It started as a simple Friday, I had just woken up, and after getting ready for work began heading to the Police Station, when I received a call on my cell phone, it was from a Hidden Number, which is typical seeing as though I work for the Defence Department, we, investigators, like to stay untrackable. I answered. “Hello, I’ve got an evidence sheet for Mr. Wattel”, the voice was shaky, petrified almost, and real, which was weird, callers with hidden numbers always had some sort of a voice filter applied. “Yes, that is me.” I answered. “You are likely on your way to work, I’m going to need you to divert your path to HQ, your case is... One of a kind, to say the least.” He said, still with a weird undertone to his voice. “Alright, I’ll be there in-” *BEEP*, the caller had hung up. HQ was about 2 hours away, so I took the first exit off the highway and sped off. About 20 minutes into the trip, I receive another call, still a hidden number. “Mr. Wattel, when you arrive at HQ, head to Executive parking and go straight through wing 8-E to the Evidence desk.” Said a new man, it still didn’t seem like he had a voice changer. “Alr-” *BEEP*, he had hung up on me. 1 Hour and 15 Minutes into the trip I receive a final call, from the client who ordered this precise case. “Hello, this is Mr. Wattel speaking, how may I help you?” I asked after several seconds of complete silence on his end. Suddenly, they erupt in tears, I can hear them muttering something in between their sobs, but nothing I can quite piece together. “I am going to need you to calm down if you want to speak to me.” The crying continued for about 2 Minutes, when the voice suddenly became extremely clear, sharp, it was metallic, and not at all like my client’s. “Mr. Wattel, tell me your security response code.” I felt chills running down my spine, Security response codes are extremely confidential and the public should know nothing about them, witness protection program members included. I hung up instantly, probably not the wisest of choices, but the remainder of the drive was peaceful thankfully. Upon arrival, I parked at the spot closest to 8-E I could find, turned the engine off, got out and walked to my trunk to get my backpack. I spent a few minutes looking for my staff ID, it had been buried at the bottom of my bag after not being used for several months. I lifted my head and noticed 10 Armed men had surrounded me, likely an escort. This got me extremely interested in what had happened that I would need a VIP-Class escort to get from my vehicle to a wing entrance, also slightly worried. I greeted them and began to go towards the building, I scanned my ID, and proceeded inside to find that only one was still following me. I looked behind, the other men began barricading the entrance, I knew I had been locked in, 8-E is an isolation wing with a single door to the outside world, and another door leading to solitary confinement. 3 people were standing by the evidence desk, seemingly waiting for me. One of them, I actually recognized, it was Mrs. Andrews, she had been my partner in the academy several months prior. I walked up to them, they did not utter a single word, Mrs. Andrews handed me the file, you could hear a pin drop as I was reading the sheet, nobody dared speak. *Type: Confidential Case Investigator: Mr. Wattel, Mrs. Andrews, Mr. Black Initial Situation: Triple alleged kidnapping New Information: 718 People gone, all in similar situations, where it should have been noticeable by all authorities, we are still searching for more victims.* My heart skipped a beat as I read the amount of disappearances, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I reread it, it was correct. One of the other men broke the silence, “Welcome to the Team, my name is Jon Black.” “Welcome, I think you might already know me. We will all be stuck here, in isolation, until we get this case figured out, your family has already been informed” said Mrs. Andrews, with a clearly fake smile The third man stood still, he didn’t introduce himself, he was just shaking, paralyzed. There were a few other people sitting in the waiting area that I was able to catch a glimpse of. Well, people would be an overstatement, creatures. They looked like those creepy stock photos, one of them had their mouth sealed, or rather had no mouth whatsoever. Another man had an IV beside him and had 4 arms, the last one had a suspiciously large amount of eyelids covering his face. Just looking in that room made me shiver. We walked to the interrogation sector, which was filled to the brim with family members of the victims. I took the first room on the left, Mrs. Andrews occupied the 4th room on the right of this narrow corridor, she claimed it was her lucky number. As per protocol, each person was interrogated, the cold and gray walls of these small rooms weren’t helping or reassuring anybody. Out of all the stories we received, we identified only about a quarter as plausible explanations, the rest as fiction. Most of the stories we said were most likely were people turning their back only to see their loved ones vanish, the rest were tales of black tentacles spreading, some people claimed it was But this was a government super secret case so all of the stories were kept as plausible for us to sift through with more attention later. Mrs. Andrews had been on several of these cases prior to this one, Mr. Black had just graduated from the academy so the 2 were working together mostly. I had already been on one isolation case, about a chemical weapon reserve built by the Texas state government. We all took a break to go to an office and discuss our findings, which was close to absolutely nothing "Well, what have you found?" Asked Mr. Black "Lies." Answered Mrs. Andrews with a sigh, she was stubborn and very picky. "Absolutely nothing we can go off of" I replied "I investigated one of those men" He said, pointing at the waiting area, "the only thing I got out of him was the word Black, he was either calling my name or saying something about his experience, after that I let him go back." 6 hours into this intense questioning session, I got one of the “Creatures” into the room I had occupied for interrogation, this was the one with the superficial amount of eyelids. He came in with one of the security guards, who stood within the room, I could spot a taser in his holster, seriously creeping me out. I asked the creature the regular questions; “Who are you?” A gut wrenching screech came out of its mouth, this was going to be no easy task. “How did ‘this’ happen to you?” He lifted his shirt and pointed at a small device, stapled into his stomach, releasing another out of this world shriek. “May I investigate this object?” Immediately, I saw every single eye open, they were looking at me extremely menacingly, he began flailing his arms, at which point, the guard was preparing to tase him. I used all the calming techniques I was taught in the academy on this extraterrestrial being and told the guard to put away the weapon. The guard obliged, though doubtful and unsure, seeing the expression on his face. I took the creature’s response to my question as a clear “no”. “What did it feel like?” I asked, in a rush to get done with this one, all the contents of my previous meal were already halfway up my oesophagus from terror. He either didn't hear the question or didn't want to answer, I still needed information so I repeated the question. "What did it feel like when you were abducted or captured? Who did it?" I asked, more sternly this time. He definitely understood the question, and was not happy, his eyes suddenly went pitch black. He repeated, in the creepily clear voice I had heard on the phone many hours ago, “Mr. Wattel, tell me your security response code.” Roots of black were growing onto the rest of his face. The guard seemed perplexed as to what was happening but did not seem surprised in the slightest, he quickly pulled out the taser and shot at this humanoid, whose skin had turned almost metallic and completely deflected the probes. The black had continued spreading down to his neck, then to his arms, but it didn't stop at his body, it spread out onto the desk on which his hands were laying. Onto the walls from there, and like roots from his feet. The guard had completely lost his marbles and was desperately trying to open and bang on the door, Mrs. Andrews rushed from her interrogation desk to mine and was equally terrified and trying, as was the guard, to liberate us. I felt my own body starting to be consumed in this dark substance, which I could now tell was not solid, it was more like a thousand little tentacles. And the world suddenly froze, the last thing I saw was the guard in a panic with the worst facial expression I've ever seen on anybody, and the door's middle window fading into black. There was no sensation, it was just **void.** I had woken up, this same black matter still present everywhere around me, but it seemed like I’d been spared, it hadn’t consumed my body like it had everything else in the room. The guard lay a few feet away from me, motionless, also completely unscathed. I could feel the tiny serpents that comprised this material, slithering under me. Looking around more attentively, the walls which had previously enclosed the 3 of us had vanished, as had the creature. The roof and floor extended infinitely from what I could tell. What was even weirder was that it wasn't pitch black like it should've been seeing as there were no light sources within this 'realm' from what I could tell, you could see fairly well. I was hoping I would wake up in the warmth of my bed, but it didn’t happen. My only option seemed to be to stand up. I did, the minuscule organisms seemed to pay no mind to me, squashing their bodies with all my weight. My curiosity to find out what this goo was overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and hopelessness, so, in a fit of rage, I threw my fist at the floor. That hurt, it turned out to be completely solid, I began to doubt my mental state heavily. Not knowing what to do next, I started walking in as straight a line as I could. Just a minute into the walk, I heard a yell from behind me, I froze, I had definitely not expected to hear any sounds during my venture, it was coming from behind me, I swiftly turned around, prepared to run for my life. It was the guard, he had awoken and was jogging towards me, not wanting to be left behind in this space, I let him join me, fairly happy to have company. There was no way for us to keep track of our direction and location as there were no objects to keep track of, just roof and floor. We continued walking as linearly as we could, though I was sure we were just doing large spirals around this 'room'. After around 3 Hours, I finally came up with the idea of checking my cell phone, which should’ve come to me much sooner. Well, I took it out of my pocket and unlocked it, now, on a normal day, I’d usually see my home screen and a few SMS or Missed calls, I determined that it currently wasn’t a normal day, I had nearly 800 missed calls, all of which were hidden numbers, and not a single SMS, which was bizarre, the usual ratio was 5 SMS to 2 Calls. Voicemail had been left so I went ahead and checked it, I felt the blood drain from my face as I listened to the first one. That same exact voice I had heard before, repeating a multitude of times, “Mr. Wattel, tell me your security response code.” After freezing for a few seconds, I got myself back to a state where I could at least process my thoughts and continued listening to these messages. The four or five more recent ones were all the exact same. I had completely given up at this point, but I did notice something peculiar, I had outstanding network coverage, although it was interesting to know, it served absolutely no purpose. I was just about to put away my phone when I get an alert; "Mr. Wattel, we have just woken up after being sucked in by a similar black substance as you were. You may not even be alive, but there are three of us, a guard, myself, and Mr. Black, try to respond somehow." My limited technological skills would not be of use, so I thought of the only other logical thing to do, yell at the very top of my lungs, to give them an orientation to follow, if indeed they were with us. Mere seconds after I had screamed, the serpents began to slither up into a statue or shape in front of us, they formed a dark and obscure face with an extremely agitated expression, adding to the fact that about a thousand tentacles, snakes, or whatever they are, are building a human face above us, the room was suddenly entirely lit up, I could tell because I was squinting from it and also the fact that the guard, still with me, was illuminated., Though, still, not a single light source was visible. I was expecting the worst with this creature, and I think that is basically what I got. It gaped it's mouth, only to reveal the beast that had sat with us in the room just hours prior, well I say hours, I have no idea how long I was asleep, the clock on my phone is acting weird. He jumped and immediately began running at us, me and the guard separated and began running in different directions, which was probably the best thing we could have done, as the creature was trying to keep track of both of us and, even with all of its eyes, couldn't quite do it, causing it to kneel and rub its eyes for a few seconds before picking up the chase again, going after me, there was no escape, I knew that, but I kept running and running. I closed my eyes to concentrate every bit of strength my body had on increasing the distance between me and the creature. Then, I knocked into something, I wanted to be ended, right then and there, quickly, without any pain. Opening my eyes for what I thought would be the last time, I spot human skin, Mrs. Andrews! The moment of happiness and relief was short lived, as I looked behind, I couldn't see the multiple-eyed man, but a black mass was coming straight at us, I was pretty sure I could see the guard that had been with me, being absorbed by it. Fearing for our lives we darted off perpendicularly to the movement of this glob. We weren't fast enough, it caught up, and one by one, I could see people being picked off from beside me, one by one. "What will happen to my family?" was the only thing I was able to think of as I slowly reached my death. I knew my legs were definitely aching at this point and were about to give out but the adrenaline pushed me a little bit farther, when I looked behind again, I felt joy running through my body, I had outpaced the mass, or rather it had lost all of its horizontal velocity. This is where I'm at, I still signal reception on my phone for whatever reason, I'm using it to release this, I have 4% left, and I likely won't find a plug anywhere. I don't know if I can survive much longer, my stomach is struggling and I probably strained my ankle from all the running, I'm a detective, not an athlete. Whatever the hell this black material is, I still don't have the slightest clue as to the physics behind it. I think I'll just keep walking, nothing else to do... EDIT: This is a repost of one of my stories on NoSleep.


