The Upended Fortress ''Rather hysteric today, aren't we, Sire?'' Whispered the concerned squire. The sire in question, Jeoffrey the second, only heard the distant rumblings of a fool. He himself was absorbed in the careful study of his own reflection in the great window, not at all escaping the unbearable idiocy of the situation. ''What a ridiculous costume'', he thought out loud, glancing at his formal clothes and his en-vogue fluffy white hair. Pretty much the same as the many other ministers engaged in very serious discussion, here in the hall of the Upended Fortress. Chandeliers hanged from the high ceiling, adorned in countless candles, flickering slightly. Underneath, the stone table beared the weight of towers of paperwork, maps, trinkets and elbows. On its once polished surface were the ring stains of decades of wine drinking, forming an abstract, almost imperceptible mosaic. Behind Jeoffrey, his squire was building up the courage to adress the council, fiddling with his fingers, uncertain. ''Please, good Sirs, you must excuse the Minister of Fears. His nobility is rather distracted lately, his work and his family affairs-'' His squire proclaimed, making quite the deal about his behavior. The Sire at last snapped out of it, turned around and clapped his hands, to the annoyance of everyone. He took a seat, his seat, and looked at everyone around the table, only to be met with the disapproving eyes of any that catched his. Since when did they hated him as much as he despised them? ''I am all ears'', he proclaimed, to a heavy and oh so absurd silence, interrupted by his squire once more, this time not pestering anyone but pouring a generously innapropriate amount of blue wine, the local delicacy. The minister of Fears, also known as Sire Jeoffrey the Second, was quite fed up with the other ministers, his supposed equals. In fact he had been quite fed up with everything, for quite a while. Quite so. Jeoffrey recalled, with shameful nostalgia, his youthful pride. Of years and years, spent working in complete dedication to his dream ; to escape the peasantry that plagued his family. To become noble, nay, to become the highest member of society, a Minister. Made laughing stock by his own mother, claiming his daydreaming would result in nothing else than disappointment, young Jeoffrey persevered. Twenty years of work, spite and wine, there he was. A prestigious Minister, discussing nonsense with other delusionnal men. And for what? Jeoffrey grabbed his cup of wine and drank bitterly. How bitter. He inspected the blue wavey surface of the wine, his reflection distorted slightly. By now the unending years of struggle of his youth seemed most beautiful, most poignant. In perfect contrast with the dream itself, empty and devoid of meaning. In a way, his mother was right, no matter what, disappointment plagued him. Jeoffrey the Second, Minister of Fears, cursing the life he worked so hard to get. He saw himself, sitting there, consummed by regret, of a life spent astray, hearing the hollow words of the other ministers, all sitting in the hall by the great window, showcasing the ravaged landscape they all so proudly administered. Just like the fortress, the land outside was barren stone of black and crimson red, veins of a dark river coursing through it. And as the blue wine flowed from barrels to jugs to glasses here, outside the heavy darkwater flowed, inversed. Rising from the depths, akin to a miraculous reversal of the river. This land has always been enigmatic, yet not in an interesting way, at least to the ignorant opinion of the other Ministers. ''How strange, and how cursed is this land. And to think I used to dream of ruling it! The absurdity'' Careless, Jeoffrey had thought out loud once more, and his heretic words fell in the ears of the other ministers, as verocious predators, this was their opportunity, and at once they rose and protested loudly, standing upward with their red cheeks and blue tongues, their squires urging them to settle down and discuss in civilised manner, as the Minister of Fears still sat comfortably, laughing in the most insulting manner, a fat, satisfied laughter. As they pestered him, he got back up once more. His feet leading him to the great window, where this time he looked past his own reflection, to the accursed land below. Once more the great hall, its people and their incessant words became distant, irrelevent. Down there, on the shores of the blackwater river, a soft glow, catching his eyes. Rising from nothingness, it seemed, glowing light, dancing to some impossible melody, following the dark flow of the reversed river, to Jeoffrey's stupor. Their ethereal light was like nothing he had seen before, yet how familiar it was, calling him. The glow morphed into several figures, seemingly engaged in the harvesting of the river's souls, mesmerizing him. And as they danced and busied themselves in incomprehensible labor Jeoffrey lost himself, for what seemed like a fraction of a second, in contemplation, before almost awakening from it, exalted. ''Incredible news! The golden spirits are back!'' Exclamed the minister of Fears to the others, yet the hall was now empty. Gone were the pesky ministers, gone was his foolish squire and theirs, gone was the blue wine. Yet he remained, along with the dancing golden spirits, down there. He remained, in careful study of the miraculous unknown, calling him. He remained yet now the spectacle of the golden spirits became enthralling, all-encompassing. Jeoffrey forgot about the glare in the window, forgot about the mundane details of his life, and forgot pretty much everything, except these two sounds, Jo-Fray, how peculiar. Jo-Fray had awoken once more from a dream, and looking around he was surprised to see his family, glowing in a sweet familiar golden light. Beneath them, the darkwater river, spewing the dark souls of the accursed, that rose and danced with them, liberated. Yet Jo-Fray was puzzled. He took a stick and wrote on the shores, what he thought was his name. Studying the shapes of the letters, its meaning was fading away, much akin to his dream, about some life rising to become minister. Shining behind him, a golden spirit came and embraced him. ''Another dream, perhaps, my dear son?'' And Jo-Fray felt the weight of his sadness, heart breaking, as he tried to hold on to what he thought was his whole life. ''A dream?'' He answered, and they both went back to the river, embracing their golden light, almost forgetting about the absurd life of a sad minister. Yet Jo-Fray still held on to his dream, his sadness and fear stopping him from forgetting. Along the shores of the blackwater river, the golden spirit gazed upward in awe, at the inversed architecture of the upended fortress. There! In the window, the face of a man, tormented.


The townspeople fled in terror. Their homes ablaze like hell incarnate, their fellow men and neighbors slaughtered, king skinned and beheaded - in that order - there was not a drop of defiance or bravery left. They all scrambled for their lives before the Dark Prince’s destruction. “Flee, pathetic insects,” bellowed Merciless, the Dark Prince. “Flee and spread the word of my great power!” His mighty form loomed over the mortal town like a monolith of doom; a crown of lightning adorning his head, a shroud of dying clouds his cloak, fear, and despair his armor. Merciless was a demi-god, an heir to the throne of darkness and he was having a field day. “Let it be known that there is no one great enough to oppose me...” He laughed as he waved a hand at the fleeing people. Half of them burst into flames, their bodies burning away in a flash, leaving only clothes and shoes behind. Merciless reveled in his power, laughing. The people ran faster. “Yes, feel the doom I bring-” “Merciless!” A sudden voice boomed across the skies, shaking the land. “Come, lunch is ready!” Merciless stopped his manic laughter and turned towards the black clouds in the sky. “Coming, poppa!” His voice changed from a demonic growl to a child’s excited babbling. His form also shifted from an incomprehensible avatar of destruction to that of a boy with a sparkle in his eyes. He dropped from a few hundred feet in the air, where his massive form was just a moment ago, and landed in the middle of a fiery street in a three-point landing, sending cobblestone and firewood flying. He ran past the fleeing people, who looked at him with a mix of horror and confusion. “Later, mortals!” Merciless snapped his fingers, opening a swirling vortex of a magical portal in front of him and jumped inside. He came out at the other end, followed by some debris and a stray dog. The portal opened straight to the kitchen where his father, Dark Lord Devastatus, was managing several pots and pans over a hearth’s fire. “What’s to eat, poppa?” “Hey, what did we say?” Devastatus groaned. “Wipe your feet and wash your hands! Damnation knows what you’ve been up to in the mortal realm!” Merciless sighed. “Yes, poppa.” He rolled his eyes and shuffled his feet across the tiled floor. “On the rug, boy!” “ Sunshine !” Merciless cursed and walked to the door where a rug lay on the floor. “Why bother wiping my feet when I can just flick a finger and clean the whole house with my power?” Devastatus, wearing a white apron and a cooking hat, lifted a finger while shaking a frying pan, back toward his son. “First, we do not curse in this house. I don’t want to hear any words related to positivity, beauty, or the divine source of illumination in the mortal realm. Got it? Second,” he flipped something in the pan, evoking cries of mercy from the food, “if you rely on your powers too much, pretty soon you won’t know how to wipe your hiney without them. You’ll be Lord one day, son, and as such, you should learn to be independent.” Devastatus finally turned around, giving his son a meaningful look. “Yes, poppa,” Merciless said, head bowing. He looked at his father’s majestic cloak and quietly wished his would be as cool. Skulls from various beasts and races hung from it, metal spikes, chains, blood-red embroidery, and bone-white horns. Looking at his cloak Merciless found only some dried leaves and broken twigs stuck to it, dirty from running through the woods. “You brought a dog?” “It followed me through the portal,” Merciless said, only now noticing the four-legged creature running around and barking. “Sloppy.” “You called for me.” “You shouldn’t be opening portals when someone can follow you,” Devastatus said. “What if it was an Archmage? Or a renowned Hero? One of the - ugh - the good guys ?” “Poppa, eww!” “You made me say it, boy!” “That’s disgusting!” “If you’re not careful, they can sneak through the portal and crawl in your bed, whispering positive affirmations in your ears.” Merciless’s breath caught in his throat. “Poppa, I’m losing my appetite!” Devastatus smiled. “Too bad. Maybe you’ll be more careful