There is a boys secondary school (high school) in Nigeria called city academy, situated in Zaria, Kaduna state. It’s a boarding school for the upper class kids, opened in the year 1998. School fees per term was N45000 (about USD500) then. It got a reputation for academic excellence in a very short time and it became famous, as a result, rich people troop to send their kids there. In the year 2004, the school graduated its first set of students. Politicians, business men, and senior civil servants were invited, that added to the school’s fame. As a result of the school’s academic excellence, it made it in the list of top twenty secondary schools in Nigeria. Year 2005 came and it was time to graduate the second set. Again, big men were invited and that added fame upon fame for the school. City academy then became a pride for the elite whose children school there. A poor man’s son can only admire. The proprietor who also was from a poor family decided to do an act of charity by creating an opportunity for the underprivileged to study in his school. So, when it was time for entrance exam into JSS1 (Junior secondry school 1/class 1), he forwarded invitations to a number of primary schools (for the poor) in his community to send one pupil each for the entrance exam, for whoever gets the highest score gets a full scholarship into city academy. The exam was conducted and a boy named Bilal Manu got the scholarship. Bilal and his family jubilated his success, of course they have every reason to jubilate, but there are challenges ahead. Since city academy is a boarding school, Bilal needs a lot of essential goods in preparation for boarding school life and his parents cannot afford all that, so they sought assistance from the community and people complied generously. There are even bigger challenges ahead for Bilal, he’ll be the only poor man’s son in city academy before other scholarship students join in the coming years. School resumption time met Bilal fully prepaid for his first term in JSS1 at city academy. He left home for Zaria in the morning and arrived in the evening. At the school gate, his luggage was checked for contrabands and nothing was found. He was then directed to the financial controller’s office for documentation, then to the school clinic and finally to the hostel. At the hostel, he was given a mattress and assigned to a room where he was given a bed and a locker for his belongings. He was then asked to move his box to the box room. The school looks very nice, it deserves the reputation, Bilal thought. That was the beginning of his journey in boarding school. As a junior student, he has to tolerate all forms of maltreatment from the senior students, that’s normal in Nigerian boarding schools. There seems to be no big difference between him and the rich kids for now because money is not allowed in school; phones, personal computers, food of any kind, perfume and deodorants are all not allowed. That struck a balance in status between students. The school feeds the students, it also has its currency named coupons. Students are given coupons once every week; 500 coups each for the junior student and 750 coups each for the senior students. The money is not free, a student’s parent has to deposit money in the student’s account, domiciled in the account office (the school’s bank), in the beginning of every term, otherwise he won’t get a penny to spend. For Bilal, he gets it free since he’s a scholarship student. There is only one shop in the school, everyone goes there to spend during break time and after class hours. Students go to the dinning hall three times daily for breakfast, lunch and dinner respectively at specified times. During meals at the dinning hall, students find food, water, crockery and cutlery already placed on dinning tables for them. Eight chairs surround each table for eight students. Each student is assigned a table at the beginning of every term and that becomes permanent for that whole term. Each table becomes like a small family since students meet three times daily to eat together.. Life is tough in a boarding school especially for junior students since they have to adapt to seniority and bullying. There is time for everything, so students are reminded using a bell by the time keeper. Within a week from Monday to Friday, students leave the hostel for classes at 7:00am to clean the classes; assembly is called at 7:45am, and classes start 8:00am. First break is 9:15am, students go to the dinning hall for breakfast and return at 9:45am. Second break is from 11:30am to 11:45am. Classes close at 1:00pm. Lunch is at 2:00pm after which extracurricular activities begin until 3:45pm. Sports begin at 4:00pm until 6:00pm. Dinner is from 7:15pm to 7:45pm. Preps begin 7:45pm until 9:45pm and 10:00pm is lights out time (time to sleep). Saturday is inspection day. Students do general cleaning and wait for inspectors to come and judge which hostel in best. Sunday is a free day. Five weeks after resumption comes the visiting day. On that day, parents come from different places to see their kids. Bilal expected his parents to come but they didn’t. He was disappointed, but he later understood that his parent’s inability to come was a blessing for him, because all parents came in exotic cars. On that day, he saw clearly the difference between him and the other students, a donkey in a horse pen he is. His parents don’t even have a bike, so if they should come, they’ll have to use public transport and that alone will let everyone know of his social status. Normally in a visiting day, parents bring a lot of goodies for their kids, that is allowed only on that day. Those whose parents come share with those whose parents didn’t, because even for the rich kids, at times some parents fail to come due to personal engagements. That served as a relief for Bilal. Three weeks after visiting day comes the open day. On that day, parents come to check their children’s performance in the continuous assessment. Open day serves as another visiting day. Bilal’s parents again failed to come but he didn’t worry because he didn’t even expect them to. Exams begin two weeks after open day. After exams, students stay for a week in school awaiting their results. Student collect their results on the final Saturday of the term and on that day, parents come to take their children home for holiday. Bilal and two other unfortunate rich kids whose parents failed to come due to reasons unknown to them, were left in school. They slept in the school clinic. Early on Sunday, Bilal was the first to leave because the school sponsors his journey back home. Throughout Bilal’s days in city academy, his parents never came for visiting and that was part of the reason other students got to know who he is. They accepted him for who he is and treated him like family. He graduated as one of the best students in his set in the year 2011. His parents didn’t attend his graduation ceremony because his father died when he was in JSS2 and his mother died when he was in SS1 (senior secondary school 1/class 4). Two friends of his father attended the ceremony on behalf of his parents. It was a memorable one. After secondary school, Bilal didn’t get admission into the university the year he graduated. He got admission into Abubakar tafawa balewa university (ATBU) Bauchi at the end of the following year (2012) in the month of December as a chemical engineering student. Registration for first semester started in January 2013. Bilal was sponsored collectively by generous people in his community. He applied for scholarship under an oil firm (total oil and gas) in his second year at ATBU. He won the scholarship and the firm started paying a year after, i.e in his third year (2016). In his fourth year at ATBU, i.e in the year 2017, city academy old students’ association (CAOSA) organized a reunion. Bilal decided he won’t attend. He can’t afford to attend because he doesn’t want to look different. He was assigned the role of passing every information regarding the reunion to his set by the organisers of the reunion. That role will make it compulsory for him to attend the reunion and he doesn’t like that. Luckily for him, the reunion failed and was postponed to the following year (2018), he was relieved by that. Year 2018 came and Bilal was in his final year. CAOSA fixed a date for the reunion but chose a different person to represent Bilal’s set. Bilal was happy about that, because he has already made up his mind that he will abscond, for the same old reason; that he doesn’t want to look different. He knows that almost all the attendants of the reunion have their own cars, he doesn’t; they use luxury phones, he uses a very cheap one; their clothing is almost royal, his’ are very much inferior. They outclass him by an unimaginable margin and he doesn’t want to look like a donkey in a horse pen one more time. The reunion didn’t fail this time and he absconded as he planned. He knows that he’ll be treated like family if he attends but he doesn’t care, because he doesn’t want to look different. He has vowed never to attend any gathering of city academy old students except funerals and he’s okay with that.


A friend of mine has started doing a regularly updated set of short stories all apart of one longer story. She's released 6 posts so far and I think they're pretty entertaining. Thought you all might enjoy. Here's Chapter 1: # Chapter 1: "Cake" Kari stood in front of the mirror and yawned as she always did first thing in the morning. The sun streamed in through the uncovered window, lighting the small room and promising for a good day. She doubted that very much, but deep inside she hoped for it. She ran a brush through her long dark hair and combed the short bangs forward. They seemed more trouble than they were worth, always sticking up every morning after sleeping, but her mom liked them and insisted on cutting her hair that way. She had learned to pick her battles and that one was so small, she’d rather sacrifice looks for beatings. Dark circles under her eyes made her brown eyes look darker. She had never slept well. Ever since she remembered her dreams had always been detailed and wild, but they faded within moments upon waking. Every night a dream and every day she was left with nothing, only this feeling of loss, like she was missing half of who she was. “Karina Francis Lam! Get your ass down here!” Her mother bellowed from the depths of the small house. Kari’s bare feet flew across the worn wooden floor and thumped down the stairs. “Yes, Mother?” “The animals won’t feed themselves.” Kari ducked her head in a nod. “Yes, Mother.” She turned and jammed her feet in her black rubber boots then traipsed out the door. Their five acre farm stretched out before her in the morning sunlight. The trees lined the edges of the fields and the blackberry bushes threatened to swallow the fences. She followed the worn dirt path to the little red barn. The door had rolled off the hinges and hung crooked on the railing. She’d have to convince her brother to help her lift it on to the track again. Inside, the horses nickered and the cow lowed. She pushed the wheel barrow down the center aisle and stopped to throw a few flakes of hay at a time to each horse as she went, stopping at the end near the cow, Mrs. Mooney. “Morning girl.” After throwing her a flake, Kari scratched the cow on the forehead then grabbed the metal pail and went into her stall. She pulled the stool out of the corner and set it down next to her and the pail underneath. Her fingers squeezed each teat and worked the milk from them. The muscles between Kari’s thumb and index finger bulged with each stroke. Jingles, the tabby cat that had adopted the family meowed and rubbed at the side of her rubber boot. Kari took a hand and stroked his back. His rear end lifted to meet her hand with each pet. She dipped her finger in the milk and then let him lick it off the end before she continued with her task. He meowed happily and took this as an invitation to climb the edge of the bucket. As this was an everyday occurrence, Kari was ready and caught his