I don't usually drink alone in bars, but the idea seemed great. Ever since she left, the urge was steadily building. Nothing else I did felt like a proper ending. She lingered. So one night I went out, alone, to a bar, aiming at becoming the idea. I sat and ordered my drink. The experience was nothing like the idea. Quietly wasting away, the first twenty minutes or so were horrendous. Then he sat down- at least I think he did. I don't remember, maybe he was already there. I do remember the first thing he said: "How's your beer?" My beer was excellent- I had become an expert on my beer. Sit alone for twenty minutes (or more?) sipping your beer, and you will be quite primed to describe said beer. So I did. And he listened. It was not a very interesting description. That's how we got to talking. We talked about where we were, the bar itself, and we talked about our beers. We joked about the news, and the weather, then exchanged tiny best-of's we'd gathered from our lives. Best jokes heard, best one-liners, best pranks. Best tricks, best stories. We shared and drank some more, and we never asked the other his name. We didn't talk about what we did, or who we were. We talked about what we thought. There is a difference. The night was long, and in a way it was tiring. It was also a release. Hours later, as the sun started to rise, I thought it prudent to finally get my friend's name. Which is when he suddenly plopped down his final glass, and as if reading my mind, said "No need for names." We'd gotten into sync with one another. Hours of intense conversation will do that. Then he stretched, got up, and put on his hat. He said something to me then, and I don't think I'll forget it. He said, "You know something? I'm not what a lot of people would consider successful, but I love Time. Time and death. I love time, because it means even someone like me is a traveler." He paused to throw on his scarf. Then he continued, "You know, I had a physics teacher once, and he explained how space and time are cut from the same cloth- fact, they are the same cloth. You and me, we sat here, and we drank, and we talked, and the whole time we traveled. Time keeps you moving, even when it seems like you aren't." He put on his jacket. I asked him, "And death?" He stopped, his hands in his sleeves, and said "Death is always the end of the line. So it 's the journey that matters. Without death, we'd think the destination was the point." That was the last thing he said to me. I said "goodbye" to him, and as was my habit, "good luck." too. Then I went home and slept, and maybe dreamed, perhaps about how far I'd come from who I'd been.


Claire woke up with a jolt, sweating and breathing heavy. Not again, she thought. The dreams haven’t happened in a long time, they were supposed to be done and gone. Claire reached over to her night stand and grabbed her water bottle taking a big gulp. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought; maybe it was just a dream. Claire closed her eyes and went back to bed hoping for a decent nights sleep. The following morning Claire woke up feeling refreshed and she pushed the dream out of her mind. It was just a dream she kept telling herself. She made breakfast and sat down to eat. Something told her to turn on the television so she did. What she saw made her spit out her coffee. Her dream wasn’t a dream after all; there before her eyes on the tv was the bus crash. Every detail was just how she dreamed it, the number of the bus, the amount of people hurt and sadly the casualties. “Oh no, oh no. Not again. Why? WHY!” She said forgetting her breakfast and running to the phone. “Wait, what am I doing? Who am I suppose to call? The accident already happened and if I call now they will think I had something to do with it. AHHH!” She screamed. She could call her friend, he always believed her. They haven’t spoken in a while though, she wondered if his number was the same. After a while she decided against it, the dream was a fluke, a coincidence. One dream didn’t mean her visions were back. No they wouldn’t, couldn’t be back. She would let it go and move on. She had to get ready for work. The week went on as normal, no other visions penetrated her subconscious. People at work were talking about the bus crash though and she would nod along whispering how sad it was. It was ruled as an accident, faulty brakes, but Claire was still certain something else happened. She was not going to dwell on it though, she was done with that. She wanted to be normal and act normal. She was humiliated enough and thrown into enough mental hospitals to last her a lifetime. The door chimed and Claire looked up from her desk, she stared shocked to see the friend she was going to call this morning. Maybe he wasn’t here to see her she thought and went back to work. Josh looked around and saw her, Claire. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. He was here to talk to her about the bus crash. He believed her when she said she had visions and thought maybe she had one about the crash that could help in his investigation. “Hey Claire, can we talk?” Josh asked approaching Claire’s desk. “Uh, what about?” Claire replied. “I think you know.” He said pointing to the tv which was playing the bus crash footage again. “Fine, but not here. I leave for my lunch break in ten minutes. I’ll meet you at the park.” She said forcing a smile. Josh nodded in understanding and walked out the door. Josh was waiting at a picnic table when he saw Claire walking towards him lunchbox in hand. He got up to greet her with a hug but stopped not sure if it would be okay. “Shall we sit and talk?” He asked. Claire nodded and sat across from him. She opened her lunchbox and took out two sandwiches and handed him one. He grinned and opened the wrapping. “So... How have you been?” He asked shyly. “Good, but let’s cut to it already. You wanna know if I saw anything about the bus crash. Yes, I did but I don’t want to dwell on it. It was considered an accident anyway.” “But it wasn’t. That’s what we told the news to draw suspicion away. Claire this is the third crash, all with the same MO.” “But... but... they said the brakes were faulty.” “No the brakes were tampered with.” “What do you mean same MO. The first crash, the driver ran into a power pole, drunk. The second crash the driver fell asleep at the wheel. Both of those involved smaller vehicles too, not a giant bus!” “You are right however the way the vehicles were tampered with was all the same. All had the brakes messed up. As for the drivers of the first two there was no evidence that either were impaired. I need your help on this one. Please.” “I will help however I can but I don’t know too much. I gotta get back to work. Meet me at my place at six and we can go over... stuff.” Claire said getting up from the table. Claire walked up her porch steps a little after six and saw Josh waiting for her, dinner in hand. She smiled and unlocked her front door. They were both silent as Josh pulled out two burgers and some fries and Claire got some napkins. “So did you see all three crashes or just the bus?” He asked. “I saw the all three but I don’t know what I can tell you. I basically saw what the news reported. I didn’t see anything before the crashes or who could be involved.” “So all you saw was the news report than?” “It’s like I was there but the crash already happened. The police and EMTs were showing up and the some people were climbing out the bus bleeding.” “And no one stood out to you? No one watching the scene? Some criminals like to stay and watch the chaos they create.” “Not that I can think of...” She trailed off, “Wait! There was one guy who was at the other two crashes too.” “Then that is our guy. What did he look like?” Josh asked. “I don’t know. I only saw a glimpse and it was dark at this morning’s crash. Don’t look at me like that! Listen I know it’s the same guy because he always wears the same outfit and hat!” She said frustrated. “Okay, okay. Describe what you can.” He replied and Claire told him all she could remember. “Okay so I’ll go back over the footage and see if I can find anything. Please call me if you see another one no matter what time.” He said and left. The next day Josh came back to Claire’s house to go over what he found. He brought someone with him. “Claire this is Jannie, Jannie this is Claire,” Joshed introduced them, “Jannie works for my department and is working this case with me. I told her about you.” He said smiling. “What? Why would you do that?” Claire asked shocked. “Oh! I get it, Claire as in clairvoyant, haha that’s clever.” Jannie said laughing. “What is clever about it? It’s my name, that’s all.” Claire said angrily. “Oh no mean to offend, just don’t know too many psychic’s.” “Okay, how about we get started then?” Josh asked. Josh showed Claire the video and she was able to point out the man she saw in all three visions. Jannie worked on a sketch then put it on a flyer saying wanted for questioning. “So when did you get your first ‘vision’.” Jannie asked air quoting the word vision. “I was in high school, Josh was my only friend. I told him and he was skeptical at first then after it came true he believed me. I tried to warn others but no one believed me. Not even my parents.” Claire said. “Well yeah I get it, visions, seeing the future. Seems unreal to me, but I have an opened mind and Josh said you saw some stuff that others didn’t.” She smiled. Later that night Jannie decided to do some research on this so called psychic Claire who believed her dreams were of the future. Jannie