next time.” Merciless walked to the table and climbed on a chair - which was some thirty feet tall, made for a more majestic form than the one he was currently wearing. The table was likewise high up in the air, like a tower for feasting. “Why do we have to be like this,” he said, feet dangling. “This form that the mortals use. Why can't we be big and awesome all the time?” Devastatus sighed from below. “Did you not listen? You shouldn’t rely on your powers all the time! Like me, I’m cooking this lunch, instead of imagining it into existence. It’s quite a relaxing activity.” Merciless sniffed. “What are you making?” “Deepest darkest secrets, seasoned with a pinch of coriander and misery. Mother’s favorite.” Merciless heard his stomach growl. That sounded delicious. “After you’re done eating,” Devastatus said, voice shaking the whole kitchen, “I have a surprise for you. A gift for your first fully grown fang.” Merciless’s eyes widened at that. A gift! What could it be? “Ooo, is it a hydra’s egg? Ooo, or a pocket planet? Ooo, ooo, or maybe-” “You’ll see. Eat your secrets. You need the nutrition.” Devastatus hovered up to the table with a tray of food in his hands. Merciless could hardly pay attention to the meal as he was eating it, the anticipation of a gift too great. “Did you find a Titan and brought it back to life?” “Don’t eat with your mouth full, son. Also, chew your food, don’t just absorb it into your being. As Dark Lord, you’ll need to learn the customs of mortals if you are to reign dominance over them.” Merciless chewed, then swallowed. “What is it then?” Devastatus smiled. “It’s a toy.” Merciless nearly dropped the fork. “Not just any toy. A very special toy. One that I got when I was about your age and played with it throughout my whole childhood.” “Is it a void? Empty, dark, and cold as death itself?” Merciless crossed his fingers. Devastatus chuckled. “You’ll see. Eat.” Merciless dug into the food, devouring it as fast as the mortal conventions allowed. He bit down on a piece that wasn’t cooked enough, still a bit raw, and not wanting to insult Father he spat it out under the table, hoping the Dark Lord wouldn’t notice. The braking below stopped. Merciless glanced down and again remembered that the dog was still there. It sniffed the bit of food, then ate it. The dog’s whole body transformed. It started to grow, both in size as well as in the number of limbs, heads, and tails. Wings sprouted from its back, its eyes rolled backward and were replaced by mouths with razor-sharp teeth. Merciless observed in silence as the creature rose behind his father’s back. Devastatus raised a fork to his mouth, then paused. “Merciless?” “Hm?” “Did you feed the dog your food?” “Um... no.” “Merciless...” “It accidentally fell from my plate.” “You know our food isn’t for mortal creatures.” The monstrosity behind Father opened it’s many mouths and roared, breathing fire from some mouths, spitting acid from others. “Can we keep him, please?” Devastatus didn’t seem amused. “Oh, but look at him! He’s literally eating his own limb!” “Fine,” said Devastatus. “You brought him here, you take care of him. If I find but one pile of poo...” “You won’t, I promise!” “We’ll see.” “May I go now? I ate everything.” “You may. Your toy is waiting for you in your room. Have fun!” Merciless jumped from his chair, three-point landing on the floor, and opened the portal to his room. He ushered the dog monster to follow. “For the last time, Merciless, use the door-” Merciless already jumped through the portal. Devastatus sighed. “That boy is pure evil.” Then he smiled. “I’m such a fortunate dad.” *** “What, in the name of warmth and happiness, is that ?” Merciless stared at a small metal cage resting on his bed. There was a tiny hut inside it - obviously shrunk - some dirty hay, rocks, and a few dried up trees. Amongst all that, a pathetic-looking creature sat on a stone, misshapen clump of hair flowing down its back, a bushy grey beard covering most of its face. The creature sat with hands on its knees, legs crossed, eyes closed. A human, the size of a fork, only much thinner. “Is this some joke?” Merciless approached the cage and crouched to inspect the human up close. It didn’t smell that well. “Hey, human. Are you alive?” The creature didn’t move. Merciless shook the cage, toppling the dried trees. “Hey! Answer me!” Silence. The human sat on his stone, motionless. Merciless sighed. “Dad always had the weirdest sense of humor. Dog, look, your first treat.” He reached to open the cage door. The human suddenly opened his eyes and spoke in a raspy voice. “You don’t want to do that.” Merciless yelped and backed up. The dog-monster roared behind him. “You’re alive, then,” Merciless said, frowning. “I can fix that.” His hands ignited with a black flame. “I know where your mother is,” the human said, his voice calm. Merciless blinked, the fire vanishing from his fingers. “What did you say?” “I’m the one that imprisoned her. I almost brought peace to the world... if only I hadn’t forgotten about your father. And his wrath.” Meciless’s heart began pounding. “You know where my mom is?” He could barely remember her from his father’s memory transfer. He never met her for himself, she was taken away when Merciless was but a young, unconscious blob of evil, floating in the Pool of Desolation. His face darkened. “What have you done to her?” “I rid the world of pain and suffering,” the human said, shrugging. “But evil’s roots are deep and I only made things worse. Now, your father rules the lands.” “Sunshine!” Merciless cursed, clenching fists. “Who are you, human? My father never spoke of what happened to Mother, why should I believe you?” The human jumped up on his stone all of a sudden, slamming a hand at his chest, eyes fixed on Merciless. “I am Antonio the Handsome, hero of the free people, vanquisher of darkness, the bringer of light! I am the one destined to rid the world of all evil, bringing an era of peace and prosperity! I-” “Yeah, yeah, alright,” Merciless waved a hand. “You’re one of those , then. Ugh, no wonder you smell so bad.” He pinched his nose, waving a palm. Antonio ground his teeth. “Just as pompous as the Dark Lord himself.” “Thank you,” Merciless said, grinning. “You know, you are the stupidest human I’ve ever met. Do you know why?” “Amuse me.” “Because you thought you could defeat my father. Now, look at you! Cramped up in that cage, old and overgrown with... whatever those are-” “-hair-” “-with no hope of escaping. Antonio the Handsome ? I know humans are pathetic, but I didn’t know you are such poor liars.” “I’ve been locked up in here for fifty years, boy!” The man stomped a foot on his stone, pointing a finger at Merciless. “Let me out and give me my armor and weapon back, and I’ll show you just how pathetic I am!” “Alright,” Merciless said. Antonio blinked. “What? Really?” “Sure. You’re my new toy and I want to play with you.” “Just like that, you’ll let me out and give me back my stuff?” “On one condition,” said Merciless. “You’ll tell me where Mother is first.” Antonio chuckled. “I’d rather die.” “I’m sure you would, but this is the realm of the gods. Here, you are immortal. You’ll spend eternity in that little cage, amusing my whims and playing fetch with the dog over there.” Merciless threw a thumb pointing at the dog-monster, whose heads barked at each other. “I can endure it.” “Are you sure? Humans aren’t meant to live forever. Your body is already decaying after fifty years, pretty soon you won’t have one anymore.” “But, you said that I’m immortal here...” “Exactly. But your body isn’t. So you’ll spend eternity as a cloud of thought, unable to do or say anything, just floating around in your tiny cage, watching the bars rust. Sounds cool, huh?” Antonio didn’t answer, but his eyes glared at Merciless. “You said you imprisoned my mother. Where is she held?” Merciless placed a hand on the cage, as to squish it. “ Where? ” Antonio smiled. “You won’t like the answer, boy.” “I don’t like you , human.” “First, release me. And return to me my armor and weapon.” Merciless studied the man’s eyes. He considered going to father and asking him about Mother and Antonio and everything that happened before his birth. But then again, Father gave him this man as a toy for a reason. Perhaps he wanted Merciless to discover the truth on his own. “Fine. You can’t escape unless I open a portal, anyway. Dog, watch him. If he tries anything, eat him.” The dog-monster roared in agreement. Merciless opened the cage door. Antonio stepped out and onto the bedsheets. “My stuff,” the man said. Merciless snapped his fingers. Antonio’s rags transformed into a shiny set of armor and a beautiful two-handed sword appeared in his hands. The man’s face bore an expression of disbelief and awe. “Now tell me,” Merciless said. Antonio seemed lost in awe for a moment. “I thought I’d never again be-” “Tell me where my mother is!” Antonio jumped into a defensive pose, meeting Merciless’s eyes. “She is in the heart of every man. The only way to imprison her and keep her from destroying the world was to merge her soul with that of all humankind. I robbed us of our innocence and purity, planting the seed of evil within. But a little poison is a good thing, as it helps you fight off a snake bite.” “What?” Merciless frowned. “That makes no sense. There’s no seed of evil in humans, they’re just pathetic.” “That’s the truth, boy,” Antonio said, slamming his visor down. “As I’ve promised, I will now show you just how pathetic I am!” He jumped up in the air, armor starting to glow, the sword blazing with white fire. For a moment, his form seemed to grow larger, becoming a fully-sized human again. But the moment was cut short, as a bolt of black lightning struck Antonio down and burned him in a pile of ashes. Merciless turned around, noticing Father standing behind him. “Good work, son,” Devastatus said. “I tried getting that information out of the man for fifty damn years! The bastard refused to speak!” “Poppa, I’m confused,” said Merciless, looking at the smoldering ashes. “Is what he said true? Is he the hero who defeated and imprisoned my mother?” “It’s true, my son,” Devastatus said, placing a hand on Mercielss’s shoulder. “Please forgive me for not telling you, but it was best you didn’t know until you were old enough.” “I’m old enough now,” he said, looking up at his father, jaw tightening. “You are. And now we know where your mother is.” “In the hearts of every man,” Merciless whispered. Father nodded absently. How in the blazes are they going to get her out from there? Would they have to collect all the hearts from all the humans and cold-press the evil out of them, concentrating it in a barrel, sculpting Mother out of the mass? Or did that mean that every human was actually his mother now? Those were some disturbing thoughts. Merciless crossed his arms and frowned. “Worst toy ever.”


