“Lizzy!” Momma shouted at me. I was running out into the field. All four legs at max speed. The wind was pushing against my face and the wheat was barely getting caught in my fur. I was running to the forest, which Momma always said wasn’t safe. The forests are separated into two, the wildlife, and the big tall animals. I can’t remember what these animals are called, but they only have two legs and wear stuff over their fur. Humans? Something like that. I was a curious pup. My siblings and I don’t like being in the same old places. We want to explore, but Momma hates it. Mrs. Grizzly says it drives her nuts! I get to the opening of the forest, but I hesitate. I look back, but Momma isn’t in sight. I take slow steps into the forest, scared that a possum might jump out on me, or worse, maybe a human! A loud, drilling noise rings in my ears. What was that horrible sound? I trotted over to the sound, and hid behind the trees. There it was, a human! The human was sitting in this big drive-y thingy. “A little deeper!” One of the humans shouted. The man nodded and kept drilling. “Ah, there it is!” He shouted, as the tree came crashing down, pulling a couple other trees down with it. They all cheered, then hit their paws together. Is that a paw five? Cool! But not cool at the same time. I ran as fast as my little paws could go, back to Momma. I had forgotten how mad she was but I put that aside. This was more important. “Momma! Momma!” I howled, out of breath. “My little cub decided to come back? What’s wrong pup?” She asks confused, sitting on the log covered in leaves. I layed on my back, twisting and swerving into the leaves. “The humans t-they were drilling the t-trees!” I managed to say, out of breath. “Did they fall?” She asked worriedly. “Of course they did, Momma!” I bark, jumping onto all fours. She turned her head to Mrs. Grizzly. When did she get here? “You knew this time would come Sarah.” Mrs. Grizzly said sternly. Momma huffed. She got up and her tail stood in between her legs. Momma wasn’t happy. “Well, I guess we shall have a stern family talk, why don’t you call her brothers and sisters? Dinner is almost prepared and your father will be here soon.” “Poppy, Jackson, Violet, Cooper, and Oliver! Dinners ready and Mommas just about to give us a stern talking to!” I said catching up to them at the creek. “Coming!” Barked Violet. “Seriously?” Asked Cooper. “Just five more paws?” Jackson and Oliver asked, throwing rocks into the creek. “Guys-” I started. But I didn't finish my sentence as they were all already running. “Wait up!” I howled as I started chasing after them. “How was Tod Class?” Momma asked Papa. (That's a boy group in fox language!) “Why it was just alright Sarah! How were the pups?” Momma stared me down. “Why they were just pleasant.” I smiled at Momma, but she gave me that look saying I’d have to pay her back. Papa turned to all six of us. “How was your day pups?” He asked, taking a bite of the leaf and stem salad. “Great!” “We threw rocks in the creek!” “I saw a blue jay!” “Me and Poppy played tag in the grass!” We all barked at the same time. “Woah woah woah. Slow down pups!” He smiled. “Well, from what I’m hearing you had a excellent day! Now enough howling, why don’t we dig into this lovely salad?” He asked, his eyes falling to Momma. She blushed. Everyone was asleep except me. I wasn’t tired, and my eyes wouldn’t shut. I was too worried about the trees, and the humans. Momma said that they might come for us, and what if they did? The wind whistled, and the moon shimmered in between the trees. I layed on my bed, but it wasn’t right. I turned around to my siblings. They were all asleep. I walked over to the end of the forest, hearing the owls snore. I looked at the field, it was empty. Not even a sound of crickets. The drilling had stopped, but the big drive-y thingy was still there. I trotted over, across the field, and punched right at it. Nothing happened? It was bright yellow, and stared at me, but had no eyes. I could just sense it. “Marks eh?” “Yeah man! I think some animal got at it!” “Those creatures. Think they own everything.” “Probably a bear.” “No, a coyote!” My ears perked up. They wouldn’t suspect me, would they? Clack. I jump around to see Papa trotting over. “Where were you!” He shouted. “You had me and your mother worried! You shouldn’t be out here it isn-” he couldn’t finish his sentence. “Get them!” A man shouted. “Run!” Papa shouted, getting hold of the fur around my neck. He panted, running as fast as he could, getting out of the man's sight. The man had a gun in his hand, and we all knew that wasn’t good. “Papa! What’s going on?” I shouted over the sound of his paws against the ground. I knew what was going on, but why? We were running, and he pulled the trigger. Boom. Papa stopped, his body dropping to the ground. “Little fox too slow for me eh? See Jerald, I don’t miss a single shot.”’ He said brushing off his shoulder and walking away. “Papa!” I shouted, and then I saw it. The blood dripping from this leg consistently. “No! No, this can’t be. I-I didn’t mean to..” How could I do this? It was all my fault! I shouldn’t have left! “Momma!” I howled running back to the forest, my legs pumping with pain. She looked at me worriedly. “It’s Papa! He’s been shot!” I leapt straight out of my bed. Was it all just a dream? Maybe I was seeing into the future. I wasn’t sure what just happened. But I knew that I had to protect my family from the humans.


I posed this about a year ago on /r/tipofmytongue and didn't get it, so maybe you guys might know anything about it. Details I can remember: Once he gets his mind uploaded onto the android, he witnesses his previous body very much still alive even though the technicians say it isn't. He goes to Mars (I think) and finds someone else there in the same situation. They both spend a while (centuries I think) together before she disconnects her brain after she realized there was no point in life. After that, he spends a few million years traveling the universe. He then sits down, body broken, on a planet and just waits for the end of the universe. At the end of the story humanity has attained group transcendence and came looking for him because they missed him. I read it a couple years ago and it's really stuck with me. I haven't been able to find it anywhere on google, as I just read it on some web page.


They had cleared the brush forest that had built up over years of no maintenance. They had drained the swampy marsh that now engulfed half the property. All in all things were going perfect. Frank and Esther devised this plan to encourage a search party, the police would have people clearing their land in no time; just in time for planting this season's crops. With any luck, Frank could play off his wife's "disappearance" as a spell of Dementia. Finally things were looking up as the couple dreamed to sell their land and move south. Lieutenant Jacobs had seen his share of missing persons cases. None of these cases were as peculiar as this. Esther Monroe had vanished, no trace, no evidence, even the husband was ruled out in the first couple days. This was truly a hunt for the ages. Having been leading the dredging party in the drained marsh, he was losing hope when he heard the cry of a volunteer. "We have remains here sir,this may be her." All of the available squad cars had reported to county road 36 to aid in the digging efforts. So far enough bones and remains have been found to amount a dozen casualties. Looking back at the top of the hill Jacobs spots a panicked Frank Monroe, and an even more surprising Esther by his side, weeping, but alive. Back at the station, the Monroe's laid out there elaborate plan. It seems they had the initial phone call, press conferences, even Frank's alibi worked out. They talked about having Esther "reappear" from a dementia spell in the woods. It seems like they're telling the truth, albeit a far fetched plan for free landscaping, I couldn't imagine making something up that was so in depth. Even if the story is true however, it doesn't explain the growing number of identified bodies hidden in a shallow mass grave on their property. This was just the beginning of a long night. Half a pack of smokes and 7 hours later a stack of folders compiled an encompassing list on the bodies found thus far. Identities and backgrounds show no significant connections, not even geographically. The newest victim showed within the last 6 months, the Monroe's would become the prime suspects. Pleading for innocence, the Monroe's are ushered In separate directions, they are to be further interrogated separately. Initial interrogations show to no avail, Frank is adamant of his and his wife's innocence. Esther is a bit more puzzling, holes in her stories, inconsistency in memory, maybe she did suffer memory problems after all. Suddenly a break in the case is found in the wine cellar where Esther was hidden during her "disappearance". A pile of blooded laden clothes haphazardly buried with a locked journal. Pages of the journal depict how the victims were lured into the house though fake sale ads and claims of work needing to be done. Ironically, several of the people had came to landscape the yard. We had found Frank dead in his cell the next morning, before we got a chance to read the page about him. It seems his wife had poisoned him the day they were arrested. It seems she wanted to finish him off and collect on his life insurance. It was an open and shut case, Esther was the only one who could have written that journal. When the news broke that 3 more bodies had appeared at the house on county road 36, authorities were stunned and heartbroken. Esther had never left custody, and now Lieutenant Jacobs was to be autopsied the next day; he had fell victim to an unknown killer. The case ran cold after a few years went by, tapes of the interrogations and of Esther Monroe mourning her husband from a jail cell are all we have for testimony. Never a motive found, the notebook that was retrieved revealed much; but so little at the same time. Even though the death toll officially had climbed to 28, the media ran with "the 36 ghosts of 36". I've came out of retirement for this. A large contract with a popular tv streaming service sees something in a washed up reporter. There is to be a documentary built on an unfinished case, and I to be its author. But now as I stand in an excavated swamp behind the house where so many does, it feels eerie to say the least. Cameras roll as I speak of the lives lost from an unknown killer. Some of the victims had families, some had criminal records, and 3 wore the Maren county trooper badge. "Blood soaked clothes covered the killers bible, an extensive journal with entries of every victim." I speak to the camera. Continuing my report, "the blood found on the clothes belongs to several victims, and one set of DNA is speculated to belong to the killer." As I shuffle through the leaves around the infamous wine cellar "even Frank and Esther couldn't find a killer that lived under their nose" are. my closing remarks for the day. My cameraman, Mark packs up the van for the night, and I decided to linger around just a while longer since I drove here separately this morning. It's a shame that this location had to be home to such heinous crime. This land is beautiful, and with a little work, this home would be a prize on the market. Striking a match, I watch the van pull off as I light the first smoke off the evening. Staring off into the woods, I wonder about how I'm killing myself with cigarettes and vodka. My grandkids hate that I smoke. What's the use of quitting now? I hear the leaves rustle begins me and I turn to a familiar face, one I haven't seen in years. "I know you! You aren't supposed to be alive, this can't be!" I stutter. The man smiles at me before he cracks a smile, furnishing a .45 . I really wish I could show the world, this case is not over. Hunched over with blood spilling from my chest, I draw shallowed breaths. I've became number 29. The tapes from the documentary went viral before their release date was set. Someone had leaked the tapes to online forum sites and it caught fire. The late Mario Montana was a championed reporter for his 40 year career in journalism; but his last work took his life and legacy. Police quarantined the house off county road 36. Some say it should be burned, others say it should never be touched again. One thing is for sure, the people remain terrified of the thought of a killer on the loose.


