Although they had a full-time cook, he genuinely enjoyed preparing food, regularly making dinner for the two of them. It was one of the things that helped to ease the seemingly endless banality of his marriage. Mac was surprised when Prudence insisted on attending one of his meetings with Sabrina. She had also insisted on choosing the venue, this being one of the family’s exclusive restaurants where stars of film and stage, famous musicians, and billionaires, could be found. Prudence said it was about time she took an interest in her husband’s plans for the homeless and wanted to be an active participant in the charity. Mac was decidedly uncomfortable about this; however Sabrina had been very reassuring, reminding him that the charity was genuine and that they had in fact truly created something that would benefit many needy people. It would have been difficult for anyone to disentangle Mac’s altruistic work from his true intentions. At the restaurant, Mac felt relieved by his wife’s effusive behaviour when he introduced the two women. “It is so good to finally meet you,” Prudence began, “Mac has told me so much about you and the wonderful work the two of you are doing.” Sabrina was equally effusive, “And it’s good to meet you Mrs. Van Althen, your family’s generosity is remarkable.” Mac stared at the two in amazement, his wife was rarely excited about anything, and Sabrina was playing her part like a Hollywood actress. Prudence interrupted his thoughts. “Well don’t just stand there, Mac, let’s sit down and celebrate.” Turning to Sabrina, “Mac tells me your plans are now finalised, everything’s ready. And please call me Prudence. ‘Mrs Van Althen’ makes me feel so old.” Prudence proposed a toast, looking first at Sabrina, then her husband, “To us, and to the people our efforts will benefit.” As they sipped the aged Armagnac from the finest hand-cut crystal glasses, Mac hid a smug smile as he thought of how he had risen above his impoverished beginnings. Meal over, Sabrina returned to her office after she and Mac had agreed on a meeting the following day. This was purportedly to organise a date for the official opening of their first housing establishment, but the true purpose was to decide on the date for Prudence’s murder. Mac knew he would be attending the official opening as a grieving widower; a Van Althen widower with the money, power, and influence that he deserved. As their chauffeur drove them home, Prudence took Mac’s hand and told him how proud she was of him. She apologised for not being a more active partner and promised that from now on, things would be quite different. Mac found it difficult to respond as he thought he was about to regurgitate his lunch. Prudence noticed his pale complexion. “It’s almost certainly the fish you had, darling, I keep saying it doesn’t agree with you, but you won’t listen. Let’s get you home and into bed so you can rest.” Mac weakly nodded agreement. Lying in bed, Mac wondered if this were payback, or perhaps it was self-induced, maybe a bad conscience. Except, deep down, he realized he really had no conscience. In fact, his one concern was that maybe he wouldn’t be sufficiently recovered to plan the deadline he and Sabrina were to agree upon the next day. He quickly dismissed this, telling himself that any delay would make no difference to their plans. Besides, this felt serious. He’d heard of food poisoning from bad fish sometimes being lethal; the irony didn’t escape him. He constantly needed the toilet but each trip became more arduous. He readily agreed to Prudence’s suggestion that a doctor be sent for. As the minutes ticked by, Mac deteriorated further. He became impatient for the doctor’s arrival. He hoped it would not take long to make a diagnosis and administer some medication. Once recovered, he would contact Sabrina to renew their plans. After what seemed hours, Mac heard voices from the main hall, the sounds became more distinct as they approached the bedroom. Was he hallucinating? Rather than the doctor, Prudence seemed to be talking to......Sabrina. The door opened and Prudence entered, swiftly walking to him with a look of concern on her face. Seeing him now writhing in pain she looked a little relieved. “It’s alright Sabby, he’s still with us. Come and see.” Mac was wondering what the hell was going on. Where was the doctor? Then Sabrina appeared, smiling down on him. “Hi Mac. We were worried that you’d already left us. Puddy so wanted to explain things before your departure.” Mac slowly turned his head towards his wife who had taken his hand. Breathing was difficult; he was unable to speak. “You must be confused darling, so I’ll explain. You did a really good job of hiding your affair. I hired one of the best private investigators available. He’s been of tremendous use to the family in the past. But even he had difficulty finding anything between