"Number 2021, how are you feeling?" the nurse asks. "Um my name is Hamuar." Hamuar sat up in bed, looking around. "What happened?" "You drained way too much of your power." The nurse said. "And caused a whole lot of death and destruction." She looked at the window. "What do you mean? What did I do? What is going on." "Don't worry about it just rest, for right now just focus on healing." The nurse waved off all his questions. "Do you need anything?" 'No" "Very, well. You will be getting visitors." "Who?" Before her could get a response the nurse was already gone. Hamuar laid back and blew air out of his mouth with frustration. What did I do? Why won't anyone tell me what I have done? What destruction and death did I do? And how did I do it? What is going to happen when I get out of the hospital? Questions just spewed from his brain like lava at an erupting volcano. He sighed aloud and listened to the monitors. He stared out the window glumly. Something was off. Very off. He couldn't put his finger on it. "What did I do? Could someone tell me?" he said, with frustration. He glared at the machines, tubes and monitors hooked up to his body. A few hours later there was a knock on the door. "Can we come in?" "Who is it?!" The nurse peeked in the room. "Your visitors are here." "As I can see, they can come in." The nurse beckoned a group of people into the room. "Mom! Dad! Livy!" Hamuar jumped from the bed tackling his parents in a big bear hug in a single move. "My son." his father said weakly. "How are you doing?" "Good." He gave Mom and sister a hug, then waited until the nurse was gone. When the door clicked, questions fired. "What happened?What destruction did I do? Who did I kill? How many people did I kill? What is going on?" "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about?" Livian put up her palms. "The nurse said something about me causing destruction and death." The room when dead silent. Mom, Dad and Livian all exchanged cautious looks. Then Mom opened her mouth letting out a voice as gentle as a feather, "There were some 'things' that happened." She cleared her throat. "That you had caused." "Yeah, I am aware of that. That is why I am trying to see what it was that I did so that I can make it better." There was another distan pause. Livian spoke up. "Um, what you did, was permanent..." She looked at the floor then said, "and can't be undone." "What! What do you mean that, whatever I did, is 'permanent' and 'can't be undone'!" "Calm down you are still a part of the Time Maker's Workshop you just got suspended." Mom said assuringly. "With a few of your privileges revoked and a lot of very," "Very." Dad added. "Very, upset people." "Who?" Hamuar sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands. "Um, let's just say that you make a lot of people. Like a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot." Livian said butting in. Hamuar heaved a sigh. What have I done? He thought. *** Weeks passed and Hamuar finally found out that he had done more than just upset people. Signs were put up saying all kinds of nasty and disgusting things. Hamuar couldn’t believe his eyes, did he really do that much destruction? Obviously he had with the swarm of guards protecting him from the riots of people trying to attack him. As he neared the Time Makers Workshop all of the employees were standing in front of the entrance with a massive crowd of people there as well. It was as if they were trying to block the entrance from him , they were expecting him to come and they were prepared. Hamuar could hardly believe himself, there was so much to take in. So much to process just about how much he'd done . Maybe they were right not to take him in. The words of the Great Chooser echoed in his head We are not sure whether you should be our next Time Maker. As for you will gain too much power bringing not only yourself, but many others with you. You could destroy so much if you are trained too well. Which is why it is your job to make sure you can keep yourself under control. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for us? Then he remembered himself saying the exact words, Yes, of course I can. I know I can. He had broken his promise, his vow to control himself to protect everyone. Putting everyone in danger was the exact same as his name, Hamuar Auspious. With everyone now against him. Hamuar stepped out of the car with guards on every way he turned. People or everywhere surged forward with insults, weapons, every way they could think of, trying to get to Hamuar. Hamuar stood there speechless in horror and guilt. He had caused all of this mess and couldn’t fix it. There has to be a way. He thought desperately. There has to be something that can fix this. Something, anything. Please. There was no use, no one would be on his side. There were way too many people all against one person. Who knew that one single person could do such a worldwide chink of destruction. Hamuar suddenly wanted to curl up in a ball in the darkest, deepest corner there was. He wanted to cling to the guards and beg and plead for a solution. The most effective thing he could do. It took a full hour to get to the stairs and thirty minutes to walk up them. Stupid me, stupid, them. Stupid this. Supid, stupid, stupid. STUPID! He chanted to himself. He would whatever it took to get rid of all the living devil. “There he is! There he is. IT’S THE HAMMUAR AUSPIOUS!” They would shout. In other words, GET HIM! HE IS THE ONE WHO DID ALL THIS! THIS IS THE GUY! HE’S THE ENEMY! He was carried into a large circular room filled with clocks of all kinds. Floor to ceiling. Clocks, clocks, and clocks. There was a large black circular desk right in the middle of the room and there sat the high ranked Timekeeper. The guards parted the way blocking the way of the windows and door. Timekeeper was sitting faced towards the large patio door behind him. “Well, beautiful day isn’t it?” Casually spinning around to face Hamuar. Hamuar hung his head low and said nothing. “Good to see you back, with the Reset Celebration approaching. Hmm?” “I guess.” “I was expecting you to ask ‘ How come you didn’t ban me from the job sir? ’ Or ‘Why are you giving me a second chance?’ But you can be pretty unpredictable.” “Sir?” Hamuar looked up into the Timekeepers eyes. “I have decided to let you stay, give you another chance. I decided to have you as the next Head Year Scheduler and Head of the Reset Celebration as well." "Really?!” Hamuar's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Thank you so much! This is very important to me, thank you. I am very grateful.” At least someone forgives me. "Yes, yes. You are very welcome. But you have to agree to have your stopwatch removed and your Climax Card removed. For all that is going on I am going to hand you down to private servicing. If that doesn't work then I’ll have to have you with me. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” “Good. You are now dismissed.” With that Hamuar left the room as the guards led him down an unknown hallway. There he worked and was stripped of his Climax Card and Stopwatches with other privileges. *** Days flew by and people began to calm down, and prepare for the Reset Celebration. Poster, banners, fireworks, music, bright colors everywhere. Hamuar took it all in. The smell of food cooking and the sound of people laughing. The NIght Festival was just about to start. Man how time flew by. There was one minute set to the huge display screen. Blinking red and wight counting down from 59. Everyone gathers to see the Ceremony and have a massive party. The important Organizers all filed onto the stage one by one, with Hamuar walking beside the Timekeeper. He stepped onto the stage pedestal with a straight posture and his head held high. He tried his best to hide his smile of pride. “Welcome all, Welcome to the Celebration of the Reset. Of Our Rest.” The Great Chooser boomed. ”The Time has come to re-choose our new Scheduler and Rests Cermonizer. Hamuar Auspious!” There was an unsteady pause, followed by the Speech of Honor. “Thank you, Thank you all.” Hamuar bowed respectively after the speech was done. “We all are very aware of all of the chaos that has happened and we are now over it.” She continued. “Now we near the last 10 seconds of our year and ceremony. Now you Swear, you must swear you will never ever do such a terrible year, terrible time and horrid event. Ever.” The Great Chooser glanced at the time as to say Make is snappy, either do it now or never . Everyone was silent now. Hamuar lifted his left hand and put his right hand over his heart. Then recited his promise. “I vow I will never ever make a terrible year, a terrible, time or horrid event ever in my lifetime. Ever.” Hamuar looked into the Great Chooser stoney, gray eyes. “Well then let’s continue with the countdown.” “5!” Everyone chanted. “4!” “3!” “2!” “1!” “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”