Margaret steadied herself on the ladder. She held on with one hand as the other was pressed against her white blouse trying to calm her heart against the height she had climbed. She lifted the same hand to run a finger along the heavy tomes stored up here. Coats of Arms. Heraldry. Gwynn-Jones. Emblems. Black, Farrel, Howells, Rowlands, Ward. Margaret looked down. At the foot the rolling library ladder was a knight, a toad, and a cat, looking up at her, expectantly. Of course, Margaret wasn’t sure it was a knight at all. It was a suit of armor certainly, that had appeared when she was closing up for the evening. It did not speak. She could not make out eyes in the slots of the knight’s helm, but she checked that the bottom edge of her skirt wasn’t riding up. Just to be sure. Margaret adjusted her winged glasses to try to get a look again at the design of the surcoat the knight was wearing. It showed some sort of red lion and a thistle, on a shield, over a fallen dragon, or the loch ness monster for all Margaret knew. She removed a heavy oversized tome on Scottish Heraldry and juggled it down with her, until her feet were once again safe on the floor. She put it on an old long wooden table. The knight moved to the other side of the table. He held up a gauntlet pointing to his chest. “Yes, I know.” Margaret snapped. “It might help if you talked. If you told me what you want. I’m trying to find out where you’re from. That might be a clue. Unless you have a clue for me?” The knight shook its head. It held something in its right gauntlet which Margaret had not really looked at before now. It was a toad. The knight was holding a toad. A pudgy cat jumped up on a nearby chair and onto the wooden table. It marched across the table to the toad in the knight’s gauntlet. The knight was quick enough to hold the toad away before the cat could get it. The cat gave up the prey and walked on Margaret’s now open book and sat himself on it. He started to clean himself, nonchalantly. Margaret grabbed the cat gently by the scruff and underneath the arms. “Yes, I remember you when he came in.” She said. She stopped for a moment noticing a collar around the cat. She inspected the tag. ‘Mr. Cuddles’. Mr. Cuddles bit at her hand twice, holding the second time. They locked eyes. Mr. Cuddles had not broken her skin. He changed tactics and decided to lick her hand instead. Margaret rolled her eyes and removed him from the table, lowering him to the floor. He headbutted her ankles and did figure eights around them. Margaret turned the pages of the tome with care. She looked up to see the knight shaking his head and tapping his chest. Only he wasn’t making any sound. She could see the gauntlet tapping the breast plate, but there wasn’t any sound. She closed the book. “Look, this is a waste of time. All this information is available on computers out there in the main branch. We’re not even supposed to be in here. This area is closed to be renovated and restored when we can get the funding. Now, let me go out there and just put your... your symbols into the computer’s search engine and it will tell us who you are. Possibly.” The knight stood his ground. He held the toad in one gauntlet, while pointing with other back and forth to the worn, dusty, shelves surrounding them. Mr. Cuddles had set himself down on the floor between them, licking his paws. Margaret folded her arms in a stand off. The held their places until Mr. Cuddles got up and came over to Margaret and attacked her ankles. “Alright!” she said, reaching down to push away Mr. Cuddles. “But you have to give me a clue.” She shouted at the knight. The knight offered her the toad. After a moment she dug through her purse on the long table and found some tissues. She held up a hand covered in several tissues and the knight placed the toad on it. Mr. Cuddles cried for the toad, but she held it up from him. The knight bent and picked up Mr. Cuddles. Mr. Cuddles, despite his size, managed to turned about in midair, and run up the knight’s chain mail and arm guard, to perch on his shoulder plate. The knight moved to the shelves, as if he and Mr. Cuddles often travelled this way. The knight went to the far left of the three-storey room to begin his search of the book shelves. Mr. Cuddles wagged his tail to show he was unhappy with this choice. The knight moved along the shelves. The tail wagging got stronger. The knight did not tary, smoothly gliding further right. Finally, they came to a stop. Mr. Cuddles purred on the shoulder plate, brushing against the knight’s helm. As Margaret approached, Mr. Cuddles pawed at the books on the shelf in front of the knight. Margaret looked. “This is poetry. This is the poetry section. You want me to read to you?” The knight tilted its helm as if aghast by the suggestion. Mr. Cuddles was thrown off balance and dropped to the floor. The knight gestured to the shelf. Margaret began on the left of the shelf taking each book out and examining its title and author. This gave her no clues. She saw a book further down slightly pulled out from the rest. It had a tear on its spine. She looked down to see Mr. Cuddles chewing on one of his paws. A small thin patch of leather appeared to be stuck on one of his claws. She looked at the tear on book. “Oh, you’re a terror, aren’t you.” She admonished. Mr. Cuddles stretched and ignored her. Margaret looked at the knight who was nodding. She still held the toad in one tissued hand. She tried to leaf through the small book of poetry with the other. As awkward as it was, she got to the middle of the book to find a pressed flower inside. It may have lain there for centuries. The knight reached over and took the withered petals. From these dry crumbled fragments, a fresh white flower bloomed in his gauntlet. He held it to his chest and then faded away. He was gone. Mr. Cuddles broke the silence with a cry for food. Margaret held the toad closer to protect it. “So, he was pointing to his heart the whole time. I thought it was his shirt. His coat of arms. Well, he’s a knight, right?” She seemed to be talking to the toad. “How was I supposed to know that?” She sat down at the long table with the toad. With her free hand she started rummaging through her purse. “Well, I don’t need a knight, anyway. And I don’t... I don’t think... I’m not going to need you, either. Sorry.” She pulled out more tissues. Nail clippers. A tiny travelling sewing kit. Glass cleaner and a little shammy. Two wrapped butterscotch hard candies. And finally, a slightly linty, wrapped chocolate kiss. She unwrapped the chocolate kiss. “Here.” She offered the toad. The toad’s tongue shot out and pulled the kiss back into its mouth. After some swollen breathing, or some swollen swallowing motion, Margaret was unsure which, the toad disappeared and a doubletted prince appeared. The freckled faced youth looked about the room in confusion. He smiled shyly at Margaret. “Yeah, I’m really, not looking for you, either. Sorry.” Margaret led the young man to the front exit. She didn’t even question why he hadn’t disappeared as the knight had done. She left him on the stoop to go out and discover the new world while she returned to the oldest wing of the library to finish locking up. When she got back, Mr. Cuddles was halfway into her purse, and scratching and burrowing his way deeper. “Mr. Cuddles!” He stopped and stuck his head out above the purse. Margaret sat down and looked at him. “So, you’re the third one of this lonely trio. What are you looking for?” Mr. Cuddles looked at her and sat back on his haunches, exposing his ample belly. He rolled onto his back completely and his eyes widened inviting her attention. She laughed, and started putting things back in her purse. She stopped when she reached the sewing kit. She unwound a length of thread from the kit and dangled it over Mr. Cuddles. He batted at it, manically. Mr. Cuddles righted himself on his paws and chased the thread about. At times Margaret would dangle it above him, and at other times she would slowly draw it away from him across the table. He would crouch frequently into pounce mode before making his attempts to conquer the string. As Margaret’s evening got even later, they played.


Greetings! I come from /r/TalesFromTheSnoo! It's a brand new subreddit where you can submit writing or art in any form for others to enjoy and also for the magazine proper. Readers will always be able to read and vote on every submission. At the end of every month, we'll take the top submissions and put them together in a big bad beautiful .pdf/.epub file. All for free! It's some good exposure for aspiring writers and artists, as well as some fantastic content for anyone and everyone. Submissions can evolve over the course of the month, and serials are certainly welcome! Ideally, we're looking for novellas, short stories, flash fiction, poetry, prose; all with any degree of science fiction and fantasy. Art submissions are welcome as well, particularly if they are pointed towards one particular story. Submissions can be from anyone, and of anything. Your brother's short story idea, some art you found online (we'll handle the permissions and rights), your own anything! Post it in the subreddit, and the community will vote on it! Please try and make sure that A) you get permission from the creator(s) and B) it hasn't been published before.