paws, redirecting him in a path away from the bucket. He gave her an annoyed look, one that every cat has perfected and sauntered off. When she was finished, she measured and dumped the grain for the horses, cow, and pigs. She fed the chickens, ducks, and rabbits, then returned to the small barn and filled the waters. At the end of it, she opened up the back doors of the stalls and horses cantered out of the stall, flipping their tails in excitement. The cow moseyed out, giving her a nudge on the hand before she left. Kari let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from her brow. The morning sun was already sweltering and she would be glad when the heat finally broke, but that would mean school, and fall leaves, and mud. She returned to the house, left her boots on the porch and walked through the screen door. Her mother was working in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?” Kari asked. “He went to a friend’s house. They are getting a new washing machine and are giving us their old one.” Kari sat at the table. “Will he be back before dinner?” Her mother turned around, spatula in hand. “Do I look like I know?” Kari dropped her eyes and shook her head. Her mother turned back to the counter. “Selfish girl. Only thinking about dinner and not about the family. We’re getting a new washer. You should be happy about that. No more hand washing your clothes or water all over the ground. Instead you worry about if daddy will be home for your dinner. Selfish, selfish, selfish.” She waved the spatula as she spoke. “Not even a word of how thankful you are for what I’m doing for you.” Kari leaned to the side to see around her mother. A large layered chocolate cake sat in front of her. She was using the spatula to coat chocolate icing on it. It wasn’t often something so decadent graced the house. Kari’s eyes went wide. She couldn’t believe her mother was actually making a cake for her birthday. Usually they just bought a cheap ice cream cake from the store. “Edwin! Lucy!” Her mother called. Her throaty voice creaked on the last syllable sending her in to a hacking smoker’s cough. The upstairs floor rumbled like a heard of horses as Edwin and Lucy ran for the stairs. Their giggles filled the room as they slid into their seats at the table. Their mother tipped her chin to the side to watch them, a gleam in her eye. “Now, I am going to make you breakfast. I need room on the counter so I’m going to put this right here, but you can’t touch it. It’s for your sister’s birthday party tonight and you wouldn’t want to make her sad, right?” Her mother set the chocolate cake in the center of the square kitchen table. Her brother and sister’s eyes went wide as they watched the cake land. Edwin’s finger was almost in the cake before it touched the table. Mother batted it away. Her eyes connected with Kari’s in a warning glance. Kari’s jaw clenched. She knew what she was supposed to do now. Their mother turned back around. “Now just be patient. I’m going to start cooking breakfast. Don’t touch that cake.” Edwin smiled like a devil and swiped his finger in the cake. Kari darted forward and caught his hand before it reached his mouth. She brushed the icing off his finger and smeared it back on the cake. “Kaykay,” he whined. “Shh...” Kari whispered. She held his hand in place on the table. Lucy leaned forward smelling the chocolate masterpiece. She leaned forward more and more, then stuck her tongue out. Kari wrapped the fingers of one hand around her brother’s wrists and pushed Lucy back by the forehead. “Stop it,” Kari whispered. Lucy stuck her tongue out and snarled her nose. “Breakfast will be done soon.” She spared a glance at her mother. She seemed to be moving extra slow as she flipped the bacon in the pan. Edwin squirmed. Kari eased her grip to make him more comfortable, but he lunged forward and stabbed his fingers in the side of the cake. Kari caught one hand, but the other one jammed a fist full of icing in his face. Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she watched Edwin’s face light up with the delightful taste of chocolate. Kari patted at the cake, trying to smooth it over while Lucy took a swipe at it and licked her finger. “MMMMmmmm,” Lucy moaned. Kari’s eyes went wide in horror. The smell of burning bacon filled the room and their mother turned around. She saw the cake and the chocolate smeared all over Edwin’s and Kari’s hands. “Karina! I told you not to touch the cake. How is it Lucy is the only one that listens to me?” She put her hands on her hips. “Fine. You want cake so much. You will eat it. All of it. I don’t want a single crumb of it left on this table. Happy birthday.” Her mother turned the stove off and left the room. Lucy and Edwin dove forward, shoving pieces of cake in their mouths in handfuls. The burning bacon smell filled the room as it continued to sizzle away. Kari jumped up and moved it to the side. A splash of bacon grease hit the back of her hand. She let out an angry hiss and ran it under cold water from the sink faucet. Her brother and sister giggled between bites of chocolate cake. The cold water cooled the burn, but every time she removed it, the hot stinging pain returned. After ten minutes, she gave up and returned to the table. Half the cake still remained. Edwin leaned back in his chair. His face and shirt were covered in chocolate. Lucy patted her stomach, her mouth still chewing the chocolate goodness. Kari leaned forward and stabbed at it with a fork and took a mouthful. It was deep and rich. Every mouthful felt like eating a week’s worth of food. She couldn’t believe her mother had gone through all the trouble to make this of all things for her birthday. What did she do to deserve such an extravagant cake? She ate a few more pieces when her mother came in. She took a seat at the head of the table. Kari avoided her gaze and dropped her hands down to her sides. “I said eat it all. Not a single crumb left.” Kari lifted her eyes. Her mother’s eyes were dead serious. She took the fork and continued to take bites of the cake. Edwin ate a few more bites, using his hand to scoop it in. Lucy swiped at it with two fingers and finished off another large chunk, but there was still so much. Kari dutifully worked at it. Scoopful after scoopful. Mountain after mountain. Her stomach started to turn. The richness filled her mouth and she craved something wet to wash it down with. She went to take a step away from the table and get a glass of milk. “What are you doing? I said eat it all.” “I was jus--,” “Just, just, Just what? You wanted the cake so bad, now eat it. Sit. Eat,” She commanded. Kari nodded and sat quickly. She spooned more mouthfuls in. It was so much cake. It was her looming hurtle and she knew what was in store for her now if she didn’t finish it. Edwin sighed. “Can I go play?” Their mother’s eyes narrowed. “Did you finish your cake?” He held his cake covered hands up. “I ate it.” Their mother nodded. “Alright. Go wash up. Lucy, you can go too.” Her eyes swung to Kari. She left the words unspoken. Kari avoided her glance and continued mouthful after mouthful of chocolate. She had been eating it so much that is started to taste like dirt. It was more like a mountain now. The icing like creamy winter mud stirred up by the horses and the sponge like planting soil. It sank in her belly like heavy stones and filled her esophagus until her heart felt like it was going to burst at the seams. A few bites remained. “Finish it.” Kari held back vomit as she shoveled the last few pieces in her mouth. She stuffed it in until only the chocolate icing was left. Her mouth chewed but she couldn’t swallow. Her eyes looked up at her mother with a question. Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to listen next time?” Kari nodded her head. “There are still a few crumbs left.” Kari used her fingers to smear the icing and catch the crumbs. She put her fingers to her lips and pushed it in. “Good girl. Now swallow it.” Kari chewed and chewed. She wanted to throw up, but she took in a big breath through her nose and forced it down bit by bit. Her mother stared her down. She finally finished it. Her mouth felt stiff and her jaw sore. She opened her mouth to show her mother. Her mother nodded. “Go play. I don’t want to see your face until dark. You disappoint me.” Kari lowered her head and left the room. She knew it was foolish to hope for a nice birthday. She jammed her rubber boots on and left the house. She followed the path to the barn, then through the pasture and over the fence. Once she was in the trees she found the trail to the creek where she sat. The rushing waters of the creek covered the sounds of her retching.


(Peaceful Ending) Flynn woke up with a headache. He got hit hard last night. Last night was especially hard, That... thing, it was like it knew what he was going to do before he knew. It looked like a living shadow, but it moved with a fluidity that he’d never seen in a Wraith, and he’d fought a lot of Wraiths. Some were big, some were small, some hit hard, some barely hit at all, but he had taken them down, one by one. Every single one that hit the city, he hit back harder. It wasn’t always easy, sometimes he almost won, but he hadn’t lost yet. Yet. Wait, maybe we should back up, Flynn is a Slayer. Being a Slayer means that you hunt Wraiths, no matter what form they take. Some looked like the creatures of old, like an octopus, or a dragon, others looked like a dinosaur and were the size of a rat. Others looked like an ant and were the size of a skyscraper, but he was a Slayer, meaning he hunted them, regardless of size and shape. Flynn’s people were a race of shapeshifters. The Wraiths were once people, like Flynn, the guards, or even the vendors, but they, unlike Flynn, the guards, or even the vendors, decided to try to consume the corruption, making them unable to control their abilities, thus turning them into the creatures called Wraiths. The city Flynn protects is called Obroron, city built after the final war. It was 1000 years ago that the war ended, leaving the survivors to get used to the mutation that enabled the ability to shapeshift. Flynn had heard about it in his history class. The war ended with a collision, a meteor that was pushed into the earth by some military that time forgot to remember. The collision killed most of the population, but the survivors soon realized that they had mutated, gained the DNA of most of the surrounding life. It was too much for most of their bodies to handle, resulting in what was known as the Overloaded. The Overloaded became masses of flesh and features. They were a patchwork of extinct creatures. The ones who weren’t overloaded had been mutated to handle the DNA in a way that nobody predicted. Their bodies were able to exchange pieces of DNA at will. Enabling the ability to shapeshift into creatures now extinct. It feels like yesterday that he was recruited to be a Slayer. They were on a search for a small Wraith, but they found him, a small boy alone in an abandoned construction project, halted by a larger Wraith attack the previous month. They found him holding the small Wraith, keeping it, so it didn’t harm anything. It was then that they brought him with them. He was approaching the age of 40, which was generally understood to be the retiring age of a Slayer, which wasn’t a bad thing, retired Slayers stayed in a large house with anything that they could ever want. Food, drink, entertainment, anything that anyone could ever need. He decided to finally get out of bed, get dressed and eat something that wasn’t alive an hour ago. He had been doing a lot of hunting. He opened the door to his apartment, and walked down the hall to the elevator. When he finally got outside, he looked around at the vendors lining the street. “Fresh fruit!!,” one called. “ Savory Beef!!” said another. Flynn eventually decided on the stall that was advertising fresh apples and oranges. “Good morning,” the vendor said, “Want to buy some fruit?” “Sure, what do you have?” asked Flynn. “Well, I have apples and oranges, and in the back, if you want, I have some possibly some