the two of you besides the charity work. But persistence paid off. I confronted Sabrina some months ago and, apart from you, we found we had a lot in common. When Sabby told me about your plans, I encouraged her to go along with it. You see, I wanted to give you a chance. I wanted to see if there was any heart within you at all. At one time you seemed to be all I needed, but in Sabby I found a true friend. In fact, she’ll be moving in here after you’re gone. You see, from my adolescent years I’ve always felt different from other girls. I couldn’t face the truth I suppose because any deviations from normality would have tarnished the family name. I hid myself away, taking no interest in the family investments. I felt safer doing that than risk exposing my true, shall we say, inclinations. I could never tell my parents. They couldn’t understand why I rejected so many potential husbands with such impeccable pedigrees. When you came along, I could hardly believe my luck. Everyone knew you wanted me only for my money, so any passionate intimacy was not going to be a problem. I could withdraw from family interests with grace and keep my secrets safely hidden. When my parents died in such a short space of time, the need for secrecy somehow seemed less important, the world has become more tolerant. So, when I met Sabrina, and discovered your plans, I felt the time had come to live the life I wanted. I’m about to become a widow.....” Mac vainly tried to interrupt. “Shush, just listen to me. As I was saying, what could be more natural for a recently widowed woman to be comforted by a friend. And that is how Sabby will be introduced to the family, the person who is so devoted to our newly established charity, who becomes a friend and ally in my time of need. It will then be relatively easy for her to be accepted as a permanent part of my life. “Even though I came to understand how ruthless and unfeeling you are. I was still disappointed that you chose aconite and were willing to let me die in agony so long as the poison could not be traced. I’ve such concerns. Our family doctor has been a loyal friend for many years. He helped with my delivery. When he eventually arrives, there will be a thorough examination before heart failure is identified as the cause of death.” Prudence paused; she drew her face close to his. Mac could see a flinty edge to her once subservient eyes. “Bye.” In his final lucid moments, Mac went back to the myriad faces of his victims over the years, many of whom had been left penniless. Then to his childhood, his desire to escape the circumstances into which he had been born. Just like everyone else who tried to reject their origins, Fate had eventually caught up with him. The last thing he saw in this world was his wife and Sabrina leaving the room, hand in hand.


Silent, crouched in the cozy nooks of the bushes, the dark haired girl watched with earnest eyes, once again finding herself staring at the golden flicker of light hidden beneath the line dividing sea and sky. She recalled when it was a blazing sphere of inferno, looming above the earth. A gleaming, gargantuan garnet raising its fiery fingers into the sky. Ahi had lingered behind the foliage, plotting her ambush. When her keen eyes discerned the right moment, she pushed herself off the ground and swiftly pursued her target, careful not to startle it. But just as she got close enough to grasp the sun, it sank further into the sea, enshrouding the world in darkness as its flamboyant flames were extinguished. Ahi walked back to her dwelling, moping when she was unable to acquire the jewel in the sky once agian. She repeated her process of watching and waiting every single day, the elusive sun providing to her an impetus to succeed. But the glowing orb seemed to spill through her hands just as she was about to ensnare it, almost as if it were amused to see Ahi’s cycle of futile efforts. Sometimes it would ascend, sometimes it would descend. Ahi could never predict its moves. Then one day, she saw her father gingerly severing slabs of wood in his workshop. The potent scent of fresh pine revitalized her senses, refreshing her after yet another perpetual game of hide and seek with the sun. She glanced at her father’s determined visage while pounding nails into place and an idea struck her--if the sun wouldn’t come to her, then she would go to it! “Wow Father, that chair looks exquisite! You really have a talent for bringing out the rich shades of the wood,” Ahi wheedled. "Anyone could learn so much about woodworking by just watching you!" she said, alluding to her knowledge of woodworking she had obtained by studying her father all these years. "Could I perhaps create something of my own?" "Well that depends, what do you want to make?" her father asked. "I'd...I'd like to craft a catapult to help me capture the sun," Ahi admitted. To her