Moscow, December 18th, 2021 I felt exhausted. It had been a long journey and I felt the sharp pain from the blisters on my feet with every step I made. But the night was fast approaching and the temperature was dropping drastically with every minute past since sundown. I needed to find a place to settle for the night, somewhere that could protect me from the elements. As the sky was getting darker, the city started to pick up a nefarious vibe. With every direction I turned, I saw evil looks lurking from behind the flickering impromptu fires that littered the dark street corners, the kind of sinister looks from the steely cold eyes that told me to get lost or else. I found a dark abandoned building nearby. These places are notoriously dangerous at night and could harbour the most vicious populations but beggars can not be choosers, besides, I really couldn’t walk any further in this condition and I was used to this way of life. I found a corner that shielded me from the cold wind and snow. I was beyond hungry and soon asleep. ‘Alexei, look what I found!’ ‘What did you find Igor?’ ‘A Chink!’ Loud laughing noises and bright light on my face woke me up to a young man standing in front of me with a torchlight in his hand. He looked in his early 20s, dark hair and was in a thick green winter coat. A second young man about the same age came right after him and looked at me from a safe distance with a suspicious gaze. He was in a leather jacket and had fairer hair than the first man. I instinctively grabbed the knife in my pocket. ‘Igor, could you not.’ ‘Not what?’ ‘Not use that word. I don’t like it.’ ‘Oh, really, what do you care?’ ‘Chinese people are people just like us, Igor!’ ‘Sure, Jesus, never knew you are such a saint.’ ‘Shut the fuck up Igor. Hey, you, still alive?’ He was obviously talking to me. ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘You speak Russian?’ ‘Only a little.’ I covered my face from the torchlight. Alexei pushed Igor’s hand down and came closer to me. ‘You don’t sound Russian, you Chinese?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You alone?’ ‘Why? You gonna rob me?’ ‘I’m just trying to help, is all. I will leave you alone if you wish to but it’s getting too cold for you to survive the night in a place like this.’ ‘Hey, Alexei, not our business, let’s go.’ Igor nudged Alexei but he held up his hand. ‘We are the nightguards that look after this site. You are welcome to come to our office with us, it’s just around the corner and it’s warm there.’ I was still holding on to my knife tightly as I slowly got up from the cold concrete floor. Suddenly I felt dizzy and fell against the wall. ‘Hey, hey, you ok?’ Alexei caught hold of my arm and steadied me. ‘Look, I don’t know what happened to you and I’m not gonna ask if you don’t want to say but you are safe and you are coming with me ok?’ ‘Ok.’ I nodded and held onto Alexei’s arm as he slowly helped me get to my feet and walk to his office. ‘Igor, finish doing the round then get some snacks from the shop, will you?’ Alexei took out his wallet and stuffed some money into Igor’s hands. ‘I don’t believe this is fucking happening! Back in a few minutes.’ Igor reluctantly took the money and shuffled on. With each step I took, the half-healed blisters broke again and fresh sharp pains shoot up my feet like electric shocks. But we made it to his office quickly and as he opened the door, a sudden flood of light and warmth washed over me. ‘Sit.’ Alexei pulled out a chair for me and took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ ‘No.’ I shook my head and smiled faintly. Alexei lighted up his cigarette, put the kettle on, pulled out a chair for himself, and sat next to me. ‘A woman like you, in a place like this, alone. Hmmm...’ He puffed on his cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Is there a particular place you were going to?’ ‘No.’ ‘No? I see, a woman with few words. Maybe you are just hungry and lack energy. Don’t worry, Igor will be back soon, in the meantime...’ He suddenly stood up as he heard the kettle was boiled and went to the desk in the corner of the room. ‘Coffee?’ ‘Hot water if you don’t mind.’ ‘Just hot water?’ ‘Yes, thank you.’ I nodded. ‘Ok, you got it.’ He nodded and poured hot water into a cup and brought it to me. ‘Here ya, hold on to the cup and warm your hands up. ‘Thank you.’ ‘No worries.’ Alexei sat back in his chair and puffed another smoke. ‘You sound well educated I must say. It is strange that you end up like this. Look, I mean you no harm, and I probably understand a lot more than you think, you can talk to me if you wish. We got all night. But it’s ok if you don’t want to.’ ‘It’s ok.’ I slurped some hot water and nodded. ‘We can talk.’ ‘Yeah?’ Alexei looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah.’ I smiled back faintly. ‘I, um, many years ago, decided to become a ghost.’ ‘A ghost?’ ‘Yes. Wiping myself off the grid completely, become none existence. I am no one, so I can be anyone, anywhere, doing anything.’ ‘That sounds, insane.’ Alexei pulled another puff and continued. ‘But you don’t appear insane to me. There’s a thin line between genius and madness and I guess you are the former.’ ‘I don’t know about that but I realized since an early age that the only way to know the whole truth is not to be bound by the biased truth. Only then, one can be truly free to choose one’s own identity and life path.’ ‘And how free are we talking about here?’ ‘I have traveled on foot across continents, slept under streetlights, ship decks and stars studded night skies. I have witnessed exceptional cruelty and tremendous kindness. All I learned is this: there’s no good or evil, we are all capable of anything. You live what you manifest. And you Alexei, manifest positivity in this world.’ Suddenly Alexei paused and looked at me, ‘I have heard that gods walk among people in ancient Greek legends, but...’


If I’m truly being honest, my life didn’t really begin until I died. That might sound contradictory. That’s because it is. But just because something is contradictory doesn’t mean it’s a lie. I’m living - excuse me, *dead* - proof. \~ In my twenty-three years of living, I didn’t do anything spectacular. I wasn’t particularly gifted at anything; I wasn’t particularly loved. My parents had raised me, but never given much of a shit about how I turned out. Though to be fair, neither did I. I barely made it through high school. College was out of the question. At twenty-three, I was working a minimum wage job at a fast food chain, living in an old three-bedroom house with two roommates I’d never had a conversation with for more than ten minutes. I could call them acquaintances, but friends would have been stretching it. One worked the night shift and one had a serious girlfriend whose place he often stayed over at, so I didn’t see either of them much. I remember January 11th perfectly. It started off like any other Thursday. I worked a double shift at work, came home exhausted, made myself dinner, watched some Netflix before bed. At midnight, I brushed my teeth and headed back to my bedroom, planning to get to sleep at a reasonable hour since I had a morning shift the next day. Halfway back to my room, I saw flashes of light downstairs. Leaning over the railing, I could just barely see that the television in the living room had been left on. Ryan must have been watching it and neglected to turn it off before leaving for his graveyard shift an hour ago. I could hear it from here, too; some obnoxious laugh track from a sitcom rerun. I almost left it on, but decided it was worth the trip downstairs to turn it off: I’d be able to hear the laughter from my room, and besides, none of us wanted to pay any more than necessary for the electric bills. Cursing, I turned around and made a beeline for the stairs. It was dark; the lights upstairs were all off, and the only light downstairs was the dim glow of the television. I should have turned a light on, but I didn’t. Because I didn’t, I didn’t see the books stacked by the top step, probably Evan’s. He was a part-time student, after all. He’d left while I’d been in my room too, to go see his girlfriend, and must have left them there. I didn’t know that then. One second I was hurrying to the stairs, telling Ryan heatedly that he was a piece of shit under my breath, and the next, I was tumbling down, having tripped over the books. It happened so fast, I barely felt the pain. A few pangs as my limbs and back collided with the sharp corners of the wooden stairs, but there wasn’t enough time to register much. At the bottom, I was able to gather my thoughts. I ached all over, especially my head. I was laying at the lower landing, and could already feel emerging bruises everywhere. What a fall. It hurt like hell. All because Ryan didn’t turn off the damn television and Evan didn’t put away his damn books. Groaning, I slowly sat up, then stood. I held my hand to my head. While I was down here, I’d better get an icepack. Suddenly, the pain was gone, all of it. My back, my knees, my head. I felt lighter, somehow, too. It was an odd feeling. Was this what it felt like if I was about to pass out? The answer was no. Some sixth sense told me to turn around, and I slowly did. I was greeted with the sight of me. Me, my body, still laying on the bottom landing. My arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and a dark pool of blood was gathered around my head like a halo. My heart sank, but some part of me had expected to see it. I wasn’t entirely surprised. I sat down on the stair, still staring at my body. When I tried to touch my own arm, I couldn’t; I went right through. I’d never believed in ghosts, but here I was, staring at my own corpse. A ghost, or spirit, or whatever - I supposed it didn’t matter now. Whatever I believed in or didn’t, I was clearly dead, and yet still here. I laughed harshly. Imagine when Ryan or Evan came home and found me. Would they miss me? Would they realize they had played a role in this? Probably not. Would my parents even care? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t spoken to them in months. *What a stupid way to die,* I thought. You heard stories of people falling down stairs, sure, but who actually dies from hitting their head after a fall down some stairs in their own house? I couldn’t even *die* right. I sat there for hours, waiting, unsure what to do. I didn’t really expect to see some glowing light or holy force come to collect me, and they didn’t. No grim reapers or anything of the sort either. Just me, suspended, waiting. \~ Ryan and Evan moved out soon after. I watched them go. Evan was first, leaving just days later to move in with his girlfriend. I was hardly surprised; they basically lived together already, except in formality. Ryan left not long after, unable to bear the stain on the stairs that wouldn’t quite leave the wood no matter how it was treated. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, looking around the house but not at the stairs, and whispered that he was sorry. I stood beside him and told him it was okay, I didn’t really blame him anymore, but he didn’t hear me. Once they left, I was alone. I wandered through the house, but I couldn’t leave it. Which was unfortunate, since the house wasn’t any more interesting than it had ever been, and now it was empty: no television, no books, no pool table. Not that I would have been able to use them anyway. I was stuck. After a few months, once the novelty of the event had worn off, the landlord finally decided to rent it again. I saw her put up the FOR RENT sign out front. I watched, too, and waited some more, wondering if anyone would move in, and if they did, if it would even matter. I’d never been noticed or loved when I was alive; why would that change now that I was dead? The new group moved in at the end of June. I remember because they were all excited, talking about various summer plans and their schedules for the next months. There were three of them; Leslie and Noah were students at the local college, both taking summer classes, and Kyle was working two part-time jobs. I felt like I was prying by listening in to all their conversations as they carried in their new furniture, but I couldn’t help it; how else was I supposed to amuse myself? And if I was stuck here with them, I may as well get to know them. They brought in a new television, a foosball table, a dartboard, bookshelves, beds. They moved in themselves, using a U-Haul, Kyle declaring loudly that moving companies were a waste of money. Noah had my old room. I was glad about that. He was soft-spoken, but when he said something, it was always the right thing to say. I’d taken a liking to him immediately. The more I saw of him, the more I knew he was my favorite of the three, and the more I wished to be friends with him. I’d never thought much of friends, but I found myself wishing I was alive, so that maybe I could have made my first friend in Noah. Not that I tried to approach him; I mostly watched from the dark corners of rooms. I knew they couldn’t see me, had no idea I was there, but it felt wrong somehow to just stand among them, or to have them walk through me and shiver at the “cold spot.” That lasted for a while. Another few months passed that way, with me watching and learning about my new roommates but never doing much more. A few months, but not forever. \~ The new school year started in August. By the first week of September, Leslie and Noah were inordinately more stressed than they’d ever been during the summer. They were spending more and more time in their respective bedrooms, studying and writing essays and doing problem sets. Most often, I was in Noah’s room. It was nice to watch him; he was so focused, his concentration displayed all over his face. He tapped his pencil when he was thinking. He played instrumental movie soundtracks while he worked, which I liked. I only knew some of them, but it was fun to guess. I was enjoying myself more than I had since dying, and probably more than I had for most of my life too. One of those nights, I was into the music: it was a piece he’d played often, a track from *Aladdin.* Noah was tapping his pencil vaguely in accordance with the beat, sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading from his psychology textbook. Hardly noticing I was doing it, I stepped out of the corner and strode across the room, swaying my head to the music. I sat cross-legged, mimicking him, on the floor next to his bed, only a few feet from him. Smiling for the first time in ages, I closed my eyes, continuing to move my head in rhythm. When I opened them, Noah was looking directly at me, eyes wide. I stared back at him. Surely he couldn’t see me. Was it something behind me? I turned my head to look; nope, nothing new there. I turned back, and he was still staring at me. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, found me still there. “You...you’re the guy who died here,” he whispered. “I recognize you from your picture. We looked up the story before we moved in.” I knew they had; they’d talked about it. Still, it pleased me that he recognized me. It also shocked me that he saw me at all. “Yeah, I am,” I said. “But you’re...still here?” he said. His voice was impressively even, calm. “Yeah, I am,” I said again. He nodded like he wasn’t surprised. “I thought this house had an odd feeling about it,” he said. “I thought I’d seen glimpses of you around, in corners of rooms. I assumed I was imagining it, but maybe not. Or maybe I’m just going crazy after staring at this textbook for too long.” He shook his head. “Must be lonely. Why didn’t you show yourself before?” He looked thoughtful. He had no idea how much his words meant. No one had shown me this much care before, even when I was alive. “I’ve been around the whole time,” I finally answered, after a long hesitation. “I didn’t think anyone could see me.” He paused, considering. “I don’t think they can,” he said. “They’ve never seen you when I have.” “But you can.” He nodded. “I can.” Then he gave me a tentative grin. “I’m Noah, but you probably know that.” I smiled back. It felt weird, to smile. I hadn’t done it much in my twenty-three years, and not much after they ended either. “Yeah, I do. I’m Oliver, but if you read about me, you probably know that.” “Yeah, I do,” he said. I was so drawn to him; I couldn’t explain it. The first person who’d ever been nice to me, the first person I’d ever wanted to befriend - maybe more than befriend, if I was honest with myself - and I couldn’t even touch him. At least I could talk to him. At least he could see me. One step at a time. Suddenly he reached out and touched my arm. I stared, open-mouthed. His hand didn’t go through me, like everything else did. His hand touched me like I was corporal, like my arm was every bit as flesh and bone as his was. “Oh my God,” I said softly. He grinned. “Must be a first.” “It is,” I breathed. And then, overcome with a desire like I’d never felt before, I grabbed his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. His skin was warm, alive; I could tell mine felt like ice. I wished it didn’t. I wished I was alive again. But maybe this was enough. If Noah could see me, could touch me, maybe it was all I needed. He blushed. “Oh, uh, you’re very forward.” Seeing his cheeks redden made me feel giddy. It would have made my heart pound, filled my stomach with butterflies, if I’d physically had either of those things anymore. I didn’t, and yet somehow I felt more alive than I ever had when I *did* have them. I tentatively smiled. “But you don’t mind it?” He met my eyes, then firmly shook his head. “No, I don’t. I...don’t mind it at all,” he said. “Good,” I said. Keeping his hand in mine, I pulled gently, until he got the hint and came to sit beside me on the floor, bringing his textbook with him. I waited until he was settled, the instrumental version of *A Whole New World* playing on in the background, before I rested my head on his shoulder. He shivered but smiled. “Now,” I said. “Tell me all about psychology.” \~ The days only got better from there. Noah was the one who made me happy, the one who made me want to *exist.* For the first time ever, I felt loved. Someone finally gave a shit about me, and it was the best feeling in the world. It had taken me dying to find a life. I supposed that was ironic, but I didn’t much care. I had Noah, and Noah turned out to be all I needed. I had been dead for months, but really, my life had finally just begun.