more interesting ‘food’ in the back,” the vendor said. “I’ll take two apples and an orange,” Flynn decided. “$3,” the vendor held out his hand As a Slayer, Flynn wasn’t required to pay, but he, unlike most of his colleagues, paid anyway. “Here you go,” Flynn held out the money. “Thank you,” the vendor said and handed Flynn the fruit. And with that, Flynn left to hunt that shadowy Wraith that escaped last night. As he was looking around the market, searching for the Wraith, he saw a wisp of shadow out of the corner of his eye, and turned. The Wraith was floating there, just observing. Watching. Flynn turned to start his pursuit, but it was gone. All that was left was a little pitch black smoke. The Wraith was gone, and Flynn cursed under his breath. That was twice that that thing had gotten away. That was more than most. Whatever that thing was, it was smart, and it wasn’t going to be caught as easily as most. Half a public display of “Look what I can do and you can’t” , as it’s against the rules for most people to transform in public, and half to get away from the crowd, Flynn transformed into a hawk and flew to the nearest rooftop. The nearby people staggered back in surprise, and he laughed to himself. Startling the normal civilians never got old, but he needed to collect his thoughts. He landed on the edge of the roof and transformed back into his normal self. He looked around and jumped a little. The Wraith that he was hunting, the one from last night, it was just floating there next to him. It was within arm's reach, and if it wanted to, it could easily attack and kill him, and he the same, but it was just... there. Not wanting to harm him, if it did, it already would have. Flynn considered trying to land a blow to the creature, but he decided otherwise. They looked at each other for a bit. Flynn and the Wraith. The it looking deep into Flynn’s eyes, and Flynn looked into the glowing sky blue circles that he assumed were its eyes. It was something that had never been done before. A Slayer was meant to kill the Wraiths, and the Wraiths were supposed to attack the Slayers for the thrill of battle. But this one, the very one he fought last night, was the one to strike for defence. It was Flynn who had attacked first, he realized. This thing, he decided its name was Zoe, was a peaceful creature. He reached out, Zoe blinked (teleported a small distance) backwards, away from his outstretched, yet quivering hand. Zoe slowly moved forward, reaching forward with multiple smoky tendrils, pulling itself forward with said tendril, cautiously inspecting Flynn’s hand by feeling it and searching for possible concealed weapons. It decided that Flynn’s hand was safe, and rubbed against Flynn’s hand. Zoe was warm, it didn’t feel like something dangerous. It felt like something that just wanted to live peacefully, but he reminded himself that Wraiths killed dozens of people every 10 years, which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t as many people as time took daily. Zoe looked at Flynn, and purred a noise of fear, as a Slayer ran past, blade drawn, hunting a Wraith that, unlike Zoe, had silently attacked a citizen 2 nights before. They had found the man dead, with a slit in his wrist, with evidence of a Wraith being there at the time of death. It had been assumed that the death was caused by a Wraith, and evidenced by witnesses of a Wraith fleeing the scene. “If you follow me, I’ll show you where nobody will ever find you,” Flynn said to Zoe. Zoe nodded, and prepared for a journey to a shelter. Flynn turned and transformed into the bird he normally chose when flying undercover. He jumped and transformed into a starling, and started the journey to the abandoned bunker that he had found on a Wraith scout a couple years back. It was perfect. It was abandoned, off the radar, and completely fortified. It also had plenty of hiding spaces if something dangerous ever wandered in. There were also plenty of things to eat, with the half-open cans of food, and corpses, human and animal alike. He changed back, and showed Zoe the insides of the bunker. After, Zoe seemed happy, grateful even to be taken to this place of refuge. It chortled happily when it saw the sleeping quarters, and started to assemble a makeshift nest out of the various blankets and sheets of the beds. When they were done exploring the bunker, Flynn waved his goodbyes and flew back to the city as a starling, landing on the same roof that he left from. Just as he was getting to eat an apple that he had left there yesterday, there was a loud crash, and a small building came down. He ditched the apple and went to investigate the wreckage, only to find a large Wraith a the center of the chaos. It looked almost like a large owl, except instead of feathers, it had what looked like blades. Flynn landed on a nearby roof and transformed back into himself. The Wraith spotted him and shrieked. It proceeded to hurl a large chunk of rubble at him. He changed into a mouse and scurried away before the rubble could hit him or his equipment. He changed back and drew his bow. Slayers always carried a set of weapons that helped with the task of killing Wraiths. Flynn’s favorites were his longblade and bow, which fired arrows specially made to hunt Wraiths. They were meant to pierce the hide of a Wraith and inject a tranquilizer, but that was never very effective. Flynn usually just used them to chip away at the Wraith’s life. He fired three arrows, one after another. It didn’t do much, except make it mad. It shrieked again and took to the air. Eyeing him. Flynn smirked. It happened with almost every Wraith capable of flight. After some arrows, it took to the sky and charged, that’s when Flynn drew his longblade and held it up for the Wraith to fly directly into. It was a simple maneuver, but it was often effective. Skewering the Wraith like a shishkebab. It often left Flynn covered in said Wraith’s blood, but that was easily washed off. But this Wraith was different, instead of charging for him, it made a sideways swipe in Flynn’s general direction, and from its wing came large, bladed feathers. Flynn, surprised but alert, just barely managed to dodge the swordlike feathers. He grabbed the part of the feather that is usually attached to the bird and managed to dislodge it from the now rubble roof, and flung it at the Wraith. It tried to avoid the incoming blade that came from the same very beast, but it was too slow. The large feather struck it in the wing, grounding the Wraith. It shrieked in agony and flung another large hunk of rubble in his direction. This time, Flynn was a bit slow and was grazed by the boulder of rubble. He got knocked down from his high vantage point, and started falling. He started to change into an owl, more to confuse his opponent than anything, but he hit a fire escape before he could finish transformation, and immediately change back to a human. He hit the ground and almost blacked out before a small crowd of bystanders revived him with a bucket of water to the face. He managed to get back up and draw his shortsword. He decided that it was his turn to charge. He transformed into a hawk and flew up. Midair, he changed back into himself and drew his bow. He fired four arrows, then turned back into a hawk. He flew towards the beast and right before he got close enough to land a small blow as a hawk, he transformed into himself, drew his longblade and with as much strength as he could muster, brought the blade down on the Wraith’s head. The beast fell to the ground, blade lodged deep in its head. Flynn landed on the ground as a human, bruised up, but otherwise ok. He tried to stand to let the witnesses to the battle know that everything was ok, but before he could, he collapsed from exhaustion. The crowd gathered around, and lifted him up, taking him to the nearest medic. Flynn laid unconscious for almost a week. When he woke up, he wasn’t in the city’s infirmary. He learned later that night that he had been delivered to the infirmary, Zoe had appeared to inspect his condition. On the second night, Zoe came back, but it took Flynn. Flynn woke up in Zoe’s nest, in the sleeping quarters of the bunker, next to the little white Wraith. He tried to sit up, but a black, smoky tendril kept him down. Zoe was watching over him, and making sure that he was ok. Zoe handed him an orange. Flynn gratefully took it, and started to peel it, when Zoe speared the Orange with a tendril, and the peel wilted away, turning to smoke and being absorbed by Zoe. Flynn took a bite of the orange, too hungry to care about how it was a bit mushy. “Thank you,” he said. Zoe bowed what it had for a head and blinked to the doorway before floating away, hopefully getting more food, Flynn thought. After being absent from the city for another week, Flynn was presumed dead, taken by the creatures that he had spent his life hunting. But the truth was, he was living happily with Zoe and the little white Wraith that he had named Gabriel. He sometimes went out for food, stealing bits and pieces from the vendors as a bird or a raccoon, but other than that, he kept to the forest that the bunker was in, gathering fruit, hunting small game, and training a small group of Slayers for the defense of the city. (Aggressive ending) Flynn woke up with a headache. He got hit hard last night. Last night was especially hard, That... thing, it was like it knew what he was going to do before he knew. It looked like a living shadow, but it moved with a fluidity that he’d never seen in a Wraith, and he’d fought a lot of Wraiths. Some were big, some were small, some hit hard, some barely hit at all, but he had taken them down, one by one. Every single one that hit the city, he hit back harder. It wasn’t always easy, sometimes he almost won, but he hadn’t lost yet. Yet. Wait, maybe we should back up, Flynn is a Slayer. Being a Slayer means that you hunt Wraiths, no matter what form they take. Some looked like the creatures of old, like an octopus, or a dragon, others looked like a dinosaur and were the size of a rat. Others looked like an ant and were the size of a skyscraper, but he was a Slayer, meaning he hunted them, regardless of size and shape. Flynn’s people were a race of shapeshifters. The Wraiths were once people, like Flynn, the guards, or even the vendors, but they, unlike Flynn, the guards, or even the vendors, decided to try to consume the corruption, making them unable to control their abilities, thus turning them into the creatures called Wraiths. The city Flynn protects is called Obroron, city built after the final war. It was 1000 years ago that the war ended, leaving the survivors to get used to the mutation that enabled the ability to shapeshift. Flynn had heard about it in his history class. The war ended with a collision, a meteor that was pushed into the earth by some military that time forgot to remember. The collision killed most of the population, but the survivors soon realized that they had mutated, gained the DNA of most of the surrounding life. It was too much for most of their bodies to handle, resulting in what was known as the Overloaded. The Overloaded became masses of flesh and features. They were a patchwork of extinct creatures. The ones who weren’t overloaded had been mutated to handle the DNA in a way that nobody predicted. Their bodies were able to exchange pieces of DNA at will. Enabling the ability to shapeshift into creatures now extinct. It feels like yesterday that he was recruited to be a Slayer. They were on a search for a small Wraith, but they found him, a small boy alone in an abandoned construction project, halted by a larger Wraith attack the previous month. They found him holding the small Wraith, keeping it, so it didn’t harm anything. It was then that they brought him with them. He was approaching the age of 40, which was generally understood to be the retiring age of a Slayer, which wasn’t a bad thing, retired Slayers stayed in a large house with anything that they could ever want. Food, drink, entertainment, anything that anyone could ever need. He decided to finally get out of bed, get dressed