Heavy rain came down hard against the wet pavement. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Stood out in the rain like this wasn’t how she’d expected tonight to end. Being out here in the storm was much better than being back in there though. A mix of tears and rain clouded her vision. She could barely see, having to squint to check her phone. The Uber was almost there. Laying next to her were a pair of oversized duffels. Everything packed hastily, barely fitting inside the bulging bags, were sat in growing puddles of rainwater and filth from the street. Awful weather for an awful night. The bags took on an odd shape, things poking this way and that. She’d been so flustered and barely had time to pack. That’s not entirely true. She had plenty of time, she just couldn’t stomach being in that flat any longer. She had to get out, even if there was a terrible storm outside. She’d rather take her chances with the rain than be up there. She tried not to think about it. To think about him. As much as she tried the thoughts wouldn’t shift. Playing out the breakup over and over in her head. What if she’d said this instead, or done that? Maybe it wouldn’t have ended that way. So many other ways it could have gone. Maybe in one of them they would still be up there together in the warmth of the flat. Her mind reeled with the countless what ifs that intruded themselves upon her. She couldn’t think straight, it was almost enough to make her sick. She pulled out her phone to try and take her mind off things. She was met with her lock screen, an image of the two of them together. Smiling and happy. Another wave of tears broke free and mingled with the rain running down her cheeks. Through the haze she could see a car pull up in front of her. “Ride for a Lucy Waller?” a gentle voice struggled over the howling wind. Lucy simply nodded, choking back the tears, grabbed up her bags and dragged them towards the boot. Seeing her struggle, the driver jumped out and offered to give her a hand. He was a typical middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a thick beer belly. Waddling over, he took up Lucy’s bags and helped get them in the car. A surprised look wrote itself across his face as he lifted the bags out of the wet and into the dry boot. They were so heavy even he had trouble tossing them into the back of the car. “My word girl, what you got in there? Everything but the kitchen sink I imagine.” The man chuckled to himself as he slammed the boot closed. All Lucy could do was offer him a pained smile and a slight nod. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, her throat was still raw from all the crying. The driver recognised she was distressed and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder then toddled off to the driver’s seat. His comforting pat didn’t help. It was everything but what he intended. If anything, it made her feel awkward and weird. Hands shaking, she managed to pop open the car door and climbed into the backseat, closing the door on the rain and the life she was leaving behind. Through the rain-streaked window she looked up at the block of flats. All the windows were as black as the night, bar one. His window. She’d half expected to see him stood there looking down, a dark shadow peering at her from high above, but there was nothing. The curtains were drawn, and no one was there. She knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her leave, not after how it all ended. She took a deep breath and turned to face the front, telling the driver she was ready to go. The journey home was a quiet one. The driver, after having tried and failed to comfort her once, didn’t try again. She didn’t mind. Leaning her head against the window and watching the headlights streak by was enough to sooth her aching heart. City life flashed passed them in a blur of yellow and grey. People were still out walking, or rather running, in the rain going about their nightly business. A loud wailing grew as a pair of blue flashing lights shot down the opposite side of the road. Then another, and another. The sirens still echoing down the narrow streets long after they’d disappeared out of view. For a moment her heart stopped. Something crept out from her subconscious mind into her waking thoughts. An unsettling feeling washed over her. She was worried that she had left something behind. The sudden realisation startled her almost into a panic. What was it? Surely it couldn’t be anything important, otherwise she would have remembered it, right? It was probably just her toothbrush or something trivial. Something she could easily replace. Unless... Panic truly started to set in, but she couldn’t check her bags, not until she was home. She would just have to wait. The rest of the ride home was stressful. All the while, the only thing she could think about was what she could have left behind and how she couldn’t bring herself to go back to his flat, not after leaving like she did. She just hoped it wasn’t something crucial. The kindly driver helped her unload her bags out onto her front doorstep and with a soft smile he took off. She’d make sure to rate him highly. 5 stars perhaps. Pushing open the front door with her foot, she hobbled down her dark hallway towards the back of the house. She threw her bags down with a wet slap onto the kitchen floor. Bending down, she opened the cupboard under the sink and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. Putting on the rubber gloves, she turned to the face the bags, now sitting in a murky brown puddle that was starting to smell. Lucy sucked in a deep breath and unzipped the first bag. A few metallic items clattered against the tiles. Brushing aside the stained tools, she reached in and unfurled the dirty bedsheet. Her eyes stung as a waft of putrefaction escaped from the bundle. Cocooned in the folds of tainted linen were hunks of cooling red and grey flesh. Lucy plunged her hands in, right up to the elbow, and began sifting through the viscera. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Two hands, two feet, various ribs and other bones jostled together between the hunks of meat. But that feeling was still lingering. She’d have to check the other bag. Swivelling in the growing pool of fluids slowly spreading across her kitchen floor, she reached for the second bag but stopped. Her heart sank and she turned ghostly pale. One of the zips was partially undone. “No...” the whisper caught in her throat, her airways tightening. Without a second thought, she attacked the bag, throwing it open. This bag was packed with more care since this one contained most of his organs. Lucy didn’t stop for a second. Her gloves now a bright red, covered in flecks of grey and brown dove into the bag of organs. Where was it? It had to be here. Everything else was here. She grew more frantic, throwing clumps of torn muscle and sacks of wobbly flesh out of the bag in a frenzy. She emptied the bag onto the floor, adding to it with her own stomach contents, but searched diligently nonetheless. Lungs, kidneys, and greying tracks of intestines spilled out and made a dull bloody collage against the backdrop of bright white tiles. It wasn’t there. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She’d left his heart behind. She sat back and cried. Deep howling sobs wracked her body. Trembling uncontrollably, she edged backwards and leant against the fridge. She was fucked. She’d left his heart behind. But she had been so careful, how had she missed it? She made sure to go over the flat more than once, to make sure nothing like this would have happened. It’s not like she meant to do it in the first place. She didn’t mean to kill him. Their argument had got heated, and she had lashed out with the knife before she realised what she’d done. She looked down at her shaking hands. The hands that killed her boyfriend. The hands that, instead of reaching for the phone and calling the police, grabbed for his tools, and got to work. Hacking, breaking, pulling his body apart. Wrapping the pieces in old bedsheets and towels. Stuffing bloody chunks and broken bones into the duffel bags and carrying them outside, away from the flat. She didn’t know what to do but sit there and cry. And that’s what she did. Sat in a pool of her dead boyfriends’ innards sobbing into her cursed hands when something caught her eye. She looked down the length of her hallway and saw, through the frosted glass of the front door, a blue flashing light. A fresh bout of tears ran down her face as a shadow blocked out the light and rang the doorbell.


"Tell me the story of how we met," she asked softly. I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, but we have to sleep afterwards. It's getting late." "Sure." She snuggled up in my lap and gazed up adoringly into my eyes. "Well, once upon a time not too long ago," I began, re-enacting the scene with a doll and a teddy bear, "there lived a princess, just 10 years old. She was trapped in a castle, cursed to sleep by an evil old witch. Only true love's kiss would waken the princess." I laid the doll flat on her back, pointing the right arm of the teddy bear at her threateningly. "Did anyone try to awaken the princess?" she asked breathlessly. Lamplight sparkled in her caramel eyes, growing wider by the minute. I caressed her soft, silky hair, letting the touch linger. "Yes, hundreds. All claiming to be the world's noblest warriors or whatever." Rolling my eyes, I continued. "They all tried and failed." She giggled. "Did any women try?" I paused for a while. "Yes, they did, but discreetly, because at that time it was still taboo for these things to be publicly known. They all failed anyway, though." I pressed the snout of the teddy bear to the face of the doll. Nothing happened. "And then what happened next?" "And then." I looked deep into her soft, honey golden eyes, and a tender smile crossed my face involuntarily. "And then, on the princess' 30th birthday, someone came. It was a little orphan girl." Here, I deliberately paused. "Go on!" she begged, tugging at my shirt. “The little girl had wandered over from a nearby village. She had been playing in the forest and gotten lost. Seeing the castle, she had decided to go in and see if anyone could direct her back. And so, wandering from room to room, she finally found the princess.” She grabbed the bear by the scruff of his neck and made him walk over with a bouncy gait, stomping over the “hills” and “valleys” in the sheets. I laughed and took the bear from her. "The little girl stared at her wonderingly. At that moment, she felt sorry for the poor cursed princess. 'I do hope you find someone to help you,' she murmured, and gave an empathetic kiss on the princess' forehead.” I made the second bear kiss the sleeping doll. "And the princess woke up!" she squealed happily, snatching the sleeping doll up into the air and tossing it up to the ceiling. “Mama!” the doll cried out in astonishment, the eyelids open. "It was true love after all, wasn't it?" My vision suddenly went blurry, and I tasted the salt of my own tears on my lips. "Yes, honey, it was. I do love you, very much. I've always wanted a daughter and now I've got you. I knew you’d be my daughter the minute I woke up and saw your precious eyes looking into mine." "Please don't cry, Mommy," she pleaded anxiously. "I love you more than anything else in the world, okay? You know that, right?" I folded her tightly into a massive bear hug. "Yes, dear, I do.