She knew the cafe well, but today something was wrong. The shadows would sway and breathe as if responding to her movement while she made her way to her seat. She adjusted her sunglasses and swallowed, widening her eyes as the darkness filled the air around her like thick fumes. She felt as if something were reaching into her chest, squeezing her heart to feel whether it were ripe enough to pick. As she takes her usual seat in the corner she notices a man, his gaze locked on her as she settles. She trembles and fidgets with her glasses once more, unable to hide from the swirls of black ebbing and flowing around her. "It's all right" she said to herself, as she looked to find her server. It was like trying to see through a blizzard. As she scanned the room, she noticed the man was gone from his seat. "It's all right" he whispered into her ear. Startled, she turned to face him not a foot from her face. She couldn't move, she could only feel a rush and a chill. He lifted her glasses, and she stared into his eyes. Black--nothing but black. She tilted her head back, gasping for air as she drowned in the darkness. He pulled back; she exhaled, collapsing on the small table, her cheek pressed to the cold sanitized surface. A feeling of comforting familiarity washed over her, "maybe this is just how I will always feel" she says without a single blink, as she reads the writing carved into the table: "And the rugged wheel is turning another round". In truth, She felt nothing. And she liked it. She learned to like it. She watched the man standing there, her heart in his fist. The darkness continued to fill the room, until there was nothing but the sound of distant beating.


“Leave now!” I heard a voice scream. My upper body shot up in bed and I tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness. The moon did not manage to shine its light through the thick curtains of my bedroom. Despite the late hour and my otherwise deep sleep, I was wide awake and groped for my mobile phone on my bedside table. My heart began to race when I saw the multitude of notifications from my surveillance camera. Someone was trying to break into my house. Once at 1:48 a.m. Once at 1:56 a.m. Once at 2:14 a.m. and once at 2:37 a.m. My gaze fell to the top corner of the screen. 2:39 a.m. An ice-cold shiver spread over my whole body. I jumped out of bed as if by remote control and locked all the windows and doors. In my mind I went through all the entrances to my bungalow. The front door is locked, as is the door to the garden. The big window in the living room is locked. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and locked myself in my bedroom. With trembling fingers, I opened my laptop to look at the camera footage. In the background of the tape I recognise a movement and a red dot. A few seconds later, the screen was soaked in a red, milky light and nothing could be seen. I fast-forward the video a little - black. Whoever wanted to break into my house knew what they were doing. He had taped off the lens but forgotten the motion detector. Again my gaze falls to my smartphone. No further notification. Still, I didn't feel comfortable. Not alone. I could not be alone now. Determined, I pressed one of the speed dial buttons. Before I could even bring the phone to my ear, a sharp pain ran through my head. I dropped the phone and pressed both hands against my temples. This must be the sleep deprivation. "Babe? Are you there? Hello?" I heard softly. I picked up the phone again. "Yes I'm here. Can you come here please? Someone tried to break in and I don't feel safe," I explained, on the verge of tears. My boyfriend assured me he would be with me in a short while, as he was just nearby anyway. A few minutes later, my doorbell rang. I turned the key around and let my boyfriend in. I hastily told him a short version of the events. He accompanied me back to my bed. He stroked my hair soothingly while I told him about the voice in my head and the pain that went through me. "I guess my subconscious didn't want me to call you," I quipped. He turned me towards him and smiled at me. His fingers ran down my cheek towards my chin. His smile was different. Not so soft and warm. His eyes. There was something in his eyes I never saw before. It was cold and unsettling. The moment he wrapped his fingers around my neck with a painful force, I suddenly realised why he was near my house. Desperately I fumbled for the knife that I had taken with me for this very reason. But it was too late. Just before I lost consciousness forever, his words echoed in my head. "You should have listened to your subconscious.