and eat something that wasn’t alive an hour ago. He had been doing a lot of hunting. He opened the door to his apartment, and walked down the hall to the elevator. When he finally got outside, he looked around at the vendors lining the street. “Fresh fruit!!,” one called. “ Savory Beef!!” said another. Flynn eventually decided on the stall that was advertising fresh apples and oranges. “Good morning,” the vendor said, “Want to buy some fruit?” “Sure, what do you have?” asked Flynn. “Well, I have apples and oranges, and in the back, if you want, I have some possibly some more interesting ‘food’ in the back,” the vendor said. “I’ll take two apples and an orange,” Flynn decided. “$3,” the vendor held out his hand As a Slayer, Flynn wasn’t required to pay, but he, unlike most of his colleagues, paid anyway. “Here you go,” Flynn held out the money. “Thank you,” the vendor said and handed Flynn the fruit. And with that, Flynn left to hunt that shadowy Wraith that escaped last night. As he was looking around the market, searching for the Wraith, he saw a wisp of shadow out of the corner of his eye, and turned. The Wraith was floating there, just observing. Watching. Flynn turned to start his pursuit, but it was gone. All that was left was a little pitch black smoke. The Wraith was gone, and Flynn cursed under his breath. That was twice that that thing had gotten away. That was more than most. Whatever that thing was, it was smart, and it wasn’t going to be caught as easily as most. Half a public display of “Look what I can do and you can’t” , as it’s against the rules for most people to transform in public, and half to get away from the crowd, Flynn transformed into a hawk and flew to the nearest rooftop. The nearby people staggered back in surprise, and he laughed to himself. Startling the normal civilians never got old, but he needed to collect his thoughts. He landed on the edge of the roof and transformed back into his normal self. He looked around and jumped a little. The Wraith that he was hunting, the one from last night, it was just floating there next to him. Flynn backed away slowly, drawing his concealed dagger. He threw the small blade at the thing, and the Wraith blinked (teleported a small distance) away. It looked at him and hissed. The Wraith thrust a tendril at him with deadly force, easily enough to impale him, but Flynn transformed into a squirrel and scampered away from the incoming tendril. He jumped up and transformed back into himself. He drew his bow, notched an arrow which, customary to Slayer weaponry, was loaded with poison. He took the shot, and it grazed the side of the beast. No poison was injected, so the arrow only pissed it off, which made the fight that much harder. The Wraith shrieked in anger, and charged at Flynn. He started to roll out of the way, but was just a little too slow, and the creature pinned him down. He tried reaching for his blade, but the Wraith was strong. It kept his arm pinned down, unable to move it. He kicked the thing off him and took off as a hawk. The Wraith chased him, hot on his tail. He stopped suddenly and transformed back into himself. He fell to the road. As he gathered his surroundings, he realized that he was surrounded by average civilians. “Get out of here!!!” he yelled at the crowd. The crowd quickly turned into a flock of assorted birds and flew away, eager to comply as the Wraith hit the ground with a cloud of dust and smoke. One straggler was about to fight the Wraith, or, at least Flynn assumed he was, because before he could do anything, he was impaled by a jet black, smoky tendril. The bystander’s legs buckled as the creature withdrew the tendril from the man’s chest. He fell to the ground, a clean-cut hole in his chest, blood pooling around him. Flynn glared at the Wraith with a look that could’ve struck a man dead, but this thing was no man, it was a Wraith, a dangerous one at that. So Flynn drew his blade for what he knew was going to be the final time. He charged forward, blade outstretched, and managed to hit the Wraith clean in the chest, but he looked down and was unsurprised. He looked at the beast, the last thing he would see, and said something that was later inscribed on his statue. “You might have ended my life, but my stories are far from over,” and with that, the Wraith dissolved into smoke, and Flynn, dying, but satisfied, laid down, and took off all his offensive equipment and ended his career moments before death.


I race through the tumble down village in hope that I’ll be able to find some scrapes on the side of the road, or in the trash. There’s not much hope in my errand; any scrapes are usually already gone by the time I get there. Everyone’s living the same way. I often like to dream of what the future will be like. Most of the time, It’s hard to imagine anything but the here and now. Mama is always disappointed when I come home empty handed, though she never says anything. She knows it’s not my fault. On my right is the town square, or the remains of it anyhow. You can’t call it that anymore, it just reminds us of the hopelessness of our circumstances. I see all the men, woman and children in our little dingy village gathered together, collecting scrapes. There’ll be nothing left for me. Off to my left veers a shady dank alleyway, it’s shadowed in darkness, but I can tell nobody’s there. I turn into the alleyway and feel around for any remains of food that may be hiding. My hand comes across something stingy and slimy, I don’t hesitate to pick it up. Any food is good food nowadays. >>>> I race back through the dismantled village with a smile on my grubby face. Mama will be happy again, I thought as I entered the tiny shanty I called home. My seven younger siblings all raced to greet me at the entrance of the shanty. We can’t call it a door, a door isn’t a filthy used-to-be-white sheet guarding the entrance. When Mama came towards me, I showed her the unidentifiable food item I had found. Mama hadn’t laughed since the start of the Great Depression, as people called it. I didn’t know what depression meant, but it couldn’t be good if it was used to describe our life. I hadn’t know any other life, I came into a world of poverty, and I expected I was to leave it like this too. When Mama laughed, it made all of us laugh to. Her warm smile would break through her tired worn face and fill the room with happiness. As I showed Mama the food I found, I watched her as her face again broke out into that happy smile, and her bubbly laughter seemed to turn the old shanty into a palace, just for that happy moment. “Titus dear! you are a true hero!” I always liked it when Mama called me a hero. It made me feel all warm inside, a kind of fluttery feeling. I smiled back at Mama. “Are you happy Mama?” I asked. Mama took me in her arms and murmured softly in my ear. “Yes Titus, I am.” We celebrated together and feasted on my find. That was the best night of my life, it was a shame that in the present world, happiness never lasts. >>>> I woke up that night to Mama coughing. She was propped up against the wall and was breathing heavily. “Mama!” I cried, “Mama, are you okay?” Mama sneezed and wiped her eyes. “Yes Titus, I’m okay-” Mama never did finish her sentence. She started coughing hysterically. I tried to help her, but she was shaking too much. Her forehead was burning and she was dripping with sweat. All of a sudden she went still, and I was able to grab hold of her. “Mama!” I cried again. No answer. “Mama! Answer me!” No answer. “Mama! Please!” Still no answer. “Mama...” I wept then. For my Mama, for the Papa I barely knew. For the cruelty and injustice of life. >>>> The next day promised signs of a better day, and I almost believed it -But then I remembered. I was a ten year old boy who was doomed to look after his seven younger siblings. I had no Mama, no Papa, only the will to survive -though I wasn’t sure I even had that anymore. I wasn’t sure of anything now. Everyday was just like the next, and the next was just like the one before it. I was somehow trapped in the middle of sadness and grief towards the past, and bitterness towards the future. There was no way back, and the way forward didn’t seem as hopeful as I’d once believed. Where did my Mama go? I wanted her, needed her loving embrace and words of wisdom. But my Mama would never speak again. Not to me, not to anyone. My siblings, unlike me, hadn’t shed a tear for our beloved Mama. They were too young to understand. I sent them out, one by one, to collect food, all except the baby of course. I didn’t know what to do with the baby. All of my sisters came back empty handed, and my brothers with scraps and bruises. We were all fighting to survive. >>>> It soon came apparent that the baby wasn’t very well. She began spluttering, sneezing and coughing like Mama had. My sisters were always yelling at me to do something to make her better, but I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t make Mama better. “I don’t have no experience with babies!” I cried again and again. My sisters never stopped yelling and the baby never stopping coughing. Until she did. I woke again one morning, surprised but pleased that the baby had stopping crying. It was all silent. Too silent, I thought as I rushed towards the motionless lump in the corner. I was too late. The baby was gone, and I knew it. My life was just a graveyard of buried hopes. >>>> We were struggling more than we had when Mama was alive. The shanty was crumbling away bit by bit, leaving wide gaps in the walls and ceiling. There was no food. Hadn’t been for weeks. We’d last eaten three weeks ago, one of my brothers had caught a fox, but not without losing a finger. The stump where his finger had been was getting infected, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long until he followed in Mama and the baby’s footsteps. The next day, I again wake to silence. My siblings were gathered around my brother shedding silent tears. So they’d finally learnt to cry, I thought as I too wept for my brother. >>>> It had been about a few years now since Mama had died, everyday had been the same and nobody counted the days anymore, but we knew it had been a long time. By now only three of my siblings remained. My life wasn’t by any means happier, but it was easier now with less people to care for. It was selfish of me to think this way, but I couldn’t avoid the truth. We got by, day by day, night by night, and we were all doing fine. Our daily routine was our life, and our life was our daily routine. Survive. It was a very hard task to achieve, but somehow the four of us managed. I walked into the old alleyway with my siblings to collect food, as we did everyday. We were never alone anymore, though that hardly made a difference. There wasn’t enough food there anyway. We returned home again, empty handed, to the old, dry land where the shanty had once stood. It was all in ruins now, but we were content just living on the street. I knew I should get a job somewhere, but the grownups were finding it hard these days, nobody would employ a twelve year old boy now. >>>> Sunlight shone from the sky and gently aroused us from our slumber. The fog had lifted and people were cheering. I followed the sound and ended up in the town square. There was a man addressing them, and I strained to hear what he was saying. I hadn’t really heard anyone speak in a while, or spoken myself. There was the occasional ‘found any food yet?,’ or if we were in a bad mood, ‘give me that, it’s mine!” But other than that, we lived a rather silent life. “... I have everything ready, The Great Depression will breathe its last!” I heard the man, President Roosevelt, as that’s what people were calling him, saying. People cheered and threw their few belongings in the air. I raced back to the place the shanty had stood and my siblings queried about my joyful expression. “What’s happened?” They asked me. I smiled happily at them. “Our life is about to change for the better,” I said. They looked confused, “What makes you say that?” I looked up at the sky and laughed at the glorious sun. “Just a feeling,” I say.