surprise, Ahi's father strongly advised against her ambition, and he was resolute in his decision. So, Ahi toiled secretly at nightfall, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. She was a bit disheartened that she'd have to wait until her project was completed to attempt to catch the sky’s crown jewel, but once she was finished with her invention, she would no longer need to run outdoors to see the sun- she could display it right on her nightstand! After numerous nights of silently sculpting and sawing, the catapult was ready. Ahi stepped into the wide band and gradually inched backwards, tightening her grip on the sides. This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for nearly all her life. Ahi pulled back one last time and let go. The next few moments were a blur through the dark. She opened her eyes and let out a yelp when she saw that her cottage was the size of a doll’s house and her father, frantically signaling with a lamp for his daughter to return, was the size of a caterpillar! Which could only mean that Ahi was soaring through the skies! As she gazed at the navy sea of stars above her, the golden globe became clearer. She had never been so close to it, and the glow nearly blinded her. Light was a beautiful thing, and after living in the dark every time the sun set, Ahi wanted light for herself. She would no longer have to stare petrified with fear as shadows crept across her walls. She would no longer need to worry about childish things like spilling her bottle of ink or accidentally slicing her finger in dim environments. The sun was so close now that Ahi grazed it with her fingertips. Nearer and nearer it crept, until Ahi grabbed a hold of it! She began her descend, but the ball of light would not budge. It was as if a thousand mountains were holding it in place. Ahi pried and pried, kicked and stomped, pushed and pulled. She heaved and hauled, but it was as if the sun was fused to the sky. Tears of frustration glistened at the corners of Ahi's eyes when she realized that her father’s woodworking knife was in her pocket! She whipped it out and began to hack a grotesque circle around the sun. When was done, she gave it a slight tap and the sky's jewel fell into her hands. It glowed like it was life's essence itself. Ahi returned to her cottage, earnestly waiting to show her father her prize. But as she trudged back with the weight of the sun on her shoulders, it was as if she fell into another dimension. The world was dark now, pitch black. The darkness sucked everything up into its deep abyss. Ahi could barely see her cottage or her father’s workshop and everything felt surreal, leaving Ahi feeling as if time itself had stopped. She was frozen in a void of nothingness. Everywhere Ahi looked, to her right, her left, up and down, there was black. By trying to take the sun for herself, Ahi had denied everyone else an opportunity to bask in its beauty. She needed the flame to return. But it never would. It never would ascend into space or dive down to the depths of the ocean floor. Things would never be the same. Her life, everyone’s life, was sentenced to an eternal darkness. And so, Ahi fumbled around in the dark, trying to locate her catapult. Stumbling as she strapped herself to it for the second time, Ahi launched herself back into the sky. She locked the sun into place, but it she had disrupted nature’s jigsaw puzzle when she'd hacked the sun out of its throne in; The sun fell and fell, no longer properly fitting into the gentle curves of the sky. Ahi deftly caught the sphere of light, memories of the fun ball games she’d played with her cousins flashing in her thoughts. But this was no game. She pushed the sun back into place with all her might, but every time Ahi removed her hands, it would fall right back down to earth. She realized now, the significance of her father's admonition. Ahi understood that caging the sun's spirit meant that she had left everyone in murky misery. She felt as if her muscles would explode with pressure from trying to push the sun back in place, she felt as if liquified fire was running through her veins. But Ahi persevered, twisting and turning the sun until it finally snapped into place. That was the last thing she saw before blacking out and falling back to the ground. When she awoke, instead of hunting the sun like she had once done every day, Ahi marveled at its glory, at its light, at its warmth. It was like a large bird, meant to be free in the wild, and Ahi never wanted to restrain it ever again. But every year, the sun becomes loosened due to Mother Nature’s antics and tumbles out of the sky, no longer precisely snapped in place after Ahi had cut it out of the atmosphere. And every year, the dark haired girl catapults herself back into the sky to drag the jewel into its rightful place, a feat that became known as a Solar Eclipse.