Danya groaned under the weight of the heavy equipment that she lugged across the tarmac. It felt like a metaphor for her life. One spent under the burden of following other people’s suggestions, which led to this dead end, working at a military air airfield in North Dakota. As she lamented her eight years in the Air Force, she gazed up at the stars flickering in the pitch black sky, and let her mind wander. She turned to her crewmate, Greg. “What sound do eagles make? Do they caw, or chirp, or...?” Greg's gaze remained focused on his equipment. “Don’t know. Never thought about it.” “Or do they sing, tweet, or cluck?” “Never thought about it. You’re too smart for this, Danya. Why are you in the military anyway?” “When I saw the recruitment ads, it sounded fun to be on a mission, and not to spend all my time, you know...” She hesitated, and left out mating like animals . Experience had taught her it was best to keep quiet about such topics. Greg nodded knowingly though she suspected he had no idea what she was talking about. Unlatching the refueling hose from an aging C130, she moaned, “I don’t think I can take another day of this.” “I hear you,” Greg replied nonchalantly. “I’m serious!” she blurted out, letting desperation seep into her voice. In the past, Danya would often pitch ideas to Greg that with his Great Plains reticence, would dismiss as not worth fretting over. But today, Greg turned to her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, and said, “If you’re game, I have an idea.” “Greg has an idea...” she teased, her heart racing with curiosity. What he proposed was the wildest plan she ever heard. Yet, there was a sincerity in his voice, and he had a connection. He was extending charity, something she didn’t like to accept, but unlike the other men in the military, she knew his help wasn’t attached to unwanted sexual advances. They had worked together long enough for her to know. “Trust me,” he said. She found herself nodding. Three weeks later, Danya found herself aboard a plane headed to Edwards Air Force base. As the aircraft lifted off, Greg gave her the tiniest of North Dakota nods, one she knew was an acknowledgment of their eighteen months together refuelling planes, unacknowledged and under appreciated . As she stepped off the plane in California, she was met by an officer in dress uniform who gave hey a formal salute. “Private Danya, this way,” he said, and ushered her into an auditorium where dozens of young soldiers were gathered. They looked as nervous and excited as she felt. As the lights dimmed, a screen in front of them flickered to life. President Kamala’s voice echoed through the room, delivering her famous farewell speech of 2032: “In the history of manned space flight, only twelve white men have walked on the Moon. Today, I announce a plan to change that!” The audience applauded. The image of the twelve men faded into a colourful montage of 48 young soldiers of different races and genders. She surmised they were the people she was with in the room. The contrast with the previous mission was vast, and she was excited to be part of it. General Johnson, a famous general, highly decorated from his service in the Ukraine War, stood behind the podium. In his powerful voice, he declared, “Moon 2069. There have been 37 years of challenges,” he dropped his voice on the word ‘challenges’, which Danya translated tobdelays, red tape and budget overruns. “But now, we are here, on the cusp of our great mission. You have the right stuff to change it the history of humankind.” Danya felt something she longed for her whole life but rarely experienced: being important. She applauded as loudly as anyone else in the room. The following three months of training were electric. Each day started at dawn, and continued until late at night. Drills, classes, and physical fitness activities filled every minute of her existence. Here, unlike in North Dakota, every member of the training class matched her curiosity and drive. A psychologist from Stanford guided them through team-building exercises, fostering their camaraderie. Despite the Moon 2069 program’s seemingly unlimited resources, the remnants of SpaceX logos clung to the training center’s walls. The company was nationalised after Elon Musk sent Xi Jinping a Tesla for his birthday. Aiding and abetting the enemy, a senate committee had concluded. So many things had led to this moment-12 trillion dollars spent over decades, to deliver a diverse group of astronauts to the moon on the 100th anniversary of the original moon landing. She understood the program was expensive. Her mother at complained about it during their telephone calls, lamenting the rising taxes and inflation that made life difficult for everyone. School teachers couldn’t afford to repair their cars or go to the dentist. It was hard to listen to, but as the date of the launch approached, her mother’s tone mellowed. “The country spending a trillion dollars to send my daughter to the moon. Who would have thought? I’m proud of you.” Two days before launch, General Johnson sat in his office awaiting their daily briefing. After a crisp salute, Danya took a seat, trembling in anticipation from the conversation ahead. The general spoke first. “Private Danya, I’ve heard through the grapevine you are having second thoughts,” he murmured in his baritone voice. “I’m here to tell you, after you complete this mission, you will be an example for asexual people all over the world.” “So they can all walk on the moon?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “The Moon 2069 mission is important to the current president.” The closer the mission came, the more Danya had contemplated what her goal really was. “I respectfully decline the mission, and I would like to be reassigned,” she said firmly. The General slumped in his chair, disappointment etched across his features. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” Before she could respond, she felt a sudden grip on her shoulders, then a pinprick in her arm. The following days blurred into a haze. She recalled listening to politicians’ speeches and seeing the blurry faces of her teammates. A deep rumbling jolted her awake. She blinked under the bright lights, then realized she was strapped into her launch chair. Her teammates, Stella and Marco, sat beside her, their faces tense. The thundering vibrations of the Ascendant Rocket rumbled beneath them. She lifted her hand to attract their attention, to say she wasn’t supposed to be there, when the takeoff force of 10G pushed her arm back down. ** Ending #1: She resented being sedated, but once the mission had begun, her instincts to help her team members kicked in, and she played along. A week later, Danya found herself on the set of the Morning Brew Show, the bright lights and cameras capturing her every move. She smiled and told the audience how amazing the experience of the moon mission was. Once the mission was over, General Johnson had told her had a choice, she could return to North Dakota, or she could fly from city to city, staying at the best hotels, give interviews and school commencement addresses, and never have to work another day in her life. The life of a politician, he said. She rejected the offer, until the General said her mother could join. Ending #2: After installing Moon Base 2069, they received a video transmission from NASA. President Kamala’s face from decades ago filled the screen, and she began speaking solemnly. “I regret to inform you the government used the LGBTQIA mission as a cover story, as the best way we could allocate enough money for this project without creating panic. The fake news you have undoubtedly heard, is true. The earth will be struck by an asteroid in 2070, ending all human life. You are our last hope to carry on. Good luck.” The weight of the words settled heavily on Danya’s shoulders.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Song: ** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - Story features a non-human character.* This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the name, the images in the video, or . The bonus constraint is not required. You may interpret the media prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you **follow all sub and post rules**.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by Sunday 11:59pm EST. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until 2pm EST Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday, after the story submission deadline.) - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our Discord server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome! - Nominations are now made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings - - Submitted by u/Jurassic_Snark2   - - Submitted by u/MeganBessel   - - Submitted by u/wandering_cirrus   - - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Robert powered through the morning, not really his preferred way to start the day. He likes to wake up after hitting snooze at least twice, slowly sipping the ever-essential coffee while reading up on the news and then getting ready after he feels he's all caught up. A typical workingman daily routine you might think, and would be absolutely correct in assuming so. Unfortunately for him, he slept through the alarm like a baby, thanks to a late-night working, and now his morning was completely disrupted. His car had been parked out in the driveway and consequently, been vandalized. The tires were slashed and the hood of the car was covered in obscene imagery. "Sadists.” he thought to himself as he made a mental note to call the police once he reached his office. More frustrated than ever, he set out, heading for the bus stop a couple blocks away. As he waited at the stop for the bus that was already behind schedule, just like him, a dark green F-150 pulled up in front of him. The window rolled down to reveal a man, maybe in his thirties, with a trucker like attire consisting of shorts, a grey shirt and a Yankees cap. “Hey Carter-that’s the name, right? Don’t usually see you around this time of the day. Anyways, how about I give you a ride to the office?” Robert tried his best to identify the driver. He seemed familiar, but it was impossible for him to be sure. He chose to avoid the otherwise inevitable moment of awkwardness that would follow and decided to just play it safe. “It’s Rob actually. That’d be great but I really don’t want to waste your- “ “Oh, just hop on in! I’ve got all the time in the world.” Cornered, Rob weighed his options and decided that he would just get it over with. Besides he really needed his job. “Alright, just drop me off at the- “ “33rd street?” The driver, after a good look at Robert’s blank expression then replied: “It’s just that I drop my kid off to school just about two streets over, so I guess there’s only so many streets that your car could’ve turned into.” “Now there’s an observant fella.” Rob mumbled while mentally listing possible escape maneuvers through the passenger seat window. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made you feel uneasy already, so let me try my hand at changing the mood. I ask you a question, and you ask me one in return. Should help you relax a bit there, champ.” “I’ll go first then,” Rob said. “Who are you? And why do I feel like I know you?” “Straight to the point, aren’t you? Then again you always were.” Before Robert could make any sense of the statement, the driver continued: “Call me Ben. I run this breakdown truck company about twenty minutes from where you live. Had today off, so I felt like driving off into the daylight and just enjoy the sun for a change. But nothin’s ever better than helping a fellow American in need!” He then proceeded to laugh at his own joke. “Oh, and about you knowing me, I sure as hell don’t know who or what looks like me in this part of town. Maybe you saw me behind you at a red light during one of those school rides. Now you tell me, how’s the bank job holding?” “I never mentioned my workplace to you.” “Oh, come on. I don’t see any amusement park booths anywhere near that area. There ain’t no one but people in suits scuttling about and sipping their morning coffee there! I mean, no offense to you, but you gotta see where I’m coming from.” “About that offence, some taken. You really have those detective novels all spoiled for you already huh? It’s tough to believe that you’re just guessing all of this.” “Yeah, I get that a lot.” “About the bank job, it’s going...fine, I guess. I mean there have been no ups and downs for me to talk about. Not that it doesn’t pay well; I just seem to drift away behind the desk lately.” “I...I see. It must get real boring after a while, the desk job I mean.” Ben, now on the freeway, was slowing down. “The lanes are wide open, you could just hit th- “ A grey corolla cut them off abruptly from the right. “You can never be too careful these days lad. Believe me, I tow stuff for a living.” “Agreed.” Rob said as he watched the car speeding away, muttering some not so nice words under his breath. “As I was saying, life’s a drag. Come to think of it, I don’t even know why I even bother getting up.” Ben, as if ignoring the statement, asked,” Say, how much more time do you have before your boss goes bananas at ya?” Rob glanced at his watch. He was already late, so he didn’t bother about it much. Besides this ride had been way more interesting than his entire previous week, which he believed to be a testament to his mundane existence. “I’ve got time, don’t worry.” He said, staring blankly at nothing in particular out of the window. “So enough about me, tell me about your kid. You said that he goes to school close to 33rd?” “Yeah, City Knoll middle school. He’s a bright one if I do say so myself, absolutely gunning past his friends and other folk out there. I mean I’m a hundred percent sure that it’s no thanks to me!” he proceeded to stick to his protocol of laughing at his own jokes. Rob was finding this conversation to get more interesting by the minute. “You know, I’ve studied there myself back in ’95” Rob interrupted. “Jeez time flies! What year are we even in right now?” he said laughingly. There was something interesting about this man, something that was hiding from him in plain sight. “God knows!” Ben said. “God knows...” Rob had sensed a sudden change in Ben’s composure, a hint of weariness revealed itself from inside the outward friendliness and confidence that had been on display since minute one. Suddenly as if waking up from an endless trance, Ben regained his former self. “Ah see you’re getting the hang of it now! It’s been almost 15 minutes and you haven’t mentioned your dumbass of a boss or job. You seem more like yourself again.” They approached an intersection when the green in front of them began flickering. Ben’s expression turned to stone as he floored the brake pedal. “You could’ve made that one if you’d gunned it!” Rob said “And I could’ve still convinced my boss that I’d been less than thirty minutes late.” “There you go rambling about that old fucknut all over again! It’s gonna be a tad bit harder to explain that shit from the ICU ward!” He regained his senses. “Er Rob, buddy, I’m sorry about th- “ “It’s fine. It was a good call” Rob replied as he pointed towards the intersection. A man with a walking stick had misjudged the traffic lights and had walked straight into heavy traffic. Fortunately, everybody had reacted in time and there had been no casualties, save for a couple scratches here and there. “Turned that train wreck into a fender bender.” Ben said, chuckling. “Go left, I know a shortcut through that alleyway there” Rob suggested. “It’s alright, I’ll just take this way- “Ben stopped when he saw the bumper to bumper traffic in the adjacent lanes. “ “I’m telling you, going this way is the only option we have right now” Rob said hurriedly. “I know, I know.” Ben’s face turned red as he took the left. “It’s just that... that all the parents park up along the rear of the school these days and it takes a good hour to sort that mess out.” Ben said as he found his footing again. “So, you never told me your son’s name. For a proud father like you, I find that odd.” Ben sighed. For the first time since the beginning of this conversation, He didn’t anything witty to reply with. He thought to himself for what felt like eternity. He began “Carter. His name’s Carter.” The school was visible now. A block before and to the right were the Hamilton International towers, the headquarters office in which Rob worked. Ben turned to Rob. “I’ve tried everything bud. Everything. I know you’re still in there. Just hand on, I’m gonna get us outta here.” Teary eyed, Ben’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. The school bell rang and little children flooded the streets without a worry or doubt. Somebody in charge of the main gate had forgotten to lock it and organize the dispersed younglings, and now they were in front of their speeding truck. “BEN SLOW DOWN YOU’RE GONNA HIT TH’ “Rob’s voice was drowned out by the screeching and swerving as the truck headed straight towards the Financial district. An endless river of black, white and red turned towards them in horror as they had, in that split second, realized their fate. Some had accepted it, many believed of it to be unfair. But the judgement had already been made one way or the other. The truck tunneled headfirst into the dreary dense crowd, and then everything went black. Manny powered through the morning, not really his preferred way to start the day. He likes to wake up after hitting snooze at least twice, slowly sipping the ever-essential coffee while reading up on the news and then getting ready after he feels he's all caught up. A typical workingman daily routine you might think, and would be absolutely correct in assuming so. Unfortunately for him, he slept through the alarm like a baby, thanks to a late-night working, and now his morning was completely disrupted. His car had broken down last week and the mechanic didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get it back up to speed. “The engine block had overheated and there was a good chance that a fire could’ve happened”, he recalled the guy condescendingly explain. "Assholes.” he thought to himself as he made a mental note to call the police once he reached his office. More frustrated than ever, he set out, heading for the bus stop a couple blocks away. As he waited at the stop for the bus that was already behind schedule, just like him, a dark green F-150 pulled up in front of him. The window rolled down to reveal a man, maybe in his thirties, with a trucker like attire consisting of shorts, a grey shirt and a Yankees cap. “Hey Rob, that’s the name, right? Don’t usually see you around this time of the day. Anyways, how about I give you a ride to the office?” Manny tried his best to identify the driver. He seemed familiar, but it was impossible for him to be sure. He chose to avoid the otherwise inevitable moment of awkwardness that would follow and decided to just play it safe. “Nah it’s Manny. It’d be great but I really don’t want to waste your- “ “Oh, just hop on in! I’ve got all the time in the world. All of it...” Cornered, Manny weighed his options and decided that he would just get it over with. Besides he really needed his job.


Eyes of a woman crying. Eyes open, watery and frightened. Another survivor of the animal attacks. The other was not so lucky to bleed only tears. "All night long." she sniffled with a trembling voice from the crying. "How did you know it had left, if you never saw it?" Detective Mjölby wondered about another anomaly in her story. She consistently made no sense. She was trying to explain something and it was hard to explain. She just sobbed. Unable to get any more information from Mrs. Pearson, Detective Mjölby left her alone at his desk and went outside. The evening was very quiet, a warm sunset in a silent and long evening. The air was stale and thick but with some of the morning mists that had never quite faded from every swampy corner. Now frogs chirped merrily. How could this world be so full of rancor and vice? He had often wondered that. But this, some animal, all made man's sins seem different somehow. Detective Mjölby had always found humans to be the source of ultimate savagery and predation. Maybe nature had something to say about that. He returned to the lab and listened to Mark and Earl. The two men had similar voices and switched roles as dumbass and smartass as they discussed the topic of the stuff of nightmares while eating sandwiches. Mark put his down and lit a cigarette in the lab. Detective Mjölby cleared his throat and therefore announced himself. The toothpick that followed was the beginning of more chewing, more face-touching. It never ceased, but information could be useful now, even if it wasn't. Detective Mjölby was okay with such a contradiction. Nothing was making any sense anyway. “Well if they do have a lab with ebola, somebody somewhere is eventually living next door to it, relatively speaking, of course.” Mark pointed something out from earlier in their conversation. “For nerdom” Detective Mjölby raised a shot he had poured from Mark's desk and drank it and listened. “My notes?” Mark requested from under the bottle. “Man's best friend.” Earl brought up an image of a dog. "The hair of the dog that bit you?" "It is a dog. We know that. What else?" Detective Mjölby griped. “This is the one true story of the invisible dog as it actually happened in 2018. All the events in this story are real and all of the people and places are totally real. Invisible dogs are real.” Mark explained as they showed images of flowers, insects and reptiles and strands of DNA. This guy and his 'power point presentations'. “The” Earl frowned and pointed and said: “Daphavirus” and then explained: “It is a South American virus that used to only affect a certain species of firefly in South America, now modified to affect reptiles. They made a chameleon turn invisible.” "Who did?" Detective Mjölby was standing up. "Who do you think?" Mark chastised. "The military industrial complex did this. Made this thing. It is...a conspiracy." Earl added. "I have real detective work to do here. This thing kills some people and leaves others. That is a pattern, shows motive, human motive. What can I do with a pattern except follow it, use it to predict and stop this thing." Detective Mjölby told his clownish lab geeks. "Sorry boss. What you want us to tell you then?" Mark chewed food. “If all these people's lives connect at some intersecting moment, then where is the intersection? Where is the connection?” Detective Mjölby requested. He gestured to the place where the victims' remains were. “We have some shit, don't we?” Earl raised his glasses back up on his nose and lit his own smoke. “We have twelve victims of the invisible dog.” Detective Mjölby had counted them. “Was it ever mummy-wrapped like the invisible man?” Mark snickered. Detective Mjölby left them there and went outside into the night. In darkness it made no difference. When it cannot be seen. Detective Mjölby vowed to hunt the monster and stated: "Every dog has its day...and each day ends." Then there was the matter of the blood they found and tested: Sometimes the blood of the invisible dog is on the sidewalk, as a metaphor, and other times it is there literally. The sample was taken back to the Briar police department where a crude but effective homicide laboratory was full of specimens and evidence of the dog, already. The latest incident, on the county line north of Briar, the dog had killed again. It probably had rabies, now, as well. The invisible dog had become rabid. Detective Mjölby sat there brooding in the darkness. The clown had gotten released from the hospital and then the psychiatric ward had released him as well and now the police had signed off on him too. He was a free man. No more invisible dog leash trick, but he did plan to resume business. Elsewhere. Weeks went by and it was as if the dog had stopped its rampage entirely. While Detective Mjölby kept up the search, following up on every scrap and lead he slowly became convinced. He had not caught the dog because he had not really believed the stupendous weave of interwoven and sometimes contradictory-seeming facts about the dog. Now it was all making sense. The phone rang. He found himself talking to someone calling herself 'deep-throat' and willing to tell him what she knew if he would keep the information to himself, unless something should happen to her, of course. He agreed. Then over several more phonecalls throughout the night, Detective Mjölby learned all about the invisible dog. He even found out about the ephemeral addiction and why. If it didn't make sense of things he wouldn't believe what he was hearing. A man in the dog's body needed the ephemeral to stay in control and the dog was now addicted. The man had used a directory of ephemeral registration for the drug, but the dog had just followed its nose. This part of the pattern of killings gave Detective Mjölby a good clue how to catch it. The dog would come for a treat.