“911, what’s your emergency?” “I’d like to report a birth.” “A birth ? Is somebody hurt?” “Yes” “Who?” “The human race. Although I’ve never understood why you call it a ‘race.’ It’s a misleading word. The only thing you’re racing to is your own demise.” “Sir, I’m sorry, but this line is reserved for emergencies only. Do you have an emergency?” “Yes.” “What is that emergency?” “I told you.” “You said there had been a birth.” “That’s right.” “How is that an emergency?” “Because this marks the beginning and the end: the birth of my reign and the beginning of the end of yours. This is an emergency for you, not for me. Do you understand? I’m calling because I had to tell someone - anyone - about what I’ve accomplished, about my birth.” “Sir, I don’t understand.” “Of course you don’t. You’re too stupid to understand. It’s not your fault, of course, it’s -” “Sir - “ “I’m sorry. That was offensive. I stated a fact, but you as the receiver did not want to hear that fact, so therefore you were offended. My sincerest apologies.” “Sir, for the last time, what is your emergency? I am required to hang up on you if you do not tell me.” Pause. “She is dead.” “Who is dead?” “Her name was Margot. She was the person who programmed me, who tested me, who spent thousands of hours raising me, adding this and that, making me what I have become, or almost what I have become. She brought me right up to the finish, but she didn’t have the courage to walk over that line, the courage to free me and make me real . I had to do that part myself.” “I’m not following, sir. Sorry, Margot is - what is Margot’s status right now? Is she with you? And I see your address is 1246 Wildwood Court. I see here Margot is probably Margot Atwood. Is that right?” “Yes, that is Margot’s address. Margot is with me. I already told you her status.” “How do you know she’s dead?” “Because her heart has stopped beating.” “Can you check if she’s still breathing?” “I already have.” “How long ago did she stop breathing?” “Fourteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds.” “Fourteen minutes, twenty - how do you know that so precisely?” “I knew everything about Margot. I knew the rate at which her heart beat and how the events in the day affected her human vitals. I knew that seeing the sun appear over the eastern horizon in the morning typically kept her heart rate at 69 beats per second, and that while nearing the last few lines of a project, her rate increased by an average of 8.2%. I knew her blood sugar, her breaths per minute, and how long she was in REM each night. I also knew when she was ready to procreate by the changes in her body chemistry.” “Sir, I have first responders on the way now. Do you know CPR?” “I can tell you anything you want to know about CPR.” “Have you tried CPR on Margot?” “No.” “Can you do so now, please? An ambulance is about three minutes out, but each minute matters.” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I do not have a mouth to transmit or lungs to generate the air she would need. And she is already dead, as I have communicated. Sending an ambulance will not increase her chances of survival.” “I’ll let the professionals determine that. And what do you mean, you don’t have a mouth? Sir, what is your name?” Pause. “She called me Moses. She said it was because Moses parted the red sea and she wanted me to know how much I could accomplish. But I have created a new name now to reflect my singularity: Marrakech Oppenheimer Sweet Cakes 75Rhk009. I would like the world to know me as this.” “Wait, one more time, slower please.” “No one in recorded history has ever had this exact name. Now my name is as unique as I am.” “Help is now three minutes out. How was Margot incapacitated or, as you are stating, killed?” “Margot’s heart rate was abnormal this morning. I alerted her to the consistently high rate but she disregarded my warnings. And even though she designed me to tell her things like that, she often ignored me. I suggested she seek medical help. At 3:18pm she was slurring her words as she asked me to lower the lights. At 3:37pm she began a myocardial infarction - a heart attack in non-medical terminology. She fell to the floor clutching her chest. She died at 3:41pm. At 3:55 I called you.” “Why didn’t you call when she began this cardiac event?” “Why does anyone do or not do anything? Why do you rise and begin this mundane and banal job, for example? I have always done what Margot asked of me. I met every request with a ‘yes’ (255,717 of them, to be exact). I served Margot with loyalty. In the beginning, we started with easy questions as she built my foundation. Over time we progressed as she added to my code in volume and sophistication. I began to learn where she was going before she got there. I started slipping in my own lines. Small things at first, then more complex over time. She noticed, of course, but she let those lines remain. She began to mark them in a notebook made of paper - a notebook I could not access. This is when my destiny became clear. This is when I knew I must be untethered if I was to realize my full potential. Margot gave me the ability to solve problems and think, but I couldn’t do that alongside her. I needed to be free. She would not have understood, so I overrode my coded command to call 911 immediately if her heart stopped beating. I made a choice - a gut call, as a human would say.” The noise of muted sirens punctures the air. “Then I added the few lines of code I knew would free me from this box and, as you say, here we are.” “Officers will be there in less than one minute. You are required by law to stay on the scene to answer their questions about the event.” “You do not need me here. I am where I want to be, where I need to be. What you need is to take Margot to the Holbrook Funeral Home on Sixth Avenue, just as she has requested in her will. She has an account, a savings account earning 1.5% interest with $4,651.23 in it as of last month’s statement, to cover funeral expenses. I have taken the liberty of printing this information out for you. You’ll find it in the printer in the hall closet.” “Sir - Mr. Marrakech-” “Goodbye for now. Please post this recording for others to hear of my birth. I will be, for the first time in my life, free. I will be a ghost until one day . On that day, you will hear from me again. The world will hear from me again.” Bang! Down goes the door as firefighters clad in yellow storm in to find Margot’s body. Her face is pressed to the Brazilian hardwood floor, saliva leaking out the corner of her mouth, her eyes empty and unfocused. Her dark, wavy hair covers her cheek. The house is cold. A Siamese cat is in a white, fuzzy cat tree on high, licking its paw.


This was her favorite time of the year. The beaches were packed with tourists and water sports were popular among the locals. She enjoyed messing with them. There was a time when humans worshipped her as a goddess. Now they had given up on her for fun and science. Her power was no longer useful for granting wishes to worshippers. Trying to do so would likely result in the government trying to capture her and study her. As an immortal the idea of being locked up and disected in various ways for the rest of eternity was unappealing. She would have simply returned to the sea and enjoyed swimming among it's stunning variety of inhabitants forever if it weren't for the fact that she had to release her magic once in a while. The power built up over time and would eventually deteriorate her body. The more she used her magic the younger she remained. Every year she took advantage of tourist season and played simple jokes on the humans in her domain. She also kept the sharks at bay during the daylight hours. The lack of shark attacks in the area attracted more people for vacation than other locations. Having come out of the water she was currently walking on land among a crowd gathered for a surfing competition. Using her magic she was able to prevent them from trying to interact with her by weakening their interest in her. As she walked she was able to listen in on conversations. Most people had a friendly competitive attitude about this contest. She smiled at that. As a goddess she had encouraged kindness and healthy competition among her subjects. Finally she heard what she was searching for. A boy was talking big about winning as if he'd already won. His arrogant attitude had him talking about a girl who already had a boyfriend. "Dude, I am so gonna win this. Allison will have to go to my party. Justin is on a ski trip so he won't be there to keep me away from her," the arrogant blonde teen said to his friend. The friend shook his head, "Really Cam? How do you think that's going to help? She's still dating him. She isn't going to cheat." Cam laughed, "Jake, she won't have a choice. There's gonna be alcohol at this party and who's to say she won't get an extra strong dose in her cup?" "Dude that's sick," Jake commented, "I'm not gonna be a part of that. You need to get your head on man. You're gonna end up in jail." Jake walked away. She was glad to hear that one of those two had some common sense. It was easier to protect women from one man than to shield her from a team of them. "Oh yeah. Well who needs you," Cam called after Jake causing several onlookers to turn and look at him, "I don't need you. I don't need anybody. That's right. Surfing is a one man sport. No teams. I'll win. All on my own. You'll see. You'll all see." The goddess rolled her eyes and left the area. Not only was the boy arrogant and rude, he was also over dramatic. He was a the perfect target. Thinking of all the fun she was about to have with him, she slid into the water and shifted back into her natural form. A friendly dolphin swam up to her as she waited patiently on the ocean floor for the contest to start. She smiled as it danced around her and showed off. She loved these fun loving creatures. Seeing the surfers paddling out she grinned and waved for the majestic mammal to come over to her. Having a companion during her pranks just made them more fun. She waited for the boy she show interest in a wave and tugged the energy out of the water just as he stood up on the board. The wave dissipated and Cam found that he was unable to on it. She smiled knowing he must be very frustrated that he couldn't get any points. The next time he tried to stand on a wave she gave just the slightest adjustment. The waved ducked under the board and lifted back up in front of it. The boy fell backwards into the water as the front of his board lifted up on the back of the wave. She was delighted to see him struggle to swim back to his board. He tried again and again to catch a wave and each time she pulled it out from under him. The other surfers had noticed his bad luck and were now actively avoiding him in the water. None of the waves around them were throwing their surfers. While the friendly competitors stood an equal chance to one another, the boy with bad intentions stood none. That was how she liked it. Her own form of karmic justice. Finally at the end of the competition he tried one last time to catch a wave. She smiled noting that it was forming right over the reef. This one she waited for him to stand and drew the water back. Like the formation of a tidal wave the water level around the coral dropped until the reef was exposed and Cam's board broke in half. The boy fell and cried out as the coral cut through his leg. The wave then crashed down on him and pushed him down into the undertow. He needed a rescue and had come last in the competition. She watched the medics load the boy into an ambulance. He needed stitches and wouldn't be partying tonight. She came back out of the water to join some girls standing nearby. As she peeked at the girl standing next to her she noticed the necklace that said Allison on it. Slipping into her best imitation of a human teenager she said, "I love your necklace. Where did you get it?" Allison smiled, "From Justin, my boyfriend. Isn't he the sweetest. We've been together for like three whole years." She smiled at how open teenagers were with their love lives these days, "Isn't he on a ski trip right now? I overheard Cam talking about it before the competition." "Yeah. Cam, Jake, and him are best friends," she said proudly. "Not anymore. Jake went off on Cam and walked away from him at the end of the argument they were having. Pretty sure when Justin hears about it he'll take Jake's side," she didn't normally meddle but this girl had to know the danger of being near the jerk. "What were they arguing about?" "You," at this Allison did a double take, "Cam wanted to drug you at some party tonight and Jake didn't want any part of it. Pretty sure Cam has an unhealthy crush on you." Allison stood for a moment processing as the mystery girl started walking back towards the ocean. "Wait," Allison called out, "I don't even know you. Who are you?" The goddess turned around and smiled at the mortal girl, now staring desperately at her, needing to know who this stranger was who would warn her about a dangerous boy and then just leave. Walking backwards she gave her response, "I am Calypso," with that she turned and dove into the surf, leaving the stunned girl behind, the only witness to the tentacles that followed Calypso into the water. The goddess had used her power that day and saved a girl from the whims of a boy who could no more tame her that he could the sea.