Working at the mall was rarely intriguing. Interesting occasionally, funny sometimes, but always with a thick blanket of boredom and monotony. Helping customers and stocking the small shelves had become an essentially autonomous process for me, and most days my mind would settle into a trance, only waking when my scheduled breaks gave me a moment of escape. Of course, escape is a pretty limited ordeal when you have to be back at the store in 10 minutes. When there's nothing but mall and parking lots for half a mile in every direction, there just aren't many options. People watching, wandering the mall, every now and then a brief moment of curiosity when a new shop moves in. Trying to guess what sort of goods or services will be offered based on the newly installed sign. Meeting the new shift regulars. But Precision Offerings was different than the other new stores, and that, for once, made my job intriguing. For starters, no one seemed to even know they were looking to move in before they opened. Usually a space is open for a month or two between one seasonal shop and the next. Not so for Precision Offerings. One Friday, space C-18 was the Summer Supply Store, on Saturday they were completely hauled out, and Precision Offerings was open by 10AM Sunday. At least, they had a sign up saying they were open. I'd only caught a glimpse from a floor above on my way in that morning, it looked like their store was still pretty empty. But the lights were on and the door was open. I decided I'd wait until lunch to take a closer look. I clocked in, tranced out, and before long it was time to eat. Unpacking my bag lunch, I'm faced with a new dilemma. My gluten-free, vegan room mate has prepared a lovely concoction of garlicky herbal spreads and strange super-fruits that I'm sure he'd been looking forward to. But instead, he's probably unwrapping my leftovers from Taco Macho and the potato wedges I'd tossed together for lunch. Damn. On my way to the food court, I can take a small detour to check out the new store. There's no line, but that's not too surprising for the very first day. Walking into the mostly white store, I'm struck by my inability to identify what kind of place it is. One one shelf, there's some motor oil and an.. alternator? I'm not great with car parts. Another shelf has a very finely crafted Victorian style doll. Near what I took to be the checkout counter, there was a small food case with a single muffin, a pastrami on rye sandwich, and two oranges. Each shelf in the store was bare except for a single item or small collection of related things, but I couldn't come up with any reasoning to link them all together. "Would you like a sandwich, or some oranges?" the clerk asked me. Wearing mostly white, I'd almost not noticed him standing behind the counter. He looked like most mall clerks do, young, well kept, but with a smile that says "I'd rather be on my phone". "Oh, actually.." I replied, suddenly remembering my lunch dilemma, ".. a sandwich does sound pretty good. How much is it?" "$6.17 with tax" he said. Not a bad deal for lunch, and worth trying out the new grub. Plus I wouldn't have to wait in line at the Wendy's downstairs. "So, first day, huh? I work a couple floors down. How's business?" I asked. "It's been just fine, like usual. New place, same store, you know?" "Oh, so you moved in from somewhere else? That explains how you got set up so quick. It's usually a longer process" I said, with a slightly impressed tone. "Well, truth is, it's really easy to set up a Perfect Offerings store. No signage, no displays, just a few shelves and a tiny inventory" he explained, gesturing to the mostly empty floor. "Setting up on the first day is almost exactly the same as any other day, just in a new spot." "Ok, well, now you've got me stumped. I see what you have on display here, but.. what kind of shop is this, exactly?" I asked, finally letting my curiosity get the best of me. He smiled, and with a practiced delivery said "Precision Offerings sells exactly what you need, when you need it, and not a single thing more. Guaranteed." I waited for the punchline, but he said no more. His phone rang, and he quickly thanked me for my business before getting into a conversation with someone who was having car troubles. While I ate lunch, which was pretty tasty actually, I wondered just what he'd meant. It was surely some corporate slogan that only holds up when interpreted in a specific way, but usually I can figure out what they mean. I'll have to come back to it sometime, break is just about up and I still need to piss. Over the next few days, I can't stop wondering about Precision Offerings. I started using my morning break to walk by, and peer in through the windows. Every day, there were new items in the store. Strangely, they were entirely new each day. A pinata, recliner, and hand made wooden loom one day, balloons, duct tape, and tax software the next. Nothing was ever on sale for more than a day. It wasn't long before I realized what I was actually seeing, and the revelation made me angry. The only way someone could make money selling such a diverse selection of stuff is if the stuff is coming to them for free. This wasn't a pawn shop trying to sell anything worth anything, it was something different. I started to suspect this was some sort of specialized fencing operation. Steal a few things here, a few things there, from shops and stores around the mall, then sell them in a weird little store. Like I said before, the mall was usually pretty boring, so my mind had lots of time to speculate. That's how I found myself devising a plan to follow the clerk one night. I stayed late after my shift, and waited for him to close the store. As usual, the shelves were empty at this point, I still hadn't figured out what he did with the unsold items. He turned off the lights, pulled down the security gate, and locked up. Then, with almost uncanny precision, he turned to look straight at me. "Hello, I have seen you watching my store. I think you're ready to ask some questions, but it will be much easier if you meet me here in the morning before I open. Will you come?" he asked, as though he were casually inviting me to go get a drink. "I.. uh.. sure" I uttered, the words barely making it out over my surprise at being called out so swiftly. "Great. See you then!" And with that, he put on his headphones and strolled off. I considered following him, but just as I did, he looked back and gave me a friendly wave. Maybe I shouldn't. I didn't sleep very well that night. "Ok, I'm not going to beat around the bush. I'm going to tell you how this works, and you won't believe me, but it's the truth." The clerk, who's name turned out to be Claude, was giving me an earnest look with no indication of sarcasm. "Every morning, when I open the store, there's a box behind the counter. In the box is The List, and today's items. The List tells me what each thing is, and how much it will sell for. I set the things up, and then wait for the customers." "Everything sells, every single day. I don't know how, or why, but every thing I put up on the shelves gets bought. I've put things up there that make absolutely no sense to sell, old newspapers, broken plates, VHS tapes, you name it. But no matter what it is, if it comes from the box and it's on the list, it gets bought. That's it. That's the whole store." "Bullshit" I said. "Everyone knows mall shops are games of margins. No one sells 100% of their stock, regardless of what they sell." "I know, I know. I didn't believe it at first either. But it always works. Every single day." His expression was still serious. I was starting to wonder just how committed he was to this trolling. "Well, I guess that makes your job pretty easy then, huh?" I asked. "It is effortless. I do not have to manage inventory, deal with complaints or returns, or run promotions. I open the store, I sell the items, and I go home." "Huh. How's the pay?" I asked, deciding to entertain this little nonsense for the moment. "It's pretty good." He showed me. It was. "Hah. Wow. How do you wind up with such a sweet gig?" "Here's the part you really won't believe. You just.. ask." He said, looking expectantly at me. "So I just say, 'Can I have a job?'" I asked. "Don't you already have one?" he replied. "This is a full time position, you can't work a second job with it." "Sure, but for that pay, and such an easy gig, I'd leave my old shop behind in a heartbeat. You know, if it was real, and not some elaborate prank." "Of course" he said. "I just realized, I didn't ask you your name yet." "Me? I'm Nick." I told him, surprised it hadn't come up yet. "Nick, check this out." He reached into a drawer, pulled out a box knife, and cut into the box behind the counter. Lying neatly on top was a small metal nametag. "Nick". He handed it to me. "Size L, waist 38?" he asked, as he handed me a shrunk wrapped pile of white clothing. "What the hell is this?" I asked. "Nick, this is your new job. Assuming you're still interested?" And that's how I started at Precision Offerings. The easiest job I've ever had, at the weirdest shop that mall ever had, which was maybe the worst decision I ever made.