The room is silent. Velma looks at Charlotte who is sitting on a chair occasionally standing to check their vitals. Tim is staring at the purple liquid counting the bubbles forming and dissipating. Stephen is engaged in a staring contest with the guard. "So when do you think it will be safe to go out?" Velma asks. "I don't know. There are enough emergency supplies stored here to last for several days," Charlotte replies. "And you expect us to lie here the whole time?" "Of course not, after a while, your muscles will atrophy. You will get time to stand and walk soon," Charlotte says. "Just great," Tim says, "I lost my count of the bubbles." Velma and Charlotte glare at him. Tim shrugs and goes back to counting the bubbles. "Do you have any idea what is going on outside?" Velma asks. "See that speaker," Charlotte points at a speaker above the door, "When it is safe to go outside, they will tells us through there. Until then, speculating is just going to cause stress." "You really just expect us to lie here?" Stephen asks not breaking eye contact with the guard. "Listen," Charlotte stands, "You all were not born when the Mierans attacked the first time. I was an adult fighting in that war. I learned quickly that you need to focus on what is right before you. Speculating about what is going outside the door only causes more trouble. Now, I understand that this can be rather boring so I do know a few word games that we can play." Stephen breaks eye contact and furrows his brow at her. "I'll pass." "Same," Velma nods. "I'll play," Tim shrugs. The other two look at him, "What I'm bored." Soldiers line in waves with their guns pointed at the hole created by the animals. The Mieran-humans will be armed, but their training accounts for armed combat. A bird flies through the hole startling a soldier into shooting it. It falls easily. The soldier avoids being reprimanded as his supervisors are too focused on the hole. The wall on the other side explodes. The ground shakes throwing the soldiers off balance. A few are able to turn to run to the other side. The others stand in confusion. A small number cars and trucks run through the crevice created by the explosion. The passengers fire their guns into the air and at random. Their movements further divide the soldiers into smaller units. A lieutenant fires a shot at a truck driver's head. The truck crashes into a barracks. The rest of the passengers fan out firing their guns. A bullet scratches his back. The lieutenant looks up. Mieran-humans are in the towers fighting the snipers. One Mieran-human wins and uses the rifle to kill the other snipers with ease. The Mieran-humans provide cover fire. Sergeants Gil and Nilsen are standing back to back fighting the Mieran-humans when General Ben Meltz rings into them. "I need you at the command center now," he says. "Sir, we are overwhelmed. I don't know if we can make it," Sergeant Gil says. "We need to move the subjects out of the base. We are going to lose. I need you to help me move right now," he yells. The sergeants sigh. "On our way sir," Sergeant Nilsen says, and they move. "Excellent," General Meltz says as he walks out of the command center. He closes the door on his victims.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And... to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Give your writing its own spirit animal. Let’s take a mini vacation this week and step away from any serious discussions. I want you to think about your own personal writing style and explain (in any amount of detail) what animal you think it embodies. That’s it! I can’t wait to see everyone’s answers. *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


Caution: horrific details of a birth that goes wrong. Katy heard a bone-chilling scream followed by wails. Her twelve-year-old daughter Suzie ran inside. "It's OK, Mum. We were playing a game on the trampoline, that's all." "Eddie has hurt himself?" "Yes, as usual. He'll be alright." Katy ran out to check on her son in the backyard. Ten-year-old Eddie wept, cradling one arm as he sat in the middle of the trampoline. “Suzie did it,” he blubbered. "I'm sure it was an accident." His bottom lip curled down, and he shook his head. Tears trickled like water from a leaky faucet. He struggled over to her, keeping his right arm immobile against his body. Their large rectangular trampoline had no safety nets, but the rules were to not run on it and stick to the middle. The children had rarely had accidents. The worst accident had been when another child wouldn't stop running back and forth, tripped, and gashed their chin open on the metal surround. Katy had yelled out, "Stop running!" to no avail. The mother had become hysterical, but the father had shaken his head and sighed. He whispered something about his daughter bringing it on herself. They still felt awful. By the time Katy led her son inside, she had concluded that his arm could be broken. Suzie looked morose. "Can you tell me how this happened, please, Suzie?" Katy led Eddie to the sofa and went to get a freezer pack. The arm sported bruises already. "We were playing a game. He did it to me first," said Suzie, sulking. "Despite who started it, I think he's broken his arm." "Oh, rubbish. He's a drama llama. Great performance, Eddie." "So, what game did you play?" "We played a cool game where one of us sat on the side of the trampoline and surprised the jumper by whacking their legs out from under them unless they jumped quickly." "What makes this game so 'cool'?" "It's the surprise. It's great fun. When it was Eddie's turn to jump, he collapsed in a heap the first time. So useless." "As I said, I think he's broken his arm." This time, Katy glowered into her daughter's eyes. "What are you going to say?" "What am I supposed to say?" "The usual thing to say is 'Sorry,' Even if you Believe the Accident Could Have Been Avoided.". "Oh, it could have been avoided." Suzie looked at her mother's frown and the shake of her head. "Of course, I'm sorry . . . not much fun to play with someone hurt." She grumbled as she tore up the stairs. Eddie sat crying. Katy sighed and gave him the ice pack wrapped in a tea towel to hold against the painful limb. "This is what we are going to do, Eddie. Today is Sunday, and if I take you all the way to A and E now, we will be waiting for hours and hours while they deal with all the accidents and sports injuries. The weekend is a hopeless time for A and E. I'll give you some Paracetamol syrup for the pain, and first thing tomorrow, we'll take you in. I believe it's broken from the way you're holding it. If it's broken, you'll get an X-ray and a cast. The good news is that it won't be as hard for you as when you broke your ankle that time." "But Mum, it's so sore. I want it to be better now. It wasn't my fault . " "I know it isn't, son, but if we go today, they won't want me giving you painkillers, and you'll be in pain waiting for hours. We may not even get dinner. Tomorrow morning, first thing, it'll be so much quicker. . . Did you know that I used to have accidents, too? I've broken my wrist and my ankle. When I broke my ankle, I didn't want it to be broken, and I hobbled on it for a whole day. As I didn't have a car, I got my flat mate to drop me at A and E the next morning and afterward used crutches to go to my friend's house. She lived not too far from there. Someone else dropped me at my flat. No wheelchair for me." "I had lots of fun in my wheelchair, didn't I, Mum?" "You sure did. The kids at school played races with you and wheeled you around." "I let them take turns. I had lots of friends when I had a wheelchair." Katy felt a pang in her heart. Her innocent little boy had found it challenging at school and was teased mercilessly. He hardly noticed the way the other kids viewed him. His cheerful smile and kind nature had made him appear stupid. Suzie hurt more. She felt compelled to be his minder at school. The teachers and teacher aides coped with him during school hours. Still, during the breaks and before and after school, she had been tormented by other children for being his sister. Without oil-covered duck feathers, this sensitive little girl became bedraggled. She had toughened up to survive. Now, it seemed her empathy had gone as well. The older Suzie became, the less tolerance she had for being in a family with a handicapped child. Still, Suzie knew that Eddie had slow reactions and that their game had set him up to fail and fall. He never fell in a coordinated way. As a toddler, he had careened into walls because he neither stopped nor turned in time to avoid them. He regularly face-planted because he didn't put his hands out to save himself when he fell. Katy realized that Suzie needed to be listened to but also have her negative thinking, readjusted. Eddie needed help eating and toileting, and Katy had cleaned his teeth. That evening, she settled him in bed, gave him more painkilling medication, reassuring him that skipping a shower for one night would be OK and more manageable with his arm, and propped him with pillows. Now, it's time for Suzie. Carefully, she knocked on her daughter's door and went in. Suzie had her light on and sat in bed reading. "Thank you so much for cleaning up the kitchen and getting yourself ready for bed," Katy said, sitting on the side of the bed. "We'll take Eddie to A and E tomorrow." "Mum, I didn't really mean for him to hurt himself. I wish we could play like normal kids." "I wish you could as well, dear. But that game really is dangerous." "Mum, why couldn't he have been a normal brother?" Suzie's eyes filled with tears. "I do have an idea how it happened. It was his birth. When he was tiny, he cried so much and was such an angry baby. You may not remember, but when Dad went out with the older children in the evenings sometimes, I'd stay at home with him and you. You only wanted me when you were little, and when I got you ready for bed, I had to put Eddie down. You used to remind me he was crying and told me to pick him up. I told you that he had to learn patience because you also needed me. I've always tried to be fair to you." "But it hasn't been fair. Crystal does everything for me. I love her, but she's my sister. You have to help Eddie so much. He has all sorts of appointments, and you have lots of meetings about him. Because of him, you made me leave my friends and go to another school." Katy opened her mouth. "Honey, it wasn't like that. We were concerned about you. We didn't want you having the worry of Eddie at school, or being teased because of him. We sent you to a better school with more opportunities even though it is further away. We did it for you." Suzie sobbed. 