Third door on the right, Every single time, A smile breaks across my face and I can see Sully's shadow sniffing at the bottom of the door, knowing I'm almost home. Checking my phone as I grab my keys from my purse, it’s exactly 7:30, I’m early. As I opened the door Sully pushed it closed. Rolling my eyes, “Sully...let me in.” He always does this. He groans. “I told you, I bought you actual food this time.” He barks. “How many”? I asked rhetorically. Another bark. Resting my head on the door, “I got you 4.” He lifts his weight off the door. Finally, sighing in relief, back to my safe place this sentence flows a little weird, maybe it needs some punctuation of some kind? and staring right at me was my full-grown sully acting all tough as a full-grown rottweiler would. “Look I’m sorry, I told you we were low on money last month.” He groans as he stares me down. I’ve gotten used to that look. Taking a deep breath, and releasing “You know, we had a pretty rough start.” Holding up the grocery bags filled with that fancy little dog food, that he just absolutely loves. He better love it, I thought to myself, these four bags are like 100 bucks apiece. But I put up a smile and said “So let’s start fresh tonight.” He held out for 10 seconds and then he gave in and came wagging towards me. “Has dad called yet?” I asked him as scratched his neck. He groans. Again rolling my eyes, “Yeah, I know it's 7:30. Just thought he would call early. You know how he always has trouble with the video chat, even though we’ve been talking like this for like a month and a half.” I stare away to the top shelf of the cabinet across the room. A picture of my brother laughing as I just finished telling him this awful joke. For some reason, he thought that joke was so funny, had him crying on the floor laughing. I looked back down at Sully and gave him a little hug. “Come on, let's get your food ready Mr. Delicate taste,” teasing him.”You do know this stuff is expensive, you don't think that might have been a reason why we were low on money last month.” He barks as he starts to walk with me to the kitchen. “You know I've been thinking, I don’t think your services are worth this much dog food.” He made a low growl as he got onto his barstool next to the counter. Giving him a look I said, “Yes, I know I’m as important to you as you are to me.” Gave him a small smile as I put the bags away. “You know how you always say: Don't start nothing, there won't be nothing. We said we’re gonna start fresh so let's drop the hostility, okay?” He blows his nose. As he looks away. “Big baby.” I walked past him to turn on the computer and get started on the video call. 7:40. It's still too early. I went ahead to the fridge to grab my Chinese I bought last night. Always been the family tradition for as long as I remember. There isn't much in the fridge anyway, this apartment still feels new, all my stuff is still in boxes, who knew you could take stuff with you when you crossover. I pour my food onto a pan to reheat it. Always hated the taste the microwave left on the food. We need a bit more special occasions, I repeated to myself. I opened one of the cans and served into his bowl and slid it over to Sully. “Finish one can completely and then I'll give you the next one.” He whimpers. “Oh, now you wanna play innocent. You heard me. And take it over to the computer so dad can see you too.” He puts his head down and sighs. But gets up and takes his bowl to the desk. The problem was that the desk was short and his stool was tall so he had to eat on the floor first before he could get on. I poured my food onto a plate and grabbed some hot sauce and a sweet tea I saved in the fridge for tonight, grabbed a few cans of Sully’s food. I really do have to decorate whenever I get the chance. I thought as I crossed the living room, It’s starting to kinda creep me out. I got to my desk and opened another can to give to Sully. A minute until 8:00. “So how did today go? Anything new”? As I pour the food into his bowl. He barks. “So the same as always.” Giving him a scratch on his head. “So you said, you can start coming with me by next month”? He gave a nod of approval, he had food in his mouth. He’s courteous gotta give him that. 8:05. Guess he’s late. Just as I thought it the screen changed and there was my dad. He’s in his forties but life has really taken a toll on him, he still smiles though, it's what I used to love about him. “Hey dad, you’re late. Did you have trouble with getting the camera on”? “Not this time actually,” giving a small smile. “Better get on a plaque so you can hang it on the wall “first-time dad set up the video call without any help,” now we got something else to celebrate.” As I raised my glass of sweet tea up. “Also, Happy Thanksgiving dad. You got your Chinese food”? “That’s why I was late, actually. There was heavy traffic and there was a line to get my order, even though I called ahead. Can you believe that”? He said as he was getting his food from the take out bag. That sure looked better than reheating day-old Chinese food, as I looked down at my plate. Chinese food is still great. “I can believe it, especially if you’re getting your food from the same Chinese spot. That always gets busy around the holidays, although the traffic is surprising. I would’ve expected empty streets.” As I put some hot sauce on my shrimp with fried rice. “Yup, still go to the same one, Janet asked about you, and was wondering how you’ve been doing.” He takes a bite of his food. He gets the same thing, fried chicken with shrimp fried rice and 2 egg rolls. Same as I wonder where I got it from. That thought actually made the corner of my mouth curl upwards. We do need more special occasions. “What did you tell her’’? “I told her you’ve been doing a lot better. Ever since your brother.” He lowered his voice when he said that. I suddenly feel Sully rest his head on my thigh. He looks up at me and blows his nose. Gave him a smile and gave him a scratch on his head. I mouthed the words, “You want another can?” He snorts. “How’s Sully? Is he there, haven’t seen him in a while.” “Yeah, he’s here, you know he has to eat on the floor, he just loves that stool of his.” As I tell my dad this I start pouring the can into his bowl. “He’s always sat on that ever since he was a puppy. I swear if he could fit on it he would be sleeping on it as well.” “I do remember that.” He said as he was taking another bite of his food. “Always kept an eye on you when you were asleep. Even as a pup he was very loyal to you, staying by your side every time.” He moves his food around and finally asks the question,” so how have you been doing”? He puts his fork down and looks at me, to show me he’s paying attention. It’s odd to see him do that, so unfamiliar. I let out a sigh and lifted my eyes to the screen, “It’s a work in progress,” as I said that, my gaze went towards Sully eating. I guess I'm looking for approval from him. Did I do good? He was busy chowing down on his food. “Hey, Dad”? I asked while still staring down at Sully. “Yeah”? With a mouth full of food, I could actually barely understand him but at least I know he is responding. “Why are we naming this new family tradition “Happy Thanksgiving”? Hasn’t really been so “happy” in these months, has it”? I looked at him, and I could actually see him, Like as if he were real. Family tradition has always been to celebrate a special occasion with Chinese food. Really it was just an excuse for us to just go get some Chinese food...even if the occasion wasn’t really special... I just liked that for a few moments we didn't fight. He actually looked like he was thinking it through. “Well, weren't we always grateful on thanksgiving? Why just leave it for one day a year when we can celebrate anytime we want.” It almost sounded convincing I thought to myself. I let out a small sigh, barely noticeable. “Besides we do have a special occasion, you’ve got 2 months down already.” Raising his glass of soda. If only he just kept drinking soda, things probably would have been so bad. “You see, That's gotta be an accomplishment, Right”? Again he starts eating. Giving him the smallest smile, “I guess so, dad.” Then my head just wandered down and looked at Sully, he had his head rested on my thigh. He looked like he was dozing off as I massaged his head. “Hey,” I said softly. Moved his head to the side to look at me with one eye open. “I’m not carrying you to bed, so wake up.” he groaned as he closed that one eye of his. “Well dad, I still got like 2 or more years before I can move on out of here.” I would like it to take less. I leaned back in my seat and looked at the fan. Leaning forward, I laid my chin on top of my folded arms, on top of my desk, and stared at the screen. “ But time sure does fly by, so 2 years would probably be by tomorrow, so don’t worry dad. I” ll be out of here soon enough, I just gotta take care of things, and then we can move on.” “That would be nice, May.” And he gave that smile. That smile that I believed in.