Alessia followed me around the corner. “So you’re going to just follow that cable and...” She arrived next to me, staring straight down the barrel of the gun pointed at us. “Uh.” “How many more of you are there?” the woman holding the gun asked. “None. Just us,” I replied. “Let’s be clear. If you are telling the truth, the first bullet enters your skull. If you are lying, the first one enters your little toe, and I work my way up centimeter by centimeter, you understand? How many more of you are there?” “Just us,” I repeated. The woman nodded to the gun in my hand. “You dare even think of raising that thing, you will be dead.” “I know.” “What are you doing here?” “Trying to leave,” Alessia replied. “Answer the question.” Alessia rolled her eyes, some of her old attitude reemerging. Compared to the beasts from the forests and the frightened people fighting with spears and rocks, having a gun pointed at us felt like a step back to normal. The situation was dire, but it felt within the world we knew. “We landed here, were captured by some group of people, they took us to the river to be sacrificed to you, we jumped in, here we are.” “You met the islanders?” “Yes.” The woman looked to the others around her, all dressed in the same identical white smocks that draped across the floor. “Find out who they met. We’ll cleanse them.” “So that’s how you work then?” Alessia waited for the woman’s face to snap back before she continued. “Wait till someone imagines something other than your rules, and then murder them.” “We’re preserving nature,” the woman stated with a neutral tone. “Uh huh,” Alessia smirked. “Is that what you call all this? And that gun in your hand?” “We are not part of nature. We, the Leviathans, preserve it. We make the sacrifice so that the rest of the islanders can be one with the Earth.” “Yeah. I can see the sacrifice you're making.” Alessia's eyes glanced up to the building around us, and the lights hanging from the ceiling. “You are mistaken if you think this is not a sacrifice. Each one of us would rather be on the other side of the tunnel, being part of our world around us. No one can ever achieve peace and harmony, while surrounded by this depravity. We are corrupted by it. We will never be one. It is a sacrifice.” “Then why choose this?” I asked. “Why do you choose to be here rather than out there?” The woman shook her head, letting out a sigh. “We did not choose. We were chosen. Sent down by tribes, and offered to the Leviathans. Every Leviathan alive was born the other side of the tunnel. Tasted true freedom and beauty, and then was sent here. It’s our calling, to sacrifice our own lives so that they can be free from humanity’s mistakes.” I started trying to eye up my surroundings. I glanced at the electric lights above me, then to the windowless walls. My pupils flickered back and forth while I spoke, unsure if my words were a mere delaying tactic or a genuine attempt to understand. “So why not leave? Stop being Leviathans and return.” “Because civilization is like a vine on a tree. The tree is already perfect. Yet, left unchecked, a vine will always grow. It climbs up the bark, steals nutrients, and blocks the light, until the tree suffocates. Civilisation is a parasite. Only by cutting back the vine, stopping it before it grows, can the tree live. So when the island decided to seek nature, the Leviathans were chosen to always keep watch. To trim the vine.” “You... you really believe this, don’t you?” Alessia said, the smallest chuckle escaping her lips as she finished. “Why do you doubt it?” “Have you seen life on the other side of the tunnel?” Alessia’s shoulders twitched, but she forced her arms to remain still, aware of the gun still aimed at us. Instead, the emotion poured through her face. Her eyes filled with rage, her lips curled into a snarl, her cheeks flushed red. “People are murdering each other just to survive. I saw some creature twice the size of a dog, tear chunks off a man while he was still breathing. They’re not at peace. They’re dying.” “But it is natural. It is how the Earth is meant to be. It is the instinct of the wolf to seek meat. Instinct of any creature to seek sustenance from the Earth.” The woman raised her left hand, her eyes glancing to the heavens above. “The Earth will provide it to some, and in turn remain in balance and in harmony. But humans decided that they were above nature. Demanded to be more than part of a greater system, but to invent their own system - civilisation. And what about the sins of your world? Greed, corruption, murder. Did civilization cure those?” “No. But we learned how to share knowledge, how to treat injuries, how to live a life that was more than suffering-” “-All life that is with technology is suffering,” the woman interrupted, her sermonly tone replaced with venom. “All of it.” She jolted her arm with the gun forward, her fingers tensing around it. I looked to my right. There was a series of crates stacked in a random order, thin gaps between them. But, to my left, is where my eyes kept returning, back to that series of electrical circuits. That mess of wires beckoned me. “So to be clear. There is no chance you will let us leave peacefully?” “None,” the woman asked. “You are the vine. The weed. The parasite. And you will be eliminated.” “Okay,” I nodded. “Well, I hope you’ve never used that gun properly.” As the woman opened her mouth to speak, I turned and charged at Alessia, my arms outstretched. I wrapped them around her, grabbing her and tackling her to the ground. Two shots were fired, but I had no idea where they went. I rolled over and fired three shots at the circuits on the wall. The gun recoiled with each shot, flicking back in my unsteady hand. The first two bullets met wood, the sides of the building splintering as the metal tore through the plank. But the last found the circuitry, hitting the delicate web of wires. The room went black. I turned to find Alessia, grabbing a limb, and pulling her between two of the crates nearby. “Find them,” the woman barked. I reached down Alessia’s arm and found her hand. I held it. She squeezed back. I couldn’t see her. I dare not speak. But she was alive. I gently pulled her arm towards me as she got to her feet, crouching next to me. “Someone watch the door,” the woman ordered. “Don’t let them escape.” Footsteps entered the room, maybe only three of four metres from us. A gun fired. Crates shattered, wooden debris smacked into my side as I closed my eyes, praying the shots strayed no closer. The Leviathan let out a frustrated growl as they listened to the sounds of their bullets finding only wood. “Someone fix those lights.” A man screeched across the warehouse. I pulled on Alessia’s hand, and keeping low we began finding our way. My hand was held out in front of me as I retraced our steps back towards the rear of the warehouse. I tried to keep a mental picture of where we were. I listened to the Leviathans. The shuffling of shoes across the floor, or the irritated thuds of knees meeting errant crates. We turned the corner into the previous room, but as I did, my shoe slipped briefly against the concrete floor. A small squeak left my sole. A body turned. Shots were fired. More wood fractured. A glass bottle shattered. An empty box fell off a shelf, landing on my back, bouncing off me and onto the ground. Silence. Then more shots. One found metal, a pinging noise echoed through the building as the bullet ricocheted off. The second bounced off the floor inches away from me, and I could feel the small rush of wind as it passed by my thigh. I pulled on Alessia’s hand once more and we scrambled through to the next room, sneaking our way between the boxes until we reached that small backroom and the ditch to the outside. Now, in pure darkness, what little light the night provided summoned us out not in. I dove into the hole, wrestling my body against the space. I squirmed at every creak of the wood above me, at every scraping of the dirt by my torso. But after a few seconds, my hips made it past the thinnest points, and I could wrestle my body through to the other side. I stood up and turned as Alessia began making her way through. I watched as her arms and then head appeared through the small tight space. “I think I see one of them. Back here,” I heard a voice from the inside shout. Alessia’s head jolted up at me. Her eyes were solemn and glassy, her mouth opened, panting. I leaned down and grabbed her arm as a string of shots were fired, an entire clip emptied in seconds. But the shots didn’t sound as though they were only a metre or so away, but deeper, far within the building. As soon as Alessia was through I let go and turned to inspect her. Not a scratch. The bullets were meant for some other ghost in the darkness. “You okay?” I whispered. Alessia rolled over, looking up at me with a wide smile. “Never been better.” Getting to her feet, Alessia pointed to the gun in my hand. “I lost mine when you tackled me.” “Hopefully we won’t need this one anymore.” I rotated the awkward metal object in my hand. “Keep it. Just in case.” We began sneaking around the side of the building, the Leviathans hopefully still hunting for us in the blackness. We kept close to the wall, with our eyes pointed forward. I kept the gun in my hand, feeling the weight of it drag the limb down. But I primed the muscles in my arm, ready to lift it at a moment’s notice, the tendons slowly aching with tension. We reached the front of the warehouse and I looked out across the courtyard. It was empty. At the front of the building I could see the warehouse door, the bolt slid back into the open position. “Start heading to the boat,” I whispered. “Get it untied.” Alessia shook her head, biting back what she wanted to say. “Be quick.” As Alessia headed down to the boat I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the run. I visualized each pace, where my body would hit the metal door, where my arm would have to be to cleanly grab the bolt. With every moment pictured, I sprinted, charging with all my energy into the huge door. It swung around, smacking into the shut position, as I grabbed the bolt and slid it across. I turned back as angry shouts bellowed from the building. More bullets were fired, the wood breaking behind me, as metal whistled through the air. I ducked my head, holding my arms up as I sprinted along the front of the warehouse, and down towards the ocean. As I reached the boat, Alessia was just unfurling the sail, tying it to the rigging. The boat was small, no more than five metres long. It wouldn’t survive the ocean, but it might get us to the sea. “Untie the ropes,” Alessia said. I ran into the water, my legs kicking up splashes, as I waded in up to my thighs. I reached the front, untied the knot, and grabbed the hull, giving it the hardest tug I could, forcing it the first metre in the correct direction. I lifted myself out of the water as Alessia dragged me aboard, my clothes soaking once more. “Hey. Come back!” I looked over to the shore to see a man running down, the cassock billowing in the wind, but still showing no movement beneath the knees. It was the youngest of the Leviathans. The one who was still a boy, his face still morphing into adulthood. He stood at the shore, looking down at the ocean, unsure of how to go any further. Slowly, he raised his hand. His arm was shaking, as he fired the gun. The elbow bent with each shot, sending ammo off in wild and inaccurate directions Alessia pulled me down to the floor. I lay prone for a second, waiting for a break. Then I lifted myself up to my knees, pointed the gun back to the shore, and for the first time in my life, fired a gun with malice. The first two shots missed, but I got lucky with the third and fourth. Hitting him in the right arm and shoulder. The boy flew back to the ground. He let out an agonized scream as his body convulsed in pain. He was alive. But he didn’t return fire again. He merely lay there. Spasms of pain shooting through his body as he wept. I stared at the gun in my hand. Feeling disgust seep into my soul as the boy’s anguished screams echoed out across the ocean. The sensation grew too much, and I reflexively flung the gun off the side of the boat, watching it sink into the water. My body was free of a weight that threatened to crush it. Yet, inside, I could still feel that slow compression tightening around my chest. It didn’t go. It refused. Even as the man’s voice was drowned out by the sloshing of the tide against the hull, even as the village of the Leviathans was obscured by the cliffs, my heart felt like lead. The boat sailed out of a small cove and we navigated around the island, back to the beach where we had first landed. The incoming tides had pushed both boats over towards a series of rocks. The pirates’ vessel had been wedged upon them, but in turn had protected Alessia’s. We retrieved the stash of items from the forest and quickly headed back aboard Alessia’s boat, determined to leave as soon as we could. At last, Outer Fastanet was behind us. Alessia held the wheel in her hands, feeling the familiar sense of the boat at her palms. She held her head up, feeling the sea breeze push her hair. Her chest swelled as she took deep lungfuls of ocean air, recalibrating herself to what felt right. However, I couldn’t seem to find the same peace. I sat on the steps, my body twitching, and my eyes glancing around, unable to stay looking at one point for too long lest demons creep into view. “You okay?” Alessia said, leaning over the wheel. I turned to her. “I shot a man... a boy,” I corrected myself, a splutter of revulsion escaping in a laugh. “You got him in the shoulder. He’ll likely live.” “On that place? Without proper care?” I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “Don’t coddle me, Alessia.” She tied the small piece of rope around the wheel, and walked over to the steps, sitting down beside me. Alessia placed a hand on my back. “He was shooting at you. You were protecting yourself. And me.” “He was a kid. Younger than Cameron. Probably the same as Robin. And I shot him.” “I know.” Alessia looked out to sea. “Sometimes we do really shitty things because we have to. They’re right at the time, but they still feel bad. So, I’m not telling you to feel okay about it. Because that guilt is good, it’s what makes you a good person. But, just know, from me, what you did was right at the time.” I sniffed. Two small tears ran down my cheeks. “I know, it’s just...” I trailed off, as my eyes watered once more. “Ferdinand. What you did tonight... It was brave. And not something I’ve ever seen from you. You saved my life tonight. I hope - truly - that you never have to do that ever again. I hope we both don’t have to. But, *you* saved us.” I turned to face Alessia. She stared at me with a half-smile, her brow raised slightly. “Thank you,” I muttered. “I... I’m going to need to recover though...” Alessia chuckled. “Me too. That was the worst place I have ever been.” “You seem to be coping better than me.” I wiped away the damp on my cheek with my arm. “Different ways of coping,” Alessia said, tilting her head. “I still feel it.” “I need...” I struggled to find the words. “Can we... breathe for a while... I’m not ready for another adventure right now.” Alessia burst out laughing. “Oh, Ferdinand, how I’ve longed to hear you say that.” She stood up and turned to face me. “How’s this? We go to Talin Barier. We ask around. If we get word of Sannaz then we go find him. But, we stay there for a while. Maybe I pick up a couple of quick trading routes to pay our way every so often. But otherwise, for a little while, we stay put. If something comes up, we go. Otherwise... no adventuring.” I looked up at her with a smile brought about from a moment of certainty creepy across my face. “That sounds great.” Alessia reached out a hand, and pulled me up to my feet. “Onwards to the next... not an adventure then.