found some interesting stuff out about Claire for instance she was in a couple mental institutions. However it took some time to uncover why Claire was admitted. Jannie found out that in high school Claire claimed the science lab was going to catch fire, it didn’t until a week later though. Although there was no proof the principal assumed Claire set it to make herself look good. Later on Claire said her aunt and uncle were going to be poisoned and a few days later they were. Suspicion was on Claire but again there was no proof she did anything. She stopped having visions after that, or at least she didn’t tell anyone again and who knew what she claimed in between the hospital visits. Jannie wondered if Claire made these past accidents happen and wondered if she was doing it again with the crashes. She needed to warn Josh, he might not know the whole story. Jannie ran to Josh’s office only to find he already left, she knew where he was going and heading towards Claire’s house. “Josh I need to talk to you NOW!” She said when she saw him on the front steps. “Uh, sure come inside and we...” “No, not in front of her.” Jannie said pointing towards the door, “Look I’ve done some research and things aren’t adding up. First there was a fire, then a poisoning, who else knows what. Josh she isn’t a psychic, she is a PSYCHO!” “No she isn’t. Come inside I will explain. She isn’t home, she went to get lunch.” Josh replied. Jannie was hesitant as first then followed Josh inside and waiting for him to speak. “Claire had her visions and some she told publicly because she feared for the lives of those people. What you don’t know is that she had other visions come true too, visions she only told me because I was the only one who believed her. The poisoning I admit was a little hard to pull off though, I had to rely on the fact that they drank wine with dinner.” Josh stopped talking to look over at Jannie who looked confused. “Oh I’m sorry I cut the main part out. See I believed Claire, I felt a pull towards her and when she made a public announcement about the fire and those people laughed at her I had to act. It was I who set the lab on fire. I made sure Claire was in another class though so she wouldn’t be suspected. Same with her aunt and uncle, she was with her parents then.” “So she isn’t psychic at all, you did all those things. Wait, does this mean you caused the crashes too?” Jannie asked panicking. “Yes, although it was harder to determine what she saw because she shut me out. We have a connection though and knew she would see me soon enough.” “This is insane. You are insane! I’m getting out of here and calling for backup.” Jannie said standing up. “Oh but you misunderstand. See Claire had another dream last night. This time it involves you Jannie and your death.” Josh said with a smirk as he shoved Jannie down the back steps. Her head cracked against the sidewalk and Josh planted evidence on her that she caused the crashes. He walked back inside and saw Claire walk in. “Claire, thank goodness. I need to call back up. Jannie showed up and... and...” He sat down and made himself sob. “She did it didn’t she? She confessed to the crashes and then she tried to run and tripped?” Claire asked walking towards the backdoor. “Yes, she hit her head. I checked her pulse and nothing. I’m sorry Claire.” He said standing up. “It’s not your fault. She was the criminal one here. I’m glad we stopped it. Thanks for believing me.” Claire said giving Josh a hug. “Of course Claire, I will always believe you.” Josh said hugging Claire back and smiling. Everything was going to be just fine.


The Steel Guardian It appeared one day after school, after another round of bullying from my classmates, and gave me quite a fright, to put it lightly. I was bullied a lot; it became part of my daily routine, and to avoid it, I often hid in the library or an empty classroom. But it hardly ever worked; they always found me, one way or another. This time, it happened in the parking lot, which by now, was nearly empty. The only occupants were the stoners and smokers, and they kept to themselves. Not that I would’ve asked for help, anyway. There was no point. And I kept looking at the only bright spot on my horizon: one more semester, and I’d be off to college, making a fresh start in a new city far away from my tiny town. “You know, it’s almost boring, pushing you around anymore,” Tiberius ‘Tiger’ Santos sneered around the cigarette in his mouth. “You don’t even fight back.” He shoved my shoulders, and I landed hard on my back, my backpack doing little to cushion my fall to the blacktop. He squatted down in front of me and smirked, drawing his fist back to hit me, likely right in the nose, to upset my glasses. “Then why even bother, Tiger?” I grumbled when I got my breath back. He shrugged, his smirk taking up the lower half of his face. “Because it’s fun. Because I’m bored. Just because. You like to act like you’re invisible, but I see you. You’re nothing. A speck. Dirt on the bottom of my shoes.” There was a high-pitching, whining squeal above me, and I squinted, trying to pinpoint the source of the sudden noise. A crash shortly followed; when flat gray feet met the parking lot, cracks expanded around them. “Step away from my human, Tiberius Santos, or I will make sure you cannot make another move for the rest of your days.” The voice was clipped, monotone, robotic, and an arm with some sick-looking blasters at the end of it hovered inches away from my bully’s face, coating his face in a bright scarlet wash, like blood. “What the fuck? What did you do, you sick freak? If this is some prank to take the piss out of me, I swear to God, I’ll pound you!” Tiger squealed, and despite the fact that I didn’t know what was going on either, I couldn’t help but feel a spiteful glee in seeing him squirm. Served him right. “You heard him, Tiger. Step off, or you’re gonna end up with blasters to the face.” I said, smiling up at him. “I’ll get you for this, you fucking nerd!” Tiger hollered as he turned tail and ran away from my mysterious protector. “You’re dead!” I stood up, and I got my first real look at the machine that saved my life. It was a life-sized robot, all decked out in silver and black chrome, with blasters that receded back into its metallic arms, and its bright red eyes found mine. Unbelievably, it was smiling. “Who are you? *What* are you?” “I’m your guardian angel. Robot. I’m here to protect you.


I can feel my muscles tensing. I can feel my feet aching. I can feel sweat run down my face. With every step I take I can feel leaves crack, twigs snap, and my captors fast steps getting closer. These are no ordinary men. Their footsteps move in unison. When they first began chasing me I heard two voices now I can only hear one, but yet their footsteps still remain the same. I had taken this chase into the woods praying that the tall trees would block the full moons ever illuminating light. My prayers had paid off. I dive behind one of the many tree trunks. With my back against the trunk I catch my breath. Sitting there I can’t help but observe how well the shadows are hiding my body, my focus turns back to the men chasing me as I hear one of them say” Dammit, we lost him! Let’s turn back!” his associate speaks,” No, he’s somewhere in here!”. The first man responds immediately, ”Fuck that, I’m not wasting my night on some shit we’ll never find!” “Fine, then go” barks the second man. At this point I hear a cacophony of footsteps on the other side of the trunk I'm resting against. I then hear both men march away in unison the same way they did before. With their footsteps getting more distant I look up at the trees around me. I offer them thanks for granting me shade and helping me continue my escape. I peak my head out of cover from the tree trunk to see how far the men are. As I do some I come face to face with one of the men. As we look at each other in the face, eyes wide, I look past him to see the other man on horseback. I know this man has no intentions of keeping my secret and as he goes to yell I lunge at him. I grab him by the neck and force him down to the ground. While I have him by the neck choking him, I’m stalling, I need time to come up with an idea on what my next course of actions would be. Without my knowing the man pulls a blade from this boot. He uses it to slash me on my right cheek but I don’t let go. He tries to get from under me, at this point I look at my surroundings. A pointed rock sits nexts to me. I grab it. With multiple swift smashes to the man's head he no longer struggles. He doesn’t move but neither do I. I am frozen, I am scared and I don’t know what to do. I get from on top of him. Praying he will move but this prayer falls short. As I look at the man I can’t help but think to myself this was a man who was taught to hate me. This was a man who like me didn’t know any better and who was doing what his life had guided him to do. This man did not deserve to die this way, he deserved to be taught to see his fellow man as his equal. It’s unfortunate that no one was able to teach him until this point. As I am wondering what to do with this man I look the way he came to see his colleague slowly coming back. He has yet to enter the woods. This time the horse can be seen taking a leisurely pace. I look back at the man on the forest floor. I know this man is dead. I know I will soon be if I let this man capture me. With this brief assessment of my circumstances I run. I run like I never have before. I make a promise to myself. I will make it to freedom.