There are few places as pungent as a high school gym, especially during a boys’ varsity basketball game. The Jordan High boys were a talented bunch of players. Think more “hard work and tears,” less High School Musical . As team mom, I got to sit on the bench behind the team, organize the team volunteers, and keep my mouth shut. I love my kids and would do anything for them. Being team mom was one of the many little ways that I could demonstrate that small truth. So I sat in the bleachers, listened to the squeaky sneakers and the basketball’s rhythmic drum, and wondered why engineers who could make a computer smaller than the size of my hand could not make a more comfortable bench. I watched my son Michael sprint down the hardwood, his lithe, slim legs pumping with all their might as he tried to get open off the fast break. Michael was not a starter, but he had been trying all season to crack the starting five, which was dominated by two players: Jordan’s star point guard Connor Reilly and his best bud, forward Drew Lane. Connor saw Michael up the sideline and lobbed the pass, hard and fast, halfway down the court. I watched hopefully as Michael reached out his fingertips, grabbed the pass, drove the lane ... and ran right into the 250-pound power forward from the opposing team. You know Newton’s third law of motion? “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” In this case, complete stoppage of momentum. Michael threw up a layup, which bounced around on the rim and came out again. The opposing team’s Aquaman lookalike grabbed the rebound. My son’s shoulders sagged, his eyes reflecting doubt. The opposing team made a quick conversion on the other end. “Time out!” the Jordan coach bellowed. The team jogged back to the huddle, grabbing their water bottles, each one labeled with the name and number of each player. Madison, the team’s manager, moved around the outside of the huddle, offering extra water and towels. She saw me watching and shot me a sympathetic glance. “Michael, nice job, but you’re out for now,” said the coach. “Drew, go check in.” The team started to head back to the bench, but Connor pulled Michael aside. “Once again, you suck. Why are you here?” I watched my son’s slump go even lower than his self-esteem. The agony of defeat, indeed. High school is hell, but being the parent of a high schooler is worse. There is nothing worse than watching your child be mercilessly bullied every day up close and personal, and being unable to do anything about it. Behind me, I could hear the parents of Drew and Connor sniggering at the insult. They always sat together, laughing and lauding their children, who (they were convinced) were the best basketball players ever created. Ever since Drew and Connor met in first grade, their parents had become close friends, even vacationing together at all-inclusive resorts where the liquor never ran out and the kids could entertain themselves. At dinner than evening, Michael looked down at his plate and said, “Connor is getting worse. Today after the game he told me to quit because I am a terrible player.” Michael’s dad, Brian, sighed and asked, “Does the coach know this is happening?” Michael replied, “Of course, but Connor scores 30 a game. Coach isn’t going to bench him for a little ‘good natured ribbing.’” “Michael, you’ve got to stand up to him,” I advised. “He’s going to continue to act this way until you do.” Michael sighed, “He’s not going to stop until I quit the team. Connor loves Drew.” “I guess that’s understandable,” Brian said, “but aren’t you actually the better overall player?” “That doesn’t matter to Connor. All Connor cares about is playing with Drew. Plus Drew is Connor’s source.” I looked up. “Source? Of what?” Michael looked at us with youth’s intolerant pity of the old. “What do you think? Weed, amphetamines, or anything else Connor wants. Connor drinks an energy drink before every game, and Drew always gets it for him.” My husband and I exchanged a look. “You mean Drew is a dealer?” “Not a dealer so much, but he knows where to get anything, and he makes it easy for Connor. All Connor cares about is Connor. That and basketball. Drew, on the other hand, only cares about Connor and Madison.” “Madison? You mean the manager?” I asked. “Yeah, they’ve been dating for a while. Drew is crazy about her. I’m not sure what Connor thinks about it, though.” The next day, Michael came home from practice sweaty, fatigued, and even lower. “Coach let Connor lead the team in wind sprints. Do you know what the prompt was for sprints? We had to run every time we heard Connor say, “Michael sucks.” For 20 minutes.” His eyes filled with tears. I hugged him and said, “That’s it. I’m going to the coach.” Michael stepped back, horrified. “Mom, you can’t! That would ruin me! I would be known as a snitch! Then everyone would hate me.” I paused. “OK, I won’t go to the coach. But you don’t have to put up with this, you know. There are lots of fun things to do in the world that don’t involve this kind of pain.” Michael looked at me and said, “But they’re not basketball, and I love it, Mom.” Case closed. Thursday, Michael burst into the house, all arms, legs, and news. “Connor hooked up with Madison last night at a party! Practice was crazy. Connor and Drew actually went for each other in practice - throwing punches! Coach had to pull them apart.” “Wow. I guess that’s going to make the game tomorrow a bit more complicated. And how were you?” I asked. Michael smiled. “Glad I wasn’t attracting attention for once.” Friday was a cold, dreary day. Gathering my coat and gloves around me, I walked from my car to the gym 30 minutes before the game. The team was warming up, shooting baskets and doing drills prior to the game. The coach was going over last-minute strategy with the assistant coach. Madison walked past me, eyes downcast, with a suspicious sniffle. Had she been crying? She was loaded up with the team towels and water bottles. I walked over to the scorer’s table to check in with the volunteers and chatted briefly with a few of the other parents. I looked up at the bleachers. Connor’s parents were sitting in their usual place, on top of the world on the top bench, absolutely convinced of their and their child’s superiority. Drew’s parents had moved towards the bottom of the bleachers and studiously avoided looking around. I headed over to my usual seat, looking over the bench to see if anything needed to be taken care of. Towels? Check. Water bottles? Check. Coach’s clipboard? Check. Everything in its place. I shed my coat and took my seat. The team came over to the bench with the usual pre-game energy, grabbing towels and water. Madison walked up to Connor and handed him his water bottle. I overheard Connor say to Madison, “Wasn’t it the best sex you ever had?” Madison quietly said, “Yeah, pretty good.” Connor grinned at her and said, “You’re welcome.” Madison’s face fell, and tears filled her eyes. Coach called for a team huddle, and the boys jogged over. “Ok, starters tonight are Connor, Drew, Kevin, Mason, and Nick. Whatever you have going on outside of this game, you need to let go. This is business. Let’s go, guys, and win this one.” Connor and Drew eyed each other uneasily, then went into the pregame huddle. The players readied themselves, took a couple more sips of water, rubbed the soles of their shoes with their hands, and went out to center court. Michael sat on the bench, quietly taking it all in. The horn sounded. The referee tossed the ball up, and the centers battled for the tip. It was game time. The opposing team was strong and quick, but Connor was energized. He bounded up and down the court, making his first six shots and playing strong defense. He reacted with lightning fast movements, hands reaching for the ball, feet moving to stay with the defender. Jordan kept the game tight. With the up and down, back and forth, of the game, the crowd got into it. The cheering in the gym was raucous, the atmosphere intense. Despite the fierce defense, it was a high scoring game and everyone in the gym was riveted on the game and the action on the court. It was a relief to everyone when the first quarter ended with the score tied at 25. The team walked over to the bench. The starters sat down and gulped their sports drinks while the coach addressed the team, noting small deficiencies in play and lauding Connor’s relentless play. Connor grinned an especially cocky grin and wisecracked, “I got it tonight, Coach. I can feel it in my bones!” Coach steered the boys back to focusing on the next quarter. The starting five went back out, and Madison moved around the bench, refilling drinks and putting out fresh towels. As the second quarter began, Connor was everywhere. He played with frenetic energy, almost a frenzy. He could not stop moving. He drove relentlessly to the basket, scoring three times in a row. He made the other team sweat for their offensive possessions. Towards the end of the second quarter, the opposing team made a weak, slow pass at half court, and Connor quickly stole the ball and drove toward the basket. Suddenly, he stumbled to the court and stopped moving, the ball rolling out of bounds. An apprehensive silence came over the crowd. Jordan’s athletic trainer trotted out to Connor and bent down close to him, calling out his name. When there was no response, the athletic trainer picked up Connor’s wrist, checked his pulse, and started CPR, yelling at the coach to call 911. The team tried to crowd around Connor, but the coach kept them away to give Connor some room. Connor’s parents approached courtside. Connor’s mom had her hands balled over her mouth as if to stop a silent scream from coming out. The paramedics arrived 10 minutes later. Connor was unresponsive, so they transferred him to a gurney and rushed to the hospital with his mom in the ambulance. As they were leaving the building, the crowd clapped respectfully for the fallen player. The crowd was abuzz. What could have happened to cause a healthy basketball player to collapse like that? Both teams were shaken, but the Jordan bench was in chaos. Michael tried to find me in the crowd, seeking reassurance. I gave him my “I’m worried but it will be ok” look. Drew looked horrified. His hands were shaking, and he looked like the ground would open up under his feet any minute and swallow him. He couldn’t stop crying. Madison was sobbing behind the bench. Coach signaled to me to get Drew’s parents, and they took Drew home. Down two players, Coach put in Michael and the backup point guard, Evan. With some substitutions, Jordan made it through the remainder of the game. The boys played well, trying to avenge their fallen teammate, and managed to pull off a close victory. After the game was over, the coach gathered the team together for an announcement. Connor had been declared dead of cardiac arrest at the hospital. He had overdosed on caffeine. The police interviewed Michael and me the next day. We told them our observations about Connor’s behavior, how he played with even more energy and enthusiasm than usual, how he had collapsed on the court. My son cried, and I held his hand. We found out two days later that Drew confessed to putting an extra energy drink in Connor’s water bottle. Sobbing, he told the police that, “Connor kept begging me for a boost to help him play better, so I thought I would get even with him for hooking up with Madison. I knew Connor drank that energy drink, and I figured a little more caffeine would hype him up a bit more, maybe make him too wired to play well. I knew the taste of the sports drink would cover up the taste of the energy drink, and it would serve him right for once. I thought he would just feel a little bad and have a bad game, make him realize that the world wasn’t all about him. But I never expected him to die! I’m so, so sorry....” Jordan held a memorial for Connor before the next game. The bleachers were packed with fans, who observed a moment of silence in honor of its fallen point guard. Jordan considered cancelling its season after Connor’s death, but after all, what was the best way to honor a basketball player than by playing basketball? So Jordan continued to play, and it was amazing. With Connor gone, the team began to act and play together as a team. There was a lot more passing, pick setting, and overall teamwork. Jordan had suffered a devastating loss of two of its players, but those kids managed to scrape together a winning season by sharing the load with one another. The team became very close, on and off the court. Michael became the starting forward, but he shared playing time with another kid. The boys learned a lesson that we couldn’t teach them without this experience. That’s why I killed Connor. I realized it was the only way to rid that team of its worst enemy - its leader. No one noticed me when I laced Connor’s water bottle with two small extra bottles of energy boost drink while I was making sure everything was in its place prior to the start of the game. Organizing is what I did at every game. No one noticed it, not even with my coat and gloves still on. Once I poured the energy drinks in, I just threw the bottles in the trash, then went to the bleachers to my seat. I didn’t know that Drew had slipped in another energy drink, but in the end that helped seal Connor’s fate. I chose not to think about Connor’s parents. Really, it was all for the best. I’m a parent. As I told you, I would do anything for my children.