You know how it feels when someone is watching you? They’re just out of sight or maybe hiding in your peripherals, but you know they’re there. It feels like I’m being watched...but I feel this all around me. It feels like a million eyes staring at me from all angles. I can’t see them, but somehow I just know they can see me... and they know what I’m thinking, too. I shiver and this awful feeling courses through me. I look down to find that I’m covered in goosebumps while beads of sweat drip down my forehead. My hands feel impossibly cold, like I just dipped them in an ice bath. I wish I could see. It’s so dark in some places and in others, I can’t quite make out what’s happening. Everything looks blurry even through the glasses that threaten to slip right off my nose in this cold sweat. I hear murmurs coming from my left side--or was it my right? I can’t keep whipping my head around like this. Something isn’t right. I look up and am blinded by fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering above. I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to look down and find my biggest fears in the spotlight. All I see is a large splotch staining my view and following my gaze as I turn to take in the room. I try to take a step forward and feel like I was punched in the gut. The spots dance throughout my vision now. I know somehow that if I keep going, I might not make it back. There’s something out there, watching me, waiting for me, wanting to pull me in and never let me go--like a hand suddenly grabbing your ankle in dark waters. I can feel something getting closer--something that shouldn’t be here. What scares me most is how it’s making me feel like it always belonged. I feel drawn to approach it and let it in. Every step tightens the knots in my stomach yet feels like an embrace from an old friend. It feels comfortable somehow. It wraps itself around my neck and I gasp for breath. I can feel its grasp around my head and making its way inside. It wants to go forward. I open myself to it. I can feel my thoughts turn into something not my own, something I can’t recognize. They spout vitriol at me and tear me down for every perceived fault that has ever been and will ever be. They tell me that I am nothing and will always be nothing, and if I walk through that door then everyone will see. They’ll see me ugly, naked, and cowering in fear and incompetence. The mask will drop forever. They’ll see what I see. Painful memories swirl around me as the darkness deepens. The oppressive presence is inside me now. I remember the time my voice trembled and cracked when presenting my final project my senior year and the laughs that followed. I remember the times I thought about approaching the pretty girl in the room and kicked myself for even considering it. I remember the relationships I’ve lost to neglect and anger, my self-inflicted isolation as the final nail in the coffin. A sound behind me cuts through the voices rushing through my head. It sounds muffled to me among the chaos. I can vaguely hear the words, “You’re on in five.” It feels like there’s a block of lead at the bottom of my stomach. I can feel my consciousness fading as the darkness extends its tendrils deeper into my mind. My instinct is to just let go and let it take over me completely. It feels intentional and powerful. I feel aimless and meek. It seeks out the worst parts of me and makes them its own, clouding my memories and gradually convincing me that this was always meant to be. This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be. Is this how I’m supposed to be? Are tension and apprehension just the natural vehicles through life? They feel safer than whatever is out there. I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what people will think of me there. I do know where I stand here. Here, I control my punishments and dole them out before others have the chance to. I don’t need to experience the whiplash and rollercoaster of emotions if I stay all the way down here the whole time. I can’t fall if I don’t allow myself to start climbing. It needs me here. It needs me to host and feed it until it can take no more and explodes in flames of rage and havoc over my life. I’ve let it feed off me over the years until it’s the only comfort I recognize. Trying to break the cycle feels like a betrayal to myself. The voice reappears at the other end of the room and calls out that it’s time. That feels impossible to me now. I cannot fathom moving from this spot and letting it go. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anchored down so I don’t float away. It loosens its grip for a moment, just long enough for something new to come in. This one isn’t a memory, but an aspiration. I used to have shelves filled with them. I wanted to keep climbing so I could see the view others get to see from the start. Now, all I see is the steep drop down if I stumble. I see how the darkness has tried to hide the path in front of me. It has stopped me from exploring too many forks in the road and has led me right back to where I started over and over again. I’m tired of being stuck. I stand up straight and prepare to take a step forward. I brace for the pain. Walking away hurts so much more than walking toward it. It’s time. It punishes me with a punch to the gut. My head starts spinning and my hands shake. It’s getting easier to see where the cloud is lifting. The sharp images in my head of a room filled with people silently despising and criticizing me are fading out of sight. It had programmed my fears to feel more real than memories. I keep walking forward and feel a warm light on my face again. I hear applause as I step through the curtain and onto the stage. The voice returns to introduce me as the next speaker. I pull the notecards out of my pocket and see that my nervous hands have crumpled and smeared my words. I take a deep breath and realize that the tightness in my chest is gone. The tension in my temples seems to have disappeared. There’s no one in my head screaming at me that all I do is screw things up. There’s nothing pushing me to run away. My voice cracks as I try to squeeze out an introduction. My heart drops. I make eye contact with a man crossing his arms across his oversized sports jacket. He chuckles and nudges his colleague with his elbow. I always knew this was going to happen. At least that gave me a lifetime to prepare for it. I chuckled right back at him and cleared my throat. This will probably happen again, but I think I’ll be just fine next time.


A mother's watch never ends. Sabrina sighed as she picked up after her child. Toys lay scattered over his room, socks kicked aside, and empty cups adorned his table. Such a sweet young child, undisciplined, but sweet. Such is to be expected of one so young, mused Sabrina. After all, he was only a sweet tender boy of four. Barely coherent in his daily random babbling, but growing up to be just like his lovely father. Her thoughts turned to the other boy in the house. A grown man, a fine man by all means, but boys will be boys. His habit of leaving clothes right beside the laundry basket, his perpetual insistance on keeping his computer on because he *might* use it later, and a habit which his son learnt from him, of leaving empty plates on tables. So infuriating. So, similar to one another. "Am I the only grown up in this house?", grouched Sabrina. The room was dark by now, dimly lighted by the moonlight. She had been cleaning for the greater part of the day, yet her house never seemed to get any neater. Her gaze turned towards her son, and a smile crept across her face. A gentle hand brushed his hair aside as Sabrina kissed his forehead. It was to be a long day for him tomorrow, and he needs all the rest he can get. Sabrina lightly moved towards the master bedroom and opened the door quietly. Her husband already in a peaceful slumber in the middle of the bed, hugging her pillow. She embraced him in a similar fashion and laid her head upon his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she too, fell asleep. It was to be a long day tomorrow. A glimmer of sunlight shone upon her face, waking Sabrina up. She was resting alone on the bed now, her husband gone. Rare was the occasion when he woke earlier than her. Sabrina reached her hands outright and puffed out her chest as she yawned. She wandered through the house looking for her family, but it seems like they had already left without her. She knew where they would be though. Gathering herself, she stepped out of her house. Her pace quickly led her to where her family was. A flower shop at the corner of the street, and the Carnations it sold there were her favourites. She had reached just in time to see her husband and son walked out of the shop with a large bouquet of her favourite flora. Yellow and pink with a dash of white. It warmed her heart to know that the two most important men in her life remembered her favourite. She amused herself by hiding from sight, following them towards their next destination. "What a surprise it'll be for them when they see me there!", she quipped, as her lithe steps allowed her to keep up with them. Their destination was not far off. The flowershop was strategically placed for this reason. A slight hike up an incline, a meander off to the side, and across a great oak, lies a tomb. Sabrina walked up behind behind her family and held them tightly in a warm embrace. Her hands brushing their tears aside, as she kissed their heads. She will watch over them as long as she can. For a mother's watch never ends.


"Matty what is the meaning of life?" "There is no meaning to this thing you call life." "But you're a cat, how do you know this?" "I am a cat, and you are a human. But we are also the same." "What do you mean, wise feline?" "There is only one piece of knowledge that we know is true, and it is the only fact in our universe worthy of consideration. It is this: when the universe began, you, and I, and everything you can see - and even things you cannot - were the same. You, and the man collecting your garbage, were created from the same particle of matter, smaller than a grain of sand, yet heavier than the sun. From that particle came everything in existence in this small but significant universe. It is human invention that makes you believe we are different. When you are kind to another person, you are kind to yourself. Inversely, when you hate a patron of your work, you also hate yourself. This is not religion, nor philosophy, it is the truth. This is all I know - this is what gives life and existence beauty beyond measure." "Wait, Matty, are you speaking English?" "I am speaking an ancient language, human, but I will never speak it again. Remember my purrs, for they will guide you, until everything is one again." Matty then pooped in his litter box and slept by the fireplace.