I still didn’t know why I had come to the hotel. There was little I needed. Married women weren’t meant to sit in hotel lobbies flicking through out-of-date magazines. Waiting on men they weren’t married to. However, the stories in those magazines reminded me of my youth. And of my predicament. They too were stories out of their time. Stale and left aside. Told once and then never do we find what came of them. I used to read my mother’s old issues. I’d sit in the kitchen under the table. She’d cook and talk with my aunts. Conversations not meant for children. I would listen. I would read the tales of romance and woe. Affairs, scandal and loss. and I’d write my own. My brain flooded with what if questions. How could she do this? I’d ask. How does she trust him? I’d ask. And then I’d write stories from there. I could write the same story a hundred ways. Soon a fling with a waiter would be so much more. Such was the beauty. I called these moments ‘pivot points’. A place where the story branches and we make a choice on who we are going to be. Life is all about choices, but these were the defining ones. Those places in the story where everything would always echo with what if from that point on. They always felt so local to that moment and obvious, but now that I was watching Bobby pull into the car park I realised that they were anything but. They permeated and crept up over and over. Some choices you had to keep making. High school was kind to me in some ways and cruel in others. I was popular, enough, and I had a boyfriend. So, I wasn’t lonely. Bobby Trent was the tough type. He was a bad boy in a leather jacket who smoked and rode a motorcycle. Yet, on a summer’s day he’d take me to the park. He put a flower in my hair and kissed me. Told me he could hear the giggles I tried to hide inside. And then when he kissed me again I heard them too. I left my hometown and Bobby at eighteen. I fled cross-country after fighting with my father. There was a great many topics, but Bobby was one. He would never accept that I loved this man. “He doesn’t even work, he wants nothing to do with college and he’s a lay-about-good-for-nothing.... A punk”. I never could look my father in the face and say, “But he makes the sun shine brighter on a rainy day. You don’t know the way he makes me feel when his hands caress the parts I hide and only lift so he can kiss and accept my flaws. And you don’t know what it is like to have all your insecurity lifted when you see in his eyes that he didn’t even know they were anything less than perfect”. But I still missed my home. Often wondering what if I’d stayed. Settled down with Bobby and watched my mom grow old. The hotel we were meeting in was the Blue Valley, where he’d taken me so many years ago. It wasn’t luxury then and it wasn’t luxury now. But it didn’t have to be. No, like Momma’s cooking it was rich in those familiar tastes of nostalgia. The sweet indulgent flavours of memories. Bobby wasn’t long in the lobby. I watched his strut through the door. He Flashed me a smirk and his eyes appeared to signal something. Then I was in his arms. We giggled in the hall. And we spilt across the bed like wine. Everything flowing like music when the old band gets back together. And then the crescendo came. And in the aftermath I wrapped myself in sheets while he stood naked. I sat and watched him smoke on the balcony. The smell was too real for dreams. The thing about my mother is that I love her, and she was never a good cook. The hotel had dirty mirrors and a light coat of rust and age everywhere you looked. The haze of nostalgia always cleared when I visited and tasted the food I’d missed. Then my father got up on his pedestal to look down at me again. Reality crashed in like an alarm clock breaking the spell of the dream. It never tastes how you remember it. I stopped eating french toast when momma died, and now I realized it wasn’t cause no one else made it right. That is what I told people. It was because I missed her and it reminded me of how long she’d been gone. Time passes so fast and so slow all at once. Bobby aged before my eyes and soon I saw less of my rebel and more of the accountant. The motorcycle was gone. He drove a station wagon. And his bulletproof hair was thinned to the last. I left the hotel before sleeping. The trip home was one of silence. I found myself in my small house. I stared down the hall at my fat husband. My husband. And I heard him say, “You okay princess? If you need to talk let's go out to the patio. I just got the little ones asleep.” The tears came. He didn’t know why, but he held me. And I cried harder than before. My father may have been wrong about Bobby all those years ago. But I was wrong this time. The grass may well be greener elsewhere, but my grass was green enough. We took our tea out in the garden and I knew I’d tell him soon. I knew he’d leave. I knew I deserved it. My father didn’t understand how Bobby made me feel and I guess what I hate about my dad is how much alike we are. In the morning I’d tell him everything, but tonight I wanted to be held. I wanted to know, “what if I’d just been happy with what I had? What if I hadn’t thrown it all away?”


“You’ll never believe who I saw last night...” Jen tried to sound casual, looking down at the fork in her hand instead of at Megan across the table. “Try me.” Megan’s green eyes sparkled as she took a sip from her mimosa. “Logan Hansen!” Jen announced in a voice that disgusted her--one that carried a false note of astonishment, she thought. She’d been working on taming her incredulousness for the last fourteen hours, but talking to Megan, she could feel that note creeping back in to the story. “I went to see my niece’s play, and he was there! I guess he has a son that goes to school with Gaby?” “Yeah, Logan’s been back in town for a while now,” Megan said with a nonchalance that made Jen drive her fork hard into her french toast. “Yeah? You never mentioned it. I thought you were supposed to be a newscaster.” “All the news that’s fit to tell.” Megan shrugged her broad shoulders. “So did you talk to him?” “No. He was all the way across the auditorium, and anyway, no, it just felt like it would be weird.” “What’s so weird about saying hi to an old friend?” “He was busy. He has his kid, just...” Jen could feel her cheeks tingling, and she could see Megan registering her reaction, the slow-spreading smile. She should not have brought it up. “He’s totally available,” Megan said, leaning forward over the white table cloth. “That’s not--” “It so is! Don’t pretend that’s not why you brought it up. This is exactly the scoop you’re looking for.” It may have been, Jen admitted to herself. She hadn’t been able to shake the thought of Logan since she’d spotted him sitting across the aisle of the auditorium, occupying a spot where Jen had a decent view of his three-quarter profile. It was definitely him. Of course, Logan had changed some in the last twenty-four years. His brown hair was shorter than she remembered it, and maybe it was streaked with a few gray highlights. His shoulders weren’t thrown back in the assured but eager-to-impress posture of his youth; they rolled forward unselfconsciously as he sat and watched his son on stage. Still, the sight of Logan had affected her. It was a ridiculous cliche. Jen could feel her heart sprinting, feel tension curling in little ribbons down her arms. It was hard to concentrate on the play that Logan seemed fully absorbed in. He didn’t lean over and whisper to anyone on his right or left, no conspiratorial glances or smiles. Just the stage. He’d seemed to be there alone. “What? Divorced?” Jen ventured. “That’s the spirit!” Megan pounded her fist lightly on the table, rattling the flatware. Then her smile faded. “No. Tragically widowed, actually.” “Oh,” was all Jen could express out loud, the only voice she could give to the sinking, chastising guilt that came over her on hearing that news. “That’s terrible,” she breathed, almost an afterthought. “Yeah, I mean, it’s probably been about a year, and I think he’s doing ok. That’s when he came back to town. His wife had been sick before.” Leave it to Megan to know everything. As the revered evening newscaster, Megan saw every local press release, but as the PTA president with a warm, magnetic personality, she always seemed to have her finger on the pulse of the local gossip. It seemed like one or another of her four kids was friends with someone from every family that Megan and Jen had known growing up together. When she talked to Megan every few months, Jen felt like she’d never left her hometown. “Anyway, water under the bridge,” Megan concluded. “Don’t let that scare you away.” Jen was terrified--terrified by her own curiosity, and by the little flutter she felt in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not scared,” she protested. “I just don’t feel the need to act out some rebound scenario with a bereaved friend I haven’t seen in twenty years. It’s ridiculous, Megan!” “Fine, sorry. You brought it up.” Megan sighed and leaned back in the chair with her mimosa. “If you’re not ready to move on, I’ll drop it. I’m just saying that there are plenty of fish in the sea. They’re yours to reel in when you’re ready. But I suspect this one is your white whale.” Jen’s smile ached in her cheeks. “How do you know everything all the time?” “Mother’s intuition?” Megan drained the last of her mimosa and set the glass down. “Come on, Jen, you were totally stuck on him. I mean it-- stuck. Neither one of you would make a move. It was painful.” “That’s not how I remember it. We were just friends.” “Yes, I think you two invented the friend zone back then,” Megan laughed. “He never--” Jen began. “No?” Megan was giving her the denial look--that deep stare, head tilted, blond eyebrows raised. “He was into you !” Jen reminded her. “Puppy love.” Megan waved her hand dismissively. “With you it was the real thing, whether he knew it or not.” “I think he did not,” Jen said. “I’m just saying. He’s here and single; you’re here and single, like it or not. Aren’t you a little curious? I know where to find him...” Jen had not spent the last two decades pining away for Logan Hansen. She had made a move--she’d moved five hours away, gone to school, moved on. That’s what she told herself as she sat at the Dancing Fox Cafe’s outdoor patio, her hand twirling a fork while curiosity and embarrassment wrestled inside of her. Where was the embarrassment coming from, Jen wondered? So what? She’d had a probably-unrequited crush on a friend as a teen-ager. Who hadn’t? So why this discomfort that had been tormenting her since last night? Seeing Logan in the auditorium where they’d shared so many rehearsals and laughs and dance spins, where they’d delivered lines in such close proximity she could smell his breath, had been like a flash flood and, with her foundations already washed away, it had dredged up a lot of sediment. It had muddied the waters of her life until things were too murky to distinguish that confused teen-aged Jen from the mature, confident woman of forty-one. All of the old insecurity, the jealousy, and the longing came flooding back. Here she was, watching and wondering about Logan with honest-to-god sweaty palms, while the thought of Jen had probably not crossed his mind that night--probably not for years and years. Jen resented the power Logan Hansen still held over her. But how to convey that to Megan? “Of course I’m curious,” Jen said, carefully laying her fork down. “But I don’t know if this is good for me. I don’t think I can take any more rejection right now.” “Oh, Honey...” Megan’s manicured hand grabbed Jen’s where it rested over her fork. “Break ups suck.” She paused and let her own love pour into Jen’s body through her French tips. “Eleven years!” Jen said, grabbing on to Megan’s hand. “We were together eleven years and all of the sudden he’s like you’re not fun anymore. Bye! ” The full story had been more nuanced, but no less of a surprising gut punch. “Phil was an idiot. Which is exactly why you need a corrective experience,” Megan said. “And you think Logan would be a corrective experience?” Jen scoffed. Megan grinned. “Well, maybe corrective in a different sense. You know, like a chance to go back and correct something you’ve regretted.” Jen took another bite of French toast as she considered Megan’s perspective. She had wished last night, as she stared at the back of Logan’s head, that she had been brave enough years ago to explore the truth with him. Now, with nothing but her own sense of self-preservation to hold her back, maybe this was the chance. “I mean, it’s a badass take-control move,” Megan said. “Anyway, I’m sure Logan would be thrilled to see you again.” Jen felt the corners of her mouth lifting unbidden. “If I found you persuasive,” she said, twirling her last bite through her plate, “What then?” Megan smiled with a look that Jen recognized as triumphant. She waved the waiter over to their table and gestured for the check. “Then I’d say I need some Windex, some shampoo, and some dog food.” *** Logan, it turned out, was a manager at the GigaMart. Megan ambushed speed bumps and swung her SUV into a parking space with a sharp turn. She ushered Jen through the scurrying Saturday morning crowd that swarmed the big box store like worker ants. She did not pause outside the groaning automatic doors for a purple plastic shopping cart. “If you’re going to talk to the manager, you’ll need to pull a Karen,” Megan instructed. “It’s time to put those acting skills to use again.” Jen understood. “I could buy something and throw away the receipt.” She threw her shoulders back and lowered her voice half an octave. "This is ridiculous! I demand a full cash refund! Let me speak to your manager!" “Nice, you’ve still got it,” Megan said. “But you’re going to need to be more original than that. It probably happens so much here that an assistant manager could handle it.” “I could demand a brand that doesn’t exist?” Jen morphed her posture once again, putting one hand delicately on her hip and waving the other through the air as if she were conducting a dramatic cadenza. “I can’t believe you don’t carry Opportunistique ! It’s the only gluten-free granola bar made with goat probiotics and it’s the only thing I’ll buy from now on. I insist you bring the manager out.” Megan chuckled appreciatively through her nose. “I haven’t heard that one before. Go for it. I’ll be waiting in the wings. I wasn’t kidding about the Windex.” She squeezed Jen’s hand. “Good luck,” and then she recoiled. “Oh, my god! You’re sweating. Are you really that into him?” Jen looked away with a shrug. “Stage fright?” “You’re going to be fine. Just think of him in his underwear.” Both women dissolved into giggles. “Thank you for that image,” Jen said, looking toward the line that snaked through layers of stanchions as it wound its way to the customer service counter. “It’s ok, I’ll have plenty of time to rehearse my lines. Or else run away.” “Ok. Break a leg,” Megan said before turning toward Home Goods. “I’ll meet you back here once you’ve scored your corrective experience.” For a while Jen considered her character and motivation. She toyed with the idea of an accent or a tic, for old time’s sake. Then she noticed people staring at the seemingly random fluctuations in her facial expressions and decided to go for something more authentic. She could feel her heart accelerating as she approached the front of the line. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. She should have worn something cuter than the black v-neck. She thought of all the things that could go wrong in this surprise/assault reunion. What if he took her for a stalker? What if he was already dating the floor manager? What if he wasn’t even working today? Jen considered stepping out of line as she concentrated on the tight feeling around her collar bone. It would be so easy to wait for Megan in the comfort of the food court. But sometime in the last twenty-four hours, Jen had developed a desire for the truth. She had looked away enough times, in the service of her comfort, that she understood the danger of it, whether it was breaking eye contact with Logan or keeping her eyes on the television, avoiding the distance that had crept between her and Phil. The truth was not a comfortable feeling, Jen realized, but it felt necessary today, and it drove her feet forward. A corrective experience , she told herself. And then the early-twenties purple vest guy behind the counter was calling Next guest, please, and Jen entered the zen of the spotlight--the place where all of her apprehension melted away and her character merged with her objective. Jen strode confidently toward the white quartz counter, stopped, and established firm eye contact with Purple Vest before stating, “I need to talk to the store manager.” “You need to talk to my manager?” Purple Vest repeated, his thick eyebrows bunching like caterpillars. He seemed more confused than resistant. Jen dug her heels in, but warmed her tone into something heavy but sweet--condensed milk in black coffee. “I need to talk to your manager.” He picked up the intercom phone. “Manager to customer service, please. Manager to customer service.” *** Logan stood before her, a solid black tie under his purple vest, churning out an empty smile that ended at his lips. His blue eyes that Jen had remembered as so animated were stagnant pools as they appraised her behind glasses. And yet it was Logan. His name tag left no room for doubt. “How can I help you?” Logan asked. His voice still conveyed a practiced charm, though it was stretched thin and worn like an actor repeating his line for the thousandth time. Jen’s throat sank into her stomach. “Hi! It’s good to see you.” The words poured out of her against her will. “Um...good morning, Logan said, almost a question. “Thanks for stopping by.” Jen watched a change come over his face, saw his eyes begin to come alive and search. She wondered if he’d find her in his memory--how deeply and under what she was buried. “I wanted to talk to you,” she began, and wondered where to go from there. It’s me--your friend, your co-star, your partner in crime... did not feel right. She would not just hand that to him. He had to find her on his own, she decided. “Um, the granola bars,” she blurted out, and she could feel her cheeks burning. “Sorry?” Logan blinked and adjusted his glasses. Me, too , Jen thought as she watched his hands. “You don’t carry my favorite brand. Opportunistique . With a 'Q'. Um... probiotics. They’re really good for you.” Jen kicked herself as Logan picked up a pen and scrawled the word onto a piece of scrap paper. “Sure, I’ll look into it. Is there anything else?” For three seconds Jen considered whether the domain name opportunistique.com was available and what she could put there as a coded message to Logan. She had an old box with pictures, but it was back in a closet at home. A line, then? Lord, what fools these mortals be! Instead, she opened her mouth and took a deep breath. “Yeah, Logan, I was wondering if you’d like to...go out--hang out--sometime this week?” Jen could see Logan become flustered. She still recognized “flustered” on him, in his shy smile and slow, contemplative chuckle. “Okay, yeah,” he said. He drew out his words in a long breath, his eyes alive beneath his glasses, two dragonflies circling, appraising. As far as Logan knew, she was an incredibly forward disgruntled customer, but she liked the effect it was having. She could remember this look, but never directed toward her. Jen dug deeper into her role. “How about tonight,” she said, flipping a lock of black hair over her shoulder with studied nonchalance. She smiled slowly, deliberately. “Dancing Fox? You tell me what time.” “I know that place,” Logan said, just above a whisper, seemingly to himself. “Uh. Seven?” “Perfect!” Jen smiled her most perfect smile as her chest danced and twirled. “See you then.” Quit while you’re ahead, the voice inside her head told her. Drop the microphone; walk away . She turned to go, then glanced over her shoulder to see Logan shaking his head. He stopped and smiled as their eyes connected once again. “Hey, you never told me your name. I’m at a disadvantage here.” Logan tapped the name tag over his heart on his purple vest. “Jennifer.” “See you tonight, Jennifer. I’ll look into the granola bars.” His smile, gaining confidence, extended all the way to his eyes. Smooth, graceful, Jen reminded herself as she glided toward her exit, fighting the impulse to run. She spotted Megan at a purple melamine table in the food court, a bulging canvas bag draped over her shoulder. “Well? You were gone a while. What happened?” “He has no idea who I am,” Jen said, her voice flat with shock. “Oh, Honey.” Megan’s body crumpled a little in her chair. “His memory seems like a bit of a sieve. He’s terrible with faces. I’m sorry.” Jen slid into the chair across from Megan. “We’re meeting up tonight. I think he might have flirted with me.” Jen’s poise collapsed into laughter. “You vixen!” Megan exclaimed. “You can’t be in the friend zone if you’re not a friend. Well played.” Jen caught her breath and sighed from the bottom of her stomach. “We’ll see. Second chance at a first impression,” she said, though inside she could already feel the benefit of this corrective experience. She felt interesting, attractive even. Older and wiser. The truth could change from moment to moment. Her job was less to uncover it than to create it. “Ready for our next stop?” Megan asked. “We’re going to a real store. We have to get you ready for your hot date.”


Everyone’s different. My parents loved drilling that into my head, any time I mentioned feeling out of place. Different languages, skin tones and personalities. All accepted as human, equal in the eyes of most. Anything I did, they were always quick to try to make excuses for, they saw my ‘rebellious’ stage as just a fad that I’d soon grow out of. More loving people, I’ll never meet. Not in this place. But in a way, I can’t help but blame them sometimes. I guess it’s just human nature, blaming others for your own shortcomings, always trying to be the ‘alpha’ of the pack. Especially when you were kicked around, laughed at by the other kids over something I didn’t have control over. My eyes. No the colour of them wasn’t anything special, not a deep blue or a wacky shade of green. Just a dull, boring brown. It was what I could see with them, which made them unique. And we as humans, don’t accept unique. Unique is another word for special, another word for different. Different is bad, different isn’t normal. The digits that flickered over the heads of everyone I came across, they weren’t real. Not to the other kids, not to my parents. But to me they were a constant reminder growing up that I wasn’t the same, I was different. Different in a way that I would truly understand a few days after my twelfth birthday. My twelfth had been a quiet affair. Just the three of us, the other kids would rather literally have killed themselves, than commit social suicide by hanging out with me. ‘Number Boy’ was all I was known as back then, and even now I’m just a number. Life didn’t change all that much, just the way I perceived things. Just three days after the twelfth, I finally worked out what the numbers meant. I was on my way back from school, trying to ignore the laughs of the other kids. They were all fours and fives, their numbers only decreasing when we were in class and the teacher was talking. Sometimes even that didn’t stop it, the number would jump back to four seconds before they threw a paper aeroplane at my head. It didn’t take me long to learn to fear the fours and fives, to avoid them at all costs. I ran into the nearby store, unaware of the situation on the inside. Unaware of the man with a pistol aimed directly at the cashier. My eyes were fixed on only one thing, as the man shouted at me to get on the ground, the barrel threatening to end my life at any second with just the slightest pull of a trigger. It was the nine, the nine hovering over his head that captured all my attention. I had never seen a nine before, and my brain went into overdrive. I awoke in the hospital, apparently the shock had been too much and I had fainted. I think it was more the shock of finally understanding the numbers, the danger the numbers symbolised. The fours and fives, my tormentors. The nine, a man who was seconds away from killing me. I’d love to be able to say that upon returning to school the next day, I was given a hero’s welcome. That my tormentors begged for forgiveness and became my best friends, and I even eventually married one of them. But no, this is reality. It only got worse, me fainting in the store was the talk of the school for months after. Soon my tormentors weren’t content with verbal abuse alone, they quite literally kicked things up a notch. They became sixes and sevens. A year of kickboxing classes and a will of steel changed things. I wasn’t the one getting bullied anymore, I was the bully. Eric, an ex-seven was now nothing more than a shell of himself. He barely even registered as a two, to say I had beat the fight out of him would be an understatement. It got to the point where I actually had friends, threes that feared me and what I would do to them if I didn’t like them. For a few years, life was actually good. I mean sure I got into trouble a lot, but people respected me, they didn’t mock me anymore. The teachers themselves had long given up on me, they had no solid proof of my wrongdoing so they continued as if nothing was going on. I practically ran the school, and I’ve got to admit I still use what I learnt all the way back then about intimidation. With great power, comes no responsibility. If they fear you, they hear you. Every word you say is important to them, every move you make, every breath you take. For the few moments you’re speaking with them, you become the absolute centre of their universe. My school career would’ve continued like that indefinitely if I didn’t meet him. He was the new kid, a tall, shaggy-haired stick insect. The look of indifference he gave me shocked me, he was a mere one. A pathetic one. He barely even registered on the scale, but when I approached him to get him to pay his playground rent, he just brushed me off. I’d grown so accustomed to getting my way, that it actually threw me off. Not for long though, soon I had him on the ground, blood dribbling from his lip. It was his turn to shock me for a second time. The number over his head, just for a second it flashed as a ten. Just for a moment, gone as quickly as I had seen it. But I knew it was there. He was the one. The one who finally told the teachers what I was doing, spurring the others to jump on the bandwagon. I expected to get away with just a slap on the wrist, maybe being suspended for a few days. Sixteen year olds aren’t exactly the brightest. Instead I was permanently expelled, and soon even my parents couldn’t stand me. My alcohol habit was rather expensive, and they couldn’t stand the sight of their only son, reduced to a drunken slob. The next few months were spent on the streets, my desperation for money growing as my appearance grow more rugged. What started out with a few drug deals here and there, became an around the clock venture for me. If any of clients needed it, I would find it. For a price, of course. My reputation began to grow and as it did, I came into contact with more sevens and eights. Sevens and eights who wanted the goods I offered, but without the premium. Three gunshots and two corpses later, I found myself in my new home. It’s not too bad in here. Three meals a day, an area to work out and scout the competition. My gift comes in useful all the time, just two days ago I avoided a nine carrying a shiv he’d fashioned from the workshop. I attack the weak, to impress the strong. I know who to befriend, and who to target. Prison isn’t really that different from the playground.