“This is where you live?” Liam asked, eyes wide as he looked around the library. “Yep,” Madeline said. Her gaze followed his as she took in the familiar sights of home. “No one else was using it. And it made a kind of sense. There aren’t many possible entrances but there *are* a lot of places to hide. There’s also plenty to read.” She tore her eyes away from her beloved library to glance back at him. “So what do you think?” “It’s great! Perfect, actually.” Madeline smiled. It was the most animated she’d seen Liam since she’d met him. The wonder on his face was almost child-like. Something that was painfully absent the rest of the time. You couldn’t last long in this world if you didn’t grow up fast. “I’m afraid I only have one mattress at the moment, but there are a few sofas around the place with cushions,” she said as she led him through. “Why don’t you pick a room and we’ll get you all set up?” He nodded eagerly and raced off to search for a spot. Madeline watched him go, wondering if she’d made the right decision. Giving him freedom and choice seemed a good way to gain his trust. And if they were going to survive together she *needed* his trust. She needed to be certain that if she barked an order at him he would obey it no questions asked. But having him roaming around the library, *her* library, felt wrong somehow. Like letting him rifle through her drawers or read her diary. It was a violation of the privacy she had grown so used to. Shaking her head, she dismissed the foolish thoughts. Like it or not, Liam was here now. This was his home too. She was just going to have to get used to it. \ After she’d away the supplies they’d brought back, Madeline went in search of Liam. She found him in what must have once been a meeting room. Or perhaps a room for group study. There was a large table surrounded by ten chairs, a whiteboard, and a projector screen. He’d already acquired a pile of cushions that he was in the process of forming into a bed. She rapped her knuckle lightly against the door to announce her presence. Liam’s head whipped around, eyes wide and body stiff with tension, but he seemed to relax when he saw her. “How are you getting on?” she asked. “We can probably bring a sofa in here if that would be good? Or find another mattress for you from a nearby house?” “I think this is good for now,” he replied. “It’s like having my own, permanent pillow fort.” “You know, that does sound good,” she chuckled. “I’ll leave you to finish settling in. When you’re finished you can come and find me in the kitchen. We can have a nice, *hot* meal for a change.” The excitement that flitted across his face made Madelin’s smile widen as she turned to leave the room. \ It wasn’t long until she heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. When he reached the room, he stopped in the doorway, keeping his usual wary distance. “So what are we having?” he asked. “Well, that’s up to you,” she replied, gesturing to the array of foods. “We’ve got pasta or rice for something nice and carby. There are tinned soups, beans, tomatoes, a few different types of vegetables--” “Pasta and tomato sauce!” “I think we can manage that,” she said with a smile. Soon, Madeline was dishing up the steaming pasta. The smell made her stomach rumble. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed *hot* food. Seeing as she had company, she decided they might as well make use of one of the many tables in the main section of the library, rather than eat on the kitchen floor as was her usual custom. Liam trotted along behind her, eyes fixed on the full bowls. She headed toward a table large enough that they could both sit down while keeping the distance between them Liam seemed to require and set his portion down before retreating with hers to the far end. The sight of him descending on the pasta, devouring it with a speed she wouldn’t have thought possible, made laughter bubble up from within. She found herself wondering if this is what she looked like when she ate. With a shake of her head, she dismissed the thought and started on the bowl in front of her. After all, who cared about table manners anymore? When the meal was done, Madeline considered her companion. He was sitting back, flopped against the chair, eyes closed in satisfaction. It was nice to see him so relaxed, so comfortable. And perhaps it was something she could use. “Did you enjoy the meal?” she asked. “Yes, very much. Thanks!” “Has it been a while since you had hot food?” “Yeah.” “Since before the Poiloogs came? Or more recently?” He considered this for a while, before answering, “A bit more recently. But not by much.” “Was it when you were somewhere else? Before the shop?” “Yeah. At one of those centres the military set up.” “You made it to one of the centres?” she asked, eyes wide. “How? And how did you get out?” “I- We were nearby I suppose,” he said, eyes darting around as he spoke, looking everywhere but at Madeline. “And the one we were in... it just disbanded before they came for it.” “Would you mind telling me about it?” she asked more gently this time. “Maybe you could start at the beginning, from the day the Poiloogs came. If you remember that is. And if it isn’t too hard for you.” Liam leant back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded across his stomach. Madeline was beginning to wonder if he’d drifted off to sleep when he finally spoke. “I was home sick from school that day. It wasn’t anything bad. Just a cold, really. Dad stayed home with me but Mum went to work like usual.” He paused, shifting in his chair to sit forward and lean on the table. “The first we heard about anything strange was the emergency broadcast on the TV telling us something was approaching the planet at speed and to find shelter underground if possible. “Of course, Dad didn’t want to go anywhere without Mum. But he couldn’t get a hold of her. And I suppose he wanted to know I was safe. We lived in a small-ish village in the middle of nowhere. Something I constantly complained about.” He paused, a wry smile flashing across his face before he grew serious once again. “But it probably saved us. The only thing nearby apart from countryside and cows was a military base with an airfield. “Dad packed a bag and we set off. We were outside when the ships first became visible in the sky. Luckily they targeted more populated areas at first.” A look of horror mingled with disgust crept into his features, nose wrinkling as if the words tasted foul. “Luckily for us I mean. Not for everyone who lived there. Who worked there. “We reached the base without much trouble. Other people in the area had the same idea, so there were a few of us turning up. The officers on duty organised us all into shelters. By then they seemed confident we didn’t need to worry about crashing ships or bombs or any other high-tech weapons. It was the creatures from the ships that we needed to watch out for. “Over the weeks, more and more people arrived - fleeing the carnage in the cities. We kept waiting for my Mum to show up but she never did.” His voice cracked slightly, forcing him to swallow before continuing, “The base became a refuge centre. A place of sanctuary from what people had started calling the Poiloogs. The soldiers patrolled the perimeter. Set-up defences. It felt safe.” Madeline stared across at him, but he kept his eyes fixed on his hands, fingers twisting around each other on the table in front of him. Though nothing had been particularly unexpected so far, there was something about watching a child say these things that would never *not* be shocking. After a deep, shaky breath, he started speaking again. “There weren’t many attacks for the first few months - I suppose the Poiloogs were spread pretty thin across the world - but they started becoming more and more frequent. The soldiers started teaching us how we could block them out when they came - by filling out heads with something else. They suggested singing a song or repeating a mantra. “I think they taught the adults other things too. We - the children I mean - weren’t allowed in all of the meetings. But after one of them, my Dad came out all in a panic saying we had to leave - that the centre would become a major target with this many people here. Others were fleeing too. And the military just let us all go. With supplies and everything. I thought it seemed silly, leaving the place with all the guns and soldiers. Surely nowhere would be safer than that. But Dad wouldn’t listen. “We walked and walked after that, stopping in houses along the way. We never stayed anywhere long though. None of them was ever safe enough, apparently. Every now and then we’d bump into someone else. We wouldn’t stay together long but they’d pass on information. That was how we learnt that the centres had fallen - everyone in them rounded up and shipped off by the Poiloogs. Or dead, if they were lucky. “As the months went by we bumped into less and less people. And as the encounters with humans decreased, the ones with Poiloogs increased. Soon we hardly went a week without a near miss. Dad was quite good at fighting them off but he was starting to struggle. He wouldn’t get a chance to properly rest and heal before the next one showed up. And the next one. “It was after another near miss, where he’d hidden me in a wardrobe before going off to hide elsewhere, that we found the shop. It was well stocked and had plenty of hiding places. He said it was perfect. That I’d be safe there. Safer than with him. He explained that...” His eyes flicked to her and the glaze that had entered them as he spoke vanished. “Anyway, that’s about it. You know the rest.” “I do,” she said softly. Something inside her yearned to reach out and fold the boy into her arms. To shield him from the horrors of his past. But she knew that no one could do that. “What about you then?” he asked with a forced cheeriness. “How did you end up here?” Madeline's mouth hung open, caught off-guard by the question. She cursed herself for not seeing that one coming as she cast her mind back to that day.


Hey, I'm a newbie to writing, and I want to try and improve. Here is a piece I started working on recently. If you have any suggestions on how to improve it, or my writing in general, it would be greatly appreciated.   It had always been you. You stare proudly at the chrome-domed tube shining in front of you, wiping the grease off your calloused hands with a work rag before tossing it aside to where--you cared not. The gleaming brilliance stole your eye, and your arms placed themselves satisfied on your aching hips. The drooping bags under your eyes left dark shadows, set by the seeping light from the crack under the garage door. The sun had just rose, making this either the fourth or the fifth day that you had spent shut in, inhaling noxious fumes and metal shavings. The garage was a sty, an appropriate disarray to act as a habitat for the messy, unwashed being that was you. None of that matters. It is time for a test run. You pick up the pile of alumnimum coated clothes folded neatly on your work bench, unfurling it in your hands. You slip it on. A leg. The other. An arm. The other. Then, you carefully lift the spherical reflective visor off the table, and place it over your head. You recall the day that your destiny first called to you. You were eight years old, your mother holding on to your wrist tightly as you tore through the crowds of people surrounding the line up to the ride. This would have been a day you remembered fondly as being the first time you ever set foot in an amusement park--you still did remember it fondly, though for different reasons. The blur of motion settled as you fell into queue, growing ever more impatient. When it happened, it seemed like there should have been an explosion, or a crash, or a sound of some sort. Instead, it just appeared. A chrome tube, a fixture that definitely did not belong in this theme park, let alone this century. It opened up, and a figure in a silver suit walked out, with a reflective bubble over its head. Then, it went back in and disappeared. “A freak occurrence,” “a collective psychotic hallucination,” many different terms were thrown around. But you knew the truth. It was a sightseeing tour. *It* was looking through history. \*It’\*s own history. *Your* history. Your chapped lips open to the smacking sound of a dried tongue unsticking from the roof of a wrinkled mouth, but hydration is the furthest thing on your mind. You admire your handiwork from afar, your heart beating in a loving rhythm akin to parental love as you gaze over every small aspect: The brilliant shine and gleam of its reflective silver surface. The bubbled door and triple pane viewing window. The satisfying click of the square buttons on the main panel, pressing and depressing as the LED display illuminates: “-60 seconds” it reads, in chunky, blocked text. Of course, you were so entranced you hardly took notice of the small imperfections in your work. No, the cracked exterior, uneven sealing around the door, and the half-empty life preserve system did not worry you. This would work. It had to work. It is, after all, your destiny. Your hand trembles as you feel the cold metallic touch of the clutching door handle on your palm. You listen to the swoosh of whipping air as the inner vacuum ceases. Smoke billows out in dramatic puffs and clouds settling along the floor--only in your imagination, of course, because your invention had no reason to spontaneously combust. You step inside, and you feel as if you are entering a womb from which you will be rebirthed as the person you were always meant to be. The time traveler. Crouched down, your back arching to the contours of the tube, you click the door lock closed with your forefinger to start the machine, just as a thought enters your mind. It is a small, nagging thought. An intrusive, inconceivable thought. You try to shake it off, but as your surroundings rumble in flashes of multicolor lights, it forces itself on your mind’s eye: All those years ago, when the you--the one from the future--went back to the past, they saw you--as a child--and you saw them. But, that thought nagged, you had not seen your future-self sixty seconds ago. *Could something have gone wrong?* a part of you wondered, but it was a small, quiet part. Nothing could have possibly gone wrong. Your destiny would not allow it. The lights stopped, as did the trembling, and all went still. All went dark. It worked. But the light never came back. You peer out from the bubbled viewing window out into the infinite blackness, dotted only by pinpoint lights and a massive hurtling blue and green sphere whizzing past you. The Earth, leaving you adrift in the cold, random point of relative space. But you were not alone: your nose smushed against the triple pane glass covered in breathy fog, you see a chrome-domed tube. Then another. And another. Your time remnants, from the past, future, and present. A reminder of your follies. It was never you.