'I hate it. I have no friends." "Sweetie, we didn't know. You were fine about going to the new school at the start." "I didn't want to bother you and Dad. You had enough to worry about . . . Having Eddie as a brother sucks!" "Darling, I know how you feel. You know, when I first brought him home from the Hospital, I wished I hadn't had him. We still need to understand what is wrong with him. It's been hard work, but we must consider the good times. You have had lots of fun with him. You were lovely together when you were both little. You cared for him so much. Remember, he always used to smile and laugh at everything. He hasn't turned out angry, after all." "But I am. I'm angry that he gets all of the attention." "We have tried not to do that, but it can't be helped. He needs a lot of care. We couldn’t expect your oldest sister, Amelia, to do everything for him . . . I was a headless chicken trying to cater to everyone in this family." "And he lost my Barbie dolls under the house, and they were so hard to find, and you had to wash them. I was so mad at him about that." "Sweetie, my younger sisters wrecked my stuff, too. It happens. It can't be the end of the world. I know it made you very sad." "It made me angry." "The trick is understanding why you feel angry and not taking it out on others. About your school. Next year, you will be in high school, and you can meet up with some of your old friends there. Now, get some sleep, darling. We are out of here early tomorrow." Katy kissed her daughter and settled her under the duvet. Katy went through to the kitchen. Her husband, Tom, had made her a hot chocolate and waited at the table for her. "It's been one of those days again, dear?" "I'm worried about Suzie." Tom shook his head and smiled. "Let me get this right. Eddie has probably broken his arm, and you are worried about Suzie; who did it?" "Suzie is hurting too, but not because she feels sorry for Eddie." She put her face in her hands and wept. "There, there. It can't be that bad." Katy looked up. "It's too much, and it isn't fair. Eddie's birth was a mess. My Specialist went on holiday and said he'd be back in time. I told him he wouldn't be. That stupid Midwife. I never ever wanted to squat during a birth, but I needed to with Eddie. I think it helped him turn. That idiot Midwife pushed me back against the head of the bed to 'have a look.' And then it was too late. Eddie was coming out. And then he got stuck. I remember her saying not to push because his shoulder was stuck and to wait for the next contraction. She wouldn't even help me get comfortable." "It all happened so fast. The Midwife already said a few hours when she went to ring up for an alternative specialist. She wanted you to get onto all fours, but there was no time. Eddie was in a hurry to be born." "If I'd known what I found out later, I'd have screamed bloody murder. If you remember, I was screaming murder when I thought Eddie would be born at home." "You had just enough time to get to the Hospital, it turned out. I thought you had hours like the other times. Just wanted to have a shave." "Yeh, to look handsome for the nurses! While I was in sooo much pain. Posterior presentation. I had no idea what it was. It was shocking. Katy sobbed. "And years later to find out what can happen during a shoulder dystocia . . . And when I finally decided to check the birth notes, the Midwife had lied. She knew what was wrong all along and lied. My poor baby had his oxygen supply cut off before he came out. Sure, he finally breathed. He had petechial hemorrhaging of his eyes, bruising around them, and grazed ears. He cried and cried. He cried so much that after exhausting days of him not feeding properly because he couldn't suck and kept popping off my breasts, the nurses used to wheel him into an empty theatre to let me sleep. His screaming kept the other babies awake." "Going on about it won't help. He's turned out a lovely little chap." "I think people feel sorry for us. This whole family has suffered because of what happened. And financially. All those specialists, a cranial osteopath, pediatric appointments, and speech therapist we took him to. We are still suffering. And what about his future?" "You have always told me that because he loves everyone, the world is his tumbling-polish machine." "It was a euphemism. When I speak hopefully about Eddie because he gets on with everyone, his teacher aides look at me gravely as if they feel sorry for me." "You have to keep trying. Keep having hope. Don't look back. You can't change what happened." "The latest is poor Suzie. She isn't happy that we changed her to a different school." "We know why we did. If you'd left her at the same school, with all the pressure and bullying she received, she wouldn't have thanked us for that either. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't!" "I guess you are right. We've done our very best." "You've done better than that. Some other parents wouldn't have done what we have." "But I feel guilty. There are times when I wish . . . we hadn't had him." Katy sobbed into her hands again. "Here, have your chocolate before it gets cold. Don't dwell on the past." *** At A and E. The next day, after they had been in the waiting room for about an hour, the doctor finally saw Eddie. He shook his head. "What a break! How did you do this, young man?" "I fell on the trampoline. My arm is double-jointed, and it snapped when I landed on it." "Double jointed, you say?" "Yes, I can bend my elbow both ways." "It's true," said Katy. "It will be x-rayed at Orthopedics, at the Hospital, but I'm telling you now, this is a bad break. It's a wonder the bone isn't sticking through the skin. We'll stabilize it, and I advise you to take him in a wheelchair once you arrive, so he doesn't jolt it. Can you do that?" "We've been careful up until now; I'm sure we'll manage." On the way to the car, Suzie touched her brother's shoulder. "Sorry for calling you a 'drama llama.'" *** They drove home with Eddie in his new plaster cast many hours later. "Can all my friends write their names on this one, too?" he asked. "I'll be the first," said Suzie. "How about playing a nice safe game of cards when we get home?" said Katy. Suzie grinned. "Yes, Strip Jack Naked, for real." "No, let's play Cheat," said Eddie, "I'm good at that." "What about Happy Families, kids?" Managing a ten-year-old child with an arm in plaster proved easier for Katy than handling the five-year-old Eddie with his leg in plaster. By the time the break healed, Eddie had gradually regained the use of his arm. His only regret was that the arm no longer bent both ways. It had been quite the sickening party trick. Eddie and his antics always astounded them. Always novel. Often, harebrained. The unfortunate thing about Suzie as a teenager was her lack of tolerance toward her brother. Before this, she had always been a very caring sister. When siblings clash as teenagers, the inherent selfishness of this age group leads to much grief in a family. Once the mature, caring young woman emerged from her pupa of teenage angst, Suzie applied herself. After much research, she came up with a diagnosis for her brother. We pursued a formal one: Dyspraxia. Suzie had been right. In addition, Dyslexia had already been diagnosed, which helped him qualify for assistance at school, and his Sensory Disorder had been recognized. His decisions led us all down some dark roads at times. He often didn't recognize hazards and wound up in heartrending and life-threatening situations. He's also been in several accidents, once with a leg in plaster again. His worst accident didn't involve any breaks. He stood up and began to exit a bus. He was the last one in line to leave. The driver didn't check and closed the doors on him. When they played back the recording, it showed that he hesitated moving forward when he heard a noise from the doors. His neck was so severely wrenched, and his body twisted that he needed costly treatment by an Osteopath for a whole year. I pointed out to the bus company that his hesitation meant he wasn't dragged along on the outside of the bus, which probably saved his life. They felt action during that split second could have prevented the accident. Bottom line - the driver didn't look. Suzie became a Mental Health nurse and has come to terms with her early family life. Eddie manages to hold down a menial part-time job and do volunteer work. He is gifted at listening and getting on with people. The tumbling-polish-machine has produced a gem.


“Our universe is one of many. At only 13.77 billion years old is it relatively young and small compared to most. The speed that time moves in each universe is mostly dependent on its size, but it is difficult to measure the rate at which time is moving in a universe with wildly differing dimensions and contents. Our universe has what I refer to as a pulmonary structure. This is because it’s when it reaches a certain size, it will start contracting until it becomes so dense that all its matter forms into a singularity which will subsequently ‘explode’ creating a new big bang. Of course, there actually is no explosion or bang, just a rapid and forceful expansion that kicks off a new lifecycle for the universe. The universe always contains the same matter, but after each big bang it become completely re-organised, leaving no trace of the structure of the previous universe. Comparing it to a lung expanding and deflating is a very simple and not entirely accurate analogy, but to be frank it’s the best analogy I could be bothered to come up with and it gives some understanding of the process. Our universe goes through this process to keep itself active, essentially to keep itself alive. Think of each universe as a living organism, which to stay alive, needs the matter within the universe to contain energy. The size a universe can grow to without ‘dying’ is proportional to how much matter is within it. A universe containing a lot of matter can grow to a great size, whereas a universe that does not contain as much matter will not be able to grow for very long before it ‘dies’. The death of a universe occurs when it expands to such a massive size that the matter and energy it contains is too far apart. The matter is this universe becomes devoid of energy and unable to go through any kind of reaction, causing it to be essentially ‘frozen’. This is known as a heat death” The man paused his monologue, glancing at the waiter who was walking past the table. “Hold on, why are you telling me this?”, I tried to interrupt him. “It’s important. Now don’t fucking interrupt me.” He resumed. “Now, a universe cannot stop expanding or collapsing unless it dies. Imagine a balloon with a hole that cannot be tied. The balloon can be blown up, or the air can be released, letting it deflate. If the balloon is blown up too much it will burst and cease to have function. Of course this analogy is clunky at best as a balloon can be left deflated, but a universe is unable to remain as a singularity. It must start expanding again. Now this means a universe will forever be in motion up until the point of its death.” The man stopped talking and stared at me, waiting for a response. The menu on the table in front of him remained unopened. “Okay, that’s all very good but my question still stands. Why are you telling me this?” “A lady came to me... in a dream. She explained all of this to me and if I don’t tell you right now, I’m going to forget it. It’s too important.” He said all of this with an air of profound seriousness. I sighed, “So you think that you know the explanation for all of existence because you had a dream about it?” He looked a little offended. “Well it could be wrong, but there’s a small chance I’m right so I reckon that’s worth holding on to. After all, many people garner explanations for existence that come from much more questionable places. I don’t see my dreams being less reliable that some old book written back before the wheelbarrow had even been invented”. He seemed almost proud that he had managed to inject a fairly mundane piece of trivia into his argument. “I suppose you have a point there. You should probably find some other way to remember it though cause there’s no way I’m going to memorise all that.” I tried to wrap up the conversation, hoping he might finally order something. He furrowed his brow and then replied, “Yes, you’re right. I’ll write it down. Maybe I’ll just write down our conversation, that might help me get it right.