I wake up early one morning in October. I’m ecstatic! Today is the day I’ve been looking forward to since last year, when my sister got that message on her birthday. I couldn’t wait to get my message. Being the youngest in my friend group, all of my friends also already got their message. I turn on my phone, and, nothing. Not a single message. Well, it’s only 6:00 A.M., maybe future me is still asleep. I get up out of bed and start getting ready for my day. I shower, get dressed, make my bag and go downstairs. When I go into the living room, everyone is waiting for me, yelling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”. I thank my family as they hand me cake and presents, when my little sister comes up to me and asks “Well, what does it say?”. Everyone turns to me. “Oh, uh, I didn’t get it yet” I reply, “I guess I’m still asleep or something. Everyone looks worried. “What do you mean still asleep? He’s sending a message from the future! It doesn’t matter what time it is here!” My sister says. “Yeah, I guess” I mumble, starting to worry. ‘Why wouldn’t I send my past self a message?’ I think to myself, ‘Everyone gets a message from the future on their 15th birthday’. I go to school, where all my friends wish me a happy birthday, and talk about how we’re going to celebrate tonight. I don’t mention the message to anyone. By 12:00, I start panicking. What if future me got depressed and decided to end it all? What if I become a junkie and OD? What if I messed with the wrong people and they made me disappear? What if I’m broke and homeless and can’t even afford a phone? Crazier and crazier ideas run through my mind as the day goes on. By 9:00 I’m officially freaking out. I’m getting ready to goo out, getting dressed and heading out, walking to my best friend’s house, where we planned to meet up before they take me somewhere to celebrate. All night I’m watching my phone, waiting anxiously, but, nothing. At 12:01 my heart sank, I feel a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. “That’s it” I say “I’m done”. I go home an hour later and break down crying. What could have happened to me? What have I done? A month later, I’m still thinking about my birthday. I start to get the realization that if my time is so limited, I may as well live the best life I can. I decide I’m going to start working hard at everything that I do. I’ll study hard, work out more, eat better and live everyday as if it’s my last, because it may very well be. I wake up early one morning in October. I’m ecstatic, because today is going to be a great day, just like every day these past 11 months has been. I turn on my phone and suddenly, a message pops up. It reads: “Dear Drew, Happy birthday! I’m sorry you didn’t get your message last year, I know how you felt. You see, I know the path you were going down. One of self loathing, self pity, depression and self destruction, and you were taking no actions to improve you situation. I knew you needed a wake up call, and that was the best idea I had. I want you to know that I’m a very happy person nowadays. I have a great life, and I’m surrounded by people that I love, and it’s all thanks to the path I decided to take when I was 15. Proud of you, and wishing you a happy birthday, and trust me, this is a very happy one, Drew, 2049” That was the happiest day of my life.


The wheels on Carmella’s accord squeaked as she slid into the spot. She checked her phone again to see what town she landed in on maps. Riftons, Tennessee. She didn’t want to drive anymore today and the signs on the roads told her it’d be a while before the next town. So she figured she’d stop here and get a drink at the first thing that looked like a bar. Then, when she was done drinking she could get a hotel room for the night. Kent wouldn’t mind if she stopped. He always had her leave for gem shows early to give her time not only to drive them but to give her a day of freedom before them. If she stayed here tonight and finished the journey tomorrow she could check into the hotel in Richmond and still have most of the day left to relax before the show the next morning. It was chilly outside and she rubbed the arms of her gray sweater as she entered the bar. She expected more of a transition from the afternoon sunlight outside. But the room was well lit, clean, and most everything in the building looked new. Shiny taps sat behind the lacquered bar. Brand new stools lined the expanse of it. A bartender leaned against the counter behind the bar in a relaxed way stroking a long, full, dark beard. He absent mindedly watched the television and didn't look up when she entered. She sat a few seats down from a petite dark haired beauty who got up when Carmella sat down. “What can I get you?” the burly attendant asked her. “Whatever red is good here. You can start a tab.” Carm handed him her card and he shuffled off to take care of the drink and tab. As he set the wine glass in front of her the tiny vamp returned and sat right next to Carmella. They both looked over as a couple entered and sat in a booth off to the side and started looking at menus. The man in the couple locked eyes with Carmella’s seatmate and Carm mused on how they might know each other. “Mind grabbing me what she’s got Francis?” a deep voice trickled from the wet looking oxblood lips of the girl next to her. “Sure, Angelle.” and he poured another glass from the bottle he opened for Carm. Carmella said nothing but watched as the pale creature swirled the dark liquid before taking a sip. “I haven’t had red wine in a while. Sometimes you forget how good it is.” She said looking right at Carmella. The bartender she addressed as Francis shuffled off to talk to the couple who had flagged him down. “Not much of a wine drinker?” Carmella asked dumbly. What else was one supposed to say to an unprompted conversation? Especially when the person who started it was so distractingly beautiful. The woman next to her chuckled. “No, I usually like the harder stuff. But change is good every once in a while. I’m Angelle by the way.” “Carmella.” and she offered her hand out to shake. Four more patrons come in and Angelle regards them in the same fashion as the man before. Eyes lock without a word of greeting. She turns back to Carm and lightly clasps the offered hand. Her skin is scorching... Carmella thinks to herself. “Nice to meet you Carmella. What brings you out here? I’m assuming you’re just passing through? There’s literally nothing to see here. And anyone who lives here stays. No one moves in. No one moves out. Riftons is where people are born, bred, and die.” The dark eyes Angelle regarded Carmella with were filled with humor. “Ah. Yes. I’m just staying the night. I have to get to Virginia tomorrow for work. I drove up from Texas and I just can’t drive anymore today.” “Texas? That’s a bit of a drive to Virginia. What do you do? Why drive instead of fly?” “I buy gems wholesale for a store in Dallas. And I don’t know. I guess I like to sightsee. My boss doesn’t mind. Says it almost makes no difference in expenses and he likes making his employees happy.” Carmella conveniently left out the part about her fear of flying. She’d much rather die in a fiery wreck than trapped in a giant tube of metal high above the ground. Carmella ordered another drink. As the wine flowed, so did the conversation between her and Angelle. More people arrived as time passed too. This bar was different from any one horse town dive Carmella had experienced in the past. Most established town bars were dated. But this place provided a posh hipster vibe. Everyone who came in was young. Angelle seemed to recognize the people who came in but never said a word to anyone except Francis and Carm. Eventually Carmella stopped questioning the strangeness of this all. How everything seemed to defy her expectations of what a small old town should be. She looked down at her phone. “Jesus is that the time?” she slurred out. She had been here for hours and the bar was packed. Everything was shifting and seemed to get brighter and hotter. She was going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. “Carm, I think maybe it’s time to cut you off.” Angelle laughed at her above the crowd. Angelle waved down Francis. “Hey let me settle our tab. It’s time.” she shouted. Carmella giggled and grabbed her purse. “I’ve got this.” Angelle stopped her. Carm was too drunk to protest. She needed to get to a bed. The heat of the bar and the lights were giving her a headache. And they only seemed to be getting brighter. “Let’s get out of here.” she mumbled into Angelle’s ear beyond her long dark hair. Carmella slumped into Angelle and let her guide her. There were so many people. Angelle twisted and turned through the crowd supporting Carm. Her body radiated heat. It was too hot. Why weren’t they out yet? “Angelle....” Carm mumbled weakly. “Shhh... we’re almost out. It’s time. You’ll be out soon.” “Time?” Carm questioned. Suddenly the lights were too bright to stand anymore. “Stop!” Carm yelled. “I want out. I want to leave. It’s too hot. It’s so hot.” She started to push Angelle away but her grip tightened. Then everything and everyone stopped. They all turned toward Carmella. All in sync. Unprompted and unexpected. “It’s time.” Angelle reported and her body began to glow. Carmella struggled against Angelle’s gaining heat with alarm and panic. Her gaining brightness. Everyone around her started to close in. Their bodies shimmering, the luminescence gaining. Carm dropped to the ground and covered her eyes while she sobbed. She couldn’t block out the light. It was consuming the very essence of her. The heat enveloped her senses and she could no longer think straight no matter how hard she tried. Humming started around her and a uniform chant began. “It’s time. It’s time. It’s time. It’s time.” Carmella felt hands lifting her up. Then she felt her body float of its own accord. She was completely bound and she never saw the roof open above her. Didn’t see Angelle’s form next to her floating past the top of the building. She didn’t see the capsule she floated into. A bright, white, tiny sun. That night, several towns in Tennessee reported a large, unidentifiable light floating above what was supposed to be nothing but woods. This wasn’t the first time strange things came from this patch of woods. They were expansive and empty. Just trees between one town and the next. Reports of mysterious lights would happen every once in a while. No one talked about it, but the old timers in the area knew you avoided the roads which passed through those woods. People who traveled through never came back. No one ever knew what happened to Carmella. She disappeared off the map. No trace of her car. Her boss reported her missing eventually but there was no trail to follow. She was simply gone.


Three days. It had been three days since the ships have arrived on the shores of this island, Algar it is called by the natives, and the orders had been given. Take control of the Island. Crush any resistance. Let any willing to depart the island and seek refuge on the other islands. Karon liked those orders. As it was expected by any order sent by the great general Consilium they were easy to understand and ruthlessly effective. Karon didn't know why this was the first island, but it was to serve as Karrinstorn's foothold into the assimilation. The broken islands had been deemed as being worthy of being part of the Empire and so the process had started. From this island, the empire would start expanding into the neighboring islands and soon all the archipelago would be under the crimson flag with the dragon and the crown. No resistance is acceptable, as this would probably be the entry point for all the resources sent by the mainland and it was crucial that the supply chain was not disturbed in any possible way. And the survivors would spread chaos and fear, while taxing the other island's resources. The army was only in Algar, but Consilium was already attacking the full archipelago. Karon didn't mind those orders as they allowed to keep the casualties down to warriors and wannabe heroes that would stand in their way. Karon was always happy to avoid unnecessary blood. And here he stood, three days later, going up the stairs that lead to the throne room. He had his war armor, crimson red like his eyes, that would always contrast with the natural lack of color of Karon's skin. The warrior didn't know the name of this kingdom or the king the soldiers had tried to protect but they had endured for three days and that alone was a feat that shouldn't be forgotten. *These islands are a place of warriors* he thought to himself and the last step took into the middle of four of his soldiers standing in front of a large gate, still unbroken. "We did as you ordered, the door is secured and the resistance on the palace has been beaten. All that remains is the king. We don't know how many soldiers are inside." "Well done Rlain. Go know and spread the word. As soon as the words given all of our soldiers should only fight to protect themselves. All of the islanders should be allowed to flee through the sea." Rlain confirmed crossing his arms in from of him, Karrinstorn's military acknowledgment, and ran through the stairs that Karon had just come out from. He looked to the locked door, readied his sword and shield, filled himself with power, and delivered a devasting kick that broke it wide open. The wood hadn't yet reached the ground when the arrows flew in its direction, only to meet his steel shied. The room was well lit, the walls had several large windows from which was possible to see almost all of this small kingdom. Karon counted four soldiers, all armed with a bow and right in front of him a throne, apparently made out of wood but made with a handwork that would make other kings and noblemen jealous with a man sitting on it and a small body huddled on a corner. Karon didn't bother himself with the men sitting on the throne, instead looked to one of the guards. "It's over. Drop your weapons. Keep your lives. Go save your loved ones." The soldiers looked at each other. "What are you doing? Shoot him!" Screamed the man on the throne. And the soldiers obeyed. Once again four arrows flew to Karon. His shield blocked two of the arrows while one reached his shoulder and the last failed him. Karon felt the pain of being stabbed, but the power inside his body was already mending the wound. It would be gone in moments. Two of the soldiers fell to the ground, one with an arrow shot to the leg, and the other with a dagger into his chest. Karon's soldiers, Eran and Mian entered the room, Eran with a new arrow on the bow ready to make it fly it and Mian with a dagger in each hand. *The girl could have spared that poor soul. I will have to talk with her.* "I will repeat. Drop your weapons. This fight is over." Karon then looked to the king for the first time. "I will fight you if you so wish. Beat me and my troops will retreat. I can't promise that others would not return in their place but you will have the time to save your people." "Do you take me for a fool invader? You came to my palace demanding me to surrender to you? My family has ruled over this land for hund..." "I didn't" Interrupted Karon "I haven't asked for your surrender. I was only trying to save your soldiers" "You take me for a fool?" The king asked, his voice way louder than what he probably wanted. Or maybe he liked to scream. Karon had seen lots of different kings already. "These lands are no longer yours. They are now part of the Empire" "You foreigners will never take my lands!" Screamed the king, even louder "All of you! Kill them all! Your King orders it!" The two still standing warriors looked to each other and then the three intruders. And dropped their bows to the ground looking down. "Cowards! Traitors! I will have your heads for this!" The king jumped from the throne and approached the small body that was trying to hide. A girl's screen was heard when the king pulled her by the hair and dragged her to have her body between him and the three invaders. "Go! Fight for your king!" he told as he released the girl's hair. The girl got up and gave one small step towards Karon. Then took another. "By the gods, this is a waste of time" Said Mian to his right, but Karon raised his sword to her's chest, blocking her path, a signal to stop. Slightly annoyed, she stopped. The little girl took one more step and looked at them. The Girl with the daggers, the man with a big bow, and the pale man on the red armor. She was trembling but managed to take one more step. She was now the closest to the three intruders. All of them could see that she was rambling and tears were falling from her face while she tried to not cry out loud. "Yes! Kill all of them! Protect your king!" The little girl took one more little step at the same time that Karon took one from his own while sheathing his blade. She gasped when that large man cladded in red approached and was surprised when he simply rested his hand on top of his head. "What are you doing? Kill them!" The girl trembled at the sound of the king. "Eran, calm him down" Karon had barely finished his sentence and an arrow flew, meeting the king's right shoulder with perfect accuracy. He dropped to the ground screaming. Karon took a look at the girl. Ragged clothes, scared legs, and hands. She had not had an easy life. "Child, your mother?" The girls tried to speak, but at the first try only sounds of crying come out. Karon waited and the girl was eventually able to speak. "She... she was a bad woman. The king had to punish her" She said as tears once again started to pour down from her eyes. Karon started to walk beyond the girl right to the king that was pulling himself back to the throne. "Mian, give her one knife. You two, take your comrades and leave." The two soldiers obeyed leaving the room with the corpse and the injured. "Why are you here? Why won't you people leave? Just leave us alone!" "I can't. I have my orders." "That's it? Someone told you and so our country has to fall? Our beautiful city has to be ravaged by you barbarians?" "City? You have no idea of what that word means. This is barely more than a village. The Empire has cities bigger than this whole island and yet you managed to divide it into three? You have no concept of what a real kingdom looks like. You can't even begin to imagine what being a king truly means." The king tried to forget the pain "You dare question my kingship? You are no more than a brute and simpleton!" "That might be, but at least, I know my place in the world." Karon reached for the king's head and took its crown "And now so do you" "You are nothing more than a thief! I will always be the king of these people! They love and worship me!" "I'm the thief?" Karon seemed amused "What did she do?" "What?" "The child's mother. What did she do? What was her crime and what was the punishment?" "The wrench dared to steal food. I had her hanged to show everyone that no one steals from me." "So by your own rule, if one steals food, one's life is forfeited? Harsh rules" "It is not your place to question us! I'm the king and I serve justice as I see fit!" Karon showed him the crown "You are no longer king. But until a regent is elected, your rule will remain. And now I proclaim you guilty of theft." The King gasped "Are you mad?" "You stole her's future, the child's ability to smile and dream. You took everything from her" "What about it? Who cares about that little whore? Are you telling me that you care about her?" "No. But she does." Karon took a step to the side to let the king see the child looking at him, knife in hand. "You got a weapon! What are you waiting for! Kill them all you little whore!" Karon once again rested his hand on the child's head. "I know it hurts. You want to cry. You are confused and angry and all of this seems unfair. But Child, here you take the first step. Karrinstorn has always been about freedom. Freedom to punish those who wronged you. Take your justice on him, and if you so decide come and try to also kill me for putting you in this position." The child looked to the knife and to the bloody screening king and remembered her own screens and pain as her mother was hanged for all to see. She took one step, and then another, each with more confidence. She grasped the weapon with all of her strength and approached even more. The king tried to punch her with his good harm but a second arrow trespassed it, pinning it to the throne. The King first screened of pain and then horror as he could not defend himself from the falling knife. Karon, Mian and Eran left the room without looking back. "Eran, give the word. We have won. Mian, we have to talk." \ Hours passed and Karon and his personal squad were enjoying dinner as Rlain was telling a story that all of them had eared before dozens of times. Yet the alcool as good and the food plenty. One guard looked inside the tent. "Commander, I'm sorry to disturb you, but the girl you talked about is here" "She really came here?" Rlaim asked, disbelieving "Let her him, soldier" Said Karon "Yes, Sir!" Said the soldier as he took a step to the side letting a young girl enter the tent. Raged cloths, scarred hands and legs, and covered by blood she took one step in their direction and then another. She was still holding the knife they had given her. "I will be the one training this one!" Said Mian and then started drinking from the cup she was holding, a little thread of whine going down her's face. "She will be a nasty piece of work when she gets older" "She can't be worst than you" Replied Eran and they all laughed \ This is it, I hope you guys liked it! Truth be told I didn't even know this Sub-reddit existed until a couple of minutes ago, but after writing this I decided it was worth a shot and searched for it.


"Do you remember when we first met, Erik?" "Yes Alana, as if it were yesterday" They had been together now for 6 years, married for 3 and met during their towns midsommer celebration. It was Sunday, and the digital alarm clock on Erik's bedside table beeped subtly, reading 9:00pm on a bright red LED screen against the jet black background. Alana slinked her way through the ruffled duvet towards Erik, "If I remember rightly, Mr Broström, you had a mouthful of that pickled herring when you decided to introduce yourself to me, such an attractive man". She kissed him on the cheek and rested her chin on his broad shoulder. Erik was sitting in an upright position on his side of the bed, flicking through the pages of the local paper. "Well it worked didn't it pumpkin?" Erik said with a big grin on his face. "I guess it did" Alana whispered, her chin still resting on his shoulder. Erick's peripheral vision could see Alana was smiling as she kissed his cheek again before turning over and sloping out of the cosy den they'd created for themselves. "I'm looking forward to this year's midsommer celebration," Alana had gradually raised her voice as she walked away towards the bathroom to brush her teeth, "it brings such joy to our small community", Erik had acknowledged this with a grunt, still flicking through the pages of the local paper. After brushing her teeth, Alana knelt herself down by the crib positioned parallel to the bed and started singing a song her grandmother sung to her when she was younger; "Sleep well my little girl Mama is coming soon again Papa is going on a trip to buy you new shoes with Fairies on So sleep well my little girl" Right before Alana stands up, she lays a small patchwork blanket down inside the crib and whispers "goodnight beautiful" Erik flicked off the lamp and placed his paper clumsily on the bedside table, clipping the alarm clock on his way back, it glided gracefully like a figure skater competing for gold, perching itself delicately on the edge of the Ikea table top. Erik took off his thick rimmed glasses and turned his head towards Alana, his tired eyes were still adjusting to the darkness but even so, he could still see the pain Alana was feeling as she reluctantly walked towards the bed. Alana spoke softly, "she's sleeping well tonight, Erik" her eyes, fixed on her hands which were rubbing together nervously. Erik loved Alana, with all his heart in fact, so he always needed to tread delicately when talking about the miscarriage she had suffered and refused to accept. 'This has gone on for too long' he thought, 'I don't want to see her in pain anymore' Erik looked at Alana as if he wanted to say something, "what?" She said, her eyes wider than usual.


Hey, can I ask you something?  *Of course. What is it you have to say?*  Well, I’m sad. And I guess I don’t know what to do.  *Why are you sad?*  I don’t know.  *So then, how can I help you?*  I don’t know. I was hoping you could give me some answers.  *No, all I have are questions.*  That wasn’t a question.  *So its going to be semantics?*  No, sorry. So what good does that do me?  *Well, why does one ask a question?*  Because they want an answer.  *Do you always get what you want?*  No, obviously. So then whats the point of this?  *You asked me. What do you want the point to be?*  I don’t know, but I don’t want to be sad anymore.  *Do you want to feel emotionally void?*  That sounds better than being sad.  *If you no longer felt sadness, would that be fine for the rest of your life?*  Well, I wouldn’t mind some good times every now and then...  *Do you not have good times now?*  I mean, some. I guess it’s not literally *always* bad.  *Then what more do you want?*  Can I have more good days than bad?  *Do you think I control that?*  Do you?  *Do I?*  This is all feeling very circular.  *...*  No. Of course you don’t.  *Who controls your emotions?*  Well, me, but its a mixture of a lot of things.  *What all is in this mixture?*  Work, stress, friends, commute. Politics. Life. Shitty people. Lots and lots of shitty people.  *Does work make you happ-*  No! I hate my job.  *Then why do you work there?*  Because I need money to survive.  *Is there no other job in the world that you can do?*  Don’t be stupid. That’s obviously not the case.  *Ah, insults. And you just mentioned shitty people.*  No. Sorry. This is all just stressful.  *Why is this stressful?*  No. Look, Th... Yes, there are other jobs out there in the world.  *Why not go work for one of those, then?*  It’s not that easy.  *And how hard is it?*  So generically its not hard, but nobody is really hiring. And my job isn’t bad. It’s the people.  *The employees?*  No. Maybe some. But, its mostly the customers.  *Wont every job have customers?*  Not all jobs have customers like this, though.  *What job is this?*  Customer service. It’s a shitty asshole of an industry.  *What makes it shitty?*  The people are so rude. They’re terrible and disgusting!  *What industry would you like to work in?*  I don’t know.  *Then how can I help?*  I want to tell stories.  *Ah, finally! And what stories would you like to tell?*  I don’t know. Any story, really.  *Its that simple, then?*  No... No. Okay, so not *any* story. Fantasy. Adventure. Maybe mystery.  *What is the point of telling a fantasy story?*  To entertain people.  *So you want to be an entertainer. Then, perhaps you could go join a circus?*  No. Well, no... no. I wanna tell stories. I just said that.  *So what is the difference between telling a story and entertaining someone?*  A story has point. It has conflict and tension and resolution. There’s usually an underlying message.  *Do all stories have a point?*  I mean, maybe. Probably not. I’m sure there are plenty of pointless and stupid stories out there.  *Do you think the person who told those stories* intended *to tell a “pointless and stupid” story?*  No. Probably not.  *How would you feel if you told a story and someone said it was stupid or pointless.*  I don’t know. Tell them to go to hell?  *So you would give them a dose of that rudeness you don’t like?*  No. I don’t know. Maybe I would just say sorry you didn’t like my story and move on.  *So, what message do you have for people?*  Be nice to people in the service industry you fucking pricks!  *So only people in the service industries deserve kindness?*  No, obviously not. My message is that people need to be nicer to people.  *Only Humans deserve kindness?*  No. Again, obviously not. Fine. My message is that people need to be nicer. In general.  *Don’t change your message on my account.* *I’m simply asking questions.*  No, its a fair point.  *Can your message only be told through fantasy stories?*  No, but it would be more entertaining. Thought I suppose I could just print out “Be nice” pamphlets.  *How many rude customers of yours do you think read fantasy stories?*  That number is most definitely zero.  *So your message of kindness will not reach any of the rude people you want to reach?*  Nope. I suppose it wouldn’t. And there we go. That’s why I don’t tell stories and work in shitty fucking customer service.  *Well, I suppose it is.*  Yep.  *So, then. Are we finished?*  Sounds like it.  *Seems like this turned out to be one of those pointless and stupid stories, then.*  Go fuck yourself.  *Now conflict.*  I can show you conflict!  *Rising action.*  This is such a waste of time. I don’t even know what I’m doing!  *Man vs. Self*  Oh, just go fuck yourself!  *Man vs. Man.*  This is exactly why I don’t follow through with any of this. Nobody would understand anyways.  *Man vs. Society. This story is starting to flesh out.*  Kick! Fucking! Rocks! I don’t need this. And don’t you dare act like you intended this! I’ve struggled with this! This is all ME!  *I understand. And I can see that, what ever it is, its been hard on you. Whatever the reason doesn’t matter. Your story is yours. No one else needs to understand. There are people who have had a much harder life than you, but that doesn’t make YOUR struggles less. There are people who will accomplish much more than you in life, but that doesn’t make YOU less valuable. It sounds like you have a lot to say, but you don’t know how to say it.*  ...  ...  ... I thought you only asked questions?  *Maybe a comedy, then?*  Okay, whatever. I get it, but its still not that easy.  *What’s not easy?*  I can’t just stop everything and fucking write shit and *still* make ends meet.  *Why does it have to be all or nothing?*  No. I mean, it doesn’t have to be. Writing is a process.  *What would it take to get you to write?*  Well, *technically*, all I really need is my laptop, but I mean... I don’t know how to get works published. I don’t know how to market. I don’t have a college degree. Nothing I wrote would ever get read. I would never make any money.  *So, someone who has yet to write their first story, is already discouraged by the things that come with being an author, the industry that they are wanting to get into?*  I’m not discouraged. It’s just. It’s all complicated. My life is just kind of a mess at the moment and I think I need to just focus all my time and energy on my job right now. Take things one day at a time. I will get to it, eventually. When the time is right. I just wanted to vent.  *No wonder you’re sad. So why is your life a mess right now?*  Well, that’s kind of a dick thing to ask.  *Okay, why are you focusing all your time and energy to a job that makes you unhappy?*  Because I need a fucking paycheck. Jesus. And my life is a mess, cause its life. Life always has a way of kicking you when you’re down.  *Why are you down?*  Jesus, man. I don’t know. It’s not that easy.  *What would make it easier?*  I don’t know. I don’t know! Maybe a little more time? Maybe money?! Maybe some help! A thousand things could be better, but then I’m sure *two* thousand things would be worse. You just don’t understand. It’s easy to sit there and act like you have all the god damn answers!  *So it sounds like, no matter what, the timing will never be right and that life is always going to be there taking swings at you. It sounds like you’re waiting for a better opportunity or for things to get easier. And it sounds like you already know that is probably not going to happen.*  Yep. So then none of this matters, anyways.  *Would the protagonists in your stories quit halfway through their journeys?*  This isn’t a fucking book. This is my fucking life!  *Who is the main character of your life?*  You are so stupidly frustrating.  *Why are you frustrated?*  Because your god damn questions are annoying.  *Why do they annoy you?*  Because.  *Because why?*  BECAUSE THEY ALL KEEP POINTING THE FINGER AT THE SAME FUCKING PERSON.  *I see. Would it take away your sadness if I wrote the stories for you?*  No. And don’t patronize me.  *When I asked what would make writing easier you said time, money and help. I think you already have all the time you need to finish out your life. The money I don’t have, so I can’t offer, but the help... I think I have something that might help you.*  Seriously? What is it!  *I already given it to you. It was the first question I asked.