I am at the top of the world. I swing and land perfectly on my feet, the cloud cheers, I can barely see them through the lights flashing on me, but I see enough. I hear the sound through the soles of my feet and jump, bringing my entire body down to the floor in one flawless movement, then I am back up again in a flash, the crowd goes wild. I love this.  I am 5 years old, kneeling on my balcony with a piece of rock bigger then my hand resting near my feet. I am waiting for him to come, I wait endlessly for him to come so that I can drop this on his head.  I just turned 18 today, it is magnificent, the world is whatever I want it to be, my friends are cheering me to come and join them, we are all going to have a great big party today, one to end all parties I am told. Today, we are adults, and the night and the world is ours.  I am back at the stage, with what feels like a million eyes on me, everyone is cheering me on, it feels good, I do a back flip and almost fall on my ass, shit, no time for showing off, stick to the choreography.  I am 12 years old. I am speaking to this girl I met at class, I was always too shy around her, and here she is, talking to me like we are the only two people in the world. I hear her words like music from her to me, a love letter of epic proportions, I don't know this, but this is the last time I will ever speak with her.  I just woke up, I have the worst headache of all, I cannot think properly, there is so much pain, I try to look around only to stop due to an excruciating pain that goes through right side of my face, I look around, my eyes adjusting to my surroundings, its cold, its white, I see the face of my mother who seems to have just woken up with tears in her eyes, I want to say something but I can't, something is stopping me from doing so.  I am 14 years old, I just told my best friend something and he betrayed me like it was nothing. I am heart broken and I have nothing to live for, I stand at the edge of the roof looking down, thinking how much it will hurt if I jump.  I jump... The crowd erupts in wild applause like they have seen nothing like it, I can hear their thunderous roar through the air, I smile and let my body go into a slow rhythm, letting a wave of predictable motion take over it to get ready for the end, they will love the finale.  I am 80 years old, I look at my 6 month old great grand child in my arms, the people I love have surrounded me and keep talking, but I cannot hear any of them, I just look at this beautiful angel holding on to my finger and looking at me quizzically, like I am some new toy she has to figure out.  I am 27 years old, I keep falling and missing the timings, its just me here at 3:43 in the morning, I get up and try again, its so exhausting, maybe they were all right, maybe I can never do this, I think to myself as I am lying there covered in sweat and my body just telling me to let it be and rest. Just go home and rest. I stand again.  With one final triumph I finish my song with the best moves that we had planned, and the entire crowd stand up in unison and starts yelling something, I can finally see them now as the lights have come up in the auditorium. I am sweating profusely, but my body is still electric, I feel I can do the entire thing again and again without stopping, someone comes on stage and tells me something, I cannot understand them, the adrenaline is pumping through my body making me feel light headed, but I shake their hands, and bow in front of the audience, I am crying right now, but my tears are mixed with my sweat, I don't think anyone notices. No one but her.  I am 19 years old. I am told I will never hear again. It won't be till much later that I learn, that the damage to my nerves and ears was so bad that I cannot even use any artificial hearing devices. My mother keeps crying, but I don't shed a single tear, I have to be strong. I hold on to her and tell her I love her, as I say this, I cannot hear my own words, but when I hug her I feel her small frame shivering against mine, I smile and tell her its ok, that everything will be alright.  I name my great grand child.  \  Hi, thank you so much for reading, even if you didn't like it, in that case, please tell me what you didn't like. I am writing after a looooong time, and reddit feels like a second home now, so, would love to hear what you guys think.  All criticism welcome, constructive or otherwise, but I would like to know where I went wrong as I am not really a, "writer" in the conventional sense of the word.  Please tell me what you though, what could have been better, did you see the ending coming? was there something I could have done to make it better? or any other questions I might have missed.


In the electronic haze of Hong Kong's digitally lit skyline, hidden in an unassuming network of alleyways, stood Zoe's realm: an inconspicuous electronics repair shop, alive with the rhythmic pulse of humming circuits and whispering computer hardware. At the tender age of 19, Zoe had etched out a place for herself in this world of transistors and code. Once a chaotic storage space, the backroom had transformed into her sanctuary - a private sector governed by complex circuitry and advanced algorithmic constructs. Her mismatched socks - one striped, the other pixelated with binary dots - peeked out from beneath her workspace, injecting a touch of color against the sterile white tiles. She hunched over an exposed computer tower, her jet-black hair spilling over her shoulder and cascading down her back, enclosing her in a curtain of focus. Her deft fingers navigated the matrix of wires and circuits with the precision and poise of a veteran surgeon. "This isn't syncing up," Zoe murmured, her almond-shaped eyes reflecting a fierce determination. The code was riddled with inconsistencies; rogue backdoors and anomalies peppered the lines, and her astute mind missed none. Her gaze flickered from the dissected hardware to her monitor, the bluish glow of the intricate code mirrored in her intense, unwavering stare. Without warning, her screen blazed a violent red, a cyber alert. Her firewall had been breached. Yet, in the face of imminent digital chaos, Zoe's eyes sparked, the thrill of an uncharted challenge lighting up her gaze. A rookie might've faltered, but not Zoe; this was an invitation to test her unmatched resilience and prowess. "Oh, isn't this intriguing? Let's see what these hackers are made of," she mused, her voice weaving through the oscillating fans and humming mainframes around her. A calculated smile crept onto her lips, illuminated by the eerie red glow of the breached terminal. This bold intruder had unwittingly presented her with a fresh algorithm to decode. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, scripting an elaborate dance of complex code. The infiltrator was skilled, their strategy well-crafted, but Zoe Chen was a force unto herself. As the moments bled into hours, the solitary room pulsed with the rhythmic pounding of keystrokes and the second hand's inexorable march. Physically static but mentally a whirlwind, Zoe diligently dissected patterns within the digital matrix sprawled before her. An anomaly in the pattern of the cyber onslaught seized her attention. "Honeypot! They lured us right in," she muttered, the revelation as startling as it was intriguing. The intruder hadn't merely aimed to invade her system; they had engineered a digital trap, hoping to ensnare her in a deceptive web of complex code. An impish smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as Zoe accepted the challenge. Swiftly, she engineered a virtual decoy, a strand of deceptive code to confound her unseen adversary. With a decisive tap on the enter key, her screen blinked before bathing the room in a soothing green. "You're in my world now," she murmured with satisfaction. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm, adrenaline coursing where fear might have taken hold. This was her element - the exhilarating chase, the unraveling of a digital mystery. The taste of victory was intoxicating, and Zoe savored it, leaning back in her chair as her eyes flicked to the system clock at the corner of her screen; it displayed 3:24 am. Fingers poised over the keyboard, Zoe murmured, "Time to unmask the ghost in the machine." Her focus wasn't confined to restoring her system's integrity but also to discerning the motive behind this intrusion. She couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that this hack wasn't a random act of digital vandalism. The tenacity of the attack suggested a specific intent. But why would anyone target a humble computer repair shop in the labyrinthine back alleys of Hong Kong? Pausing mid-thought, her gaze unfocused. "Some script kiddie trying to shadow my moves? Unlikely. I'm solid in the scene but I'm not reinventing the wheel. Or am I? Could there be a poser out there, trying to clone my bespoke crypto techniques?" The thought aligned with her circumstances but didn't entirely fit the situation's pattern. "Corporate espionage?" she mused aloud, a touch of humor lacing her tone. She imagined Big Tech giants, hunched over their shiny conference tables, laser-focused on her little computer repair shop tucked away in the backstreets of Hong Kong. The image was almost laughable. "Oh, right. Big corps shaking in their boots over my circuit designs. Come back down to reality" Yet, even as she made light of the idea, Zoe was acutely aware of the reality that in the intricate and high-stakes world of tech, stranger things had indeed happened. As another hypothesis began to form in her mind, Zoe's fingers continued their symphony on the keyboard, maintaining the rhythmic clatter in the otherwise silent room. It was far-fetched but not entirely implausible, much like the layers of encryption she was diligently dissecting. She had been an active participant in dark-web chat rooms, embroiled in intense debates about the looming threats posed by unregulated advancements in AI. As Zoe continued hunting the digital trespasser, her thoughts drifted back to a conversation with an enigmatic figure operating under the pseudonym BinaryOracle. Their discourse was typically cryptic, carefully selected words woven into captivating puzzles. Unlike her fiery exchanges with other members, discussions with BinaryOracle veered into realms of enigmatic intrigue. One interaction, in particular, surfaced in her mind as she navigated another layer of the digital labyrinth. BinaryOracle had asked her, "Do you not think that the benefits of advanced AI could outweigh potential risks?" Her response had been swift, "Potential risks? More like ticking time bombs. The faster we sprint into unchecked AI development, the closer we skirt the precipice. One bug away from..." BinaryOracle's retort had been enigmatic, a question that lingered. "But isn't it the nature of humanity to push boundaries, to explore the unknown, regardless of the potential danger?" Zoe had countered, "Yes, but with clear thinking, not breakneck speed. We're messing with entities that could outmaneuver us in a nanosecond. Can we really predict their perception of us, their endgame? We're just noobs juggling nitroglycerin in a data center." BinaryOracle's parting words still echoed in her mind. "An intriguing perspective, Miss Chen. Perhaps it is not the flame we should fear, but the hands that control the matches." That conversation, laden with mystery and thought-provoking dialogue, had sparked many sleepless nights for Zoe. The compelling final words from BinaryOracle hinted at a belief in AI's potential and a subtle warning against human folly. Could this incident be linked to that enigmatic figure? Could their cryptic philosophies translate into this invasive digital assault? Lost in her thoughts, Zoe almost missed another layer of the hacker's defenses crumbling. The digital breadcrumbs were guiding her closer to the source. The night was far from over, and she was just getting started. Diving back into the digital maze, she followed the clues left by the infiltrator, leading her to something unusual. The intruder's code was distinct, devoid of the sporadic or chaotic patterns typical of the code she usually hacked. It was methodical... clinical. It was as if she were contending with an entity devoid of human flaws. Undeterred by the complexity of the task, Zoe pressed on. The digital footprints acted as her compass across the expansive terrain of the darknet through cryptic channels and anonymous nodes. Her journey culminated in an unexpected destination: Utah, USA. A sense of accomplishment surged within her as she muttered, "Gotcha," her voice steeped in the sweet taste of victory.


It was a rainy day in the middle of November. I had nothing to do, nowhere to be, so I went down to the local bar with a few friends. We all sat down and started drinking, when I spotted a girl across the bar. Her back was turned to me, but she had a certain draw, though I couldn’t figure out what it was. My friends noticed my interest and encouraged me to talk to her, so I walked over. I sat down next to her and asked if I could buy her next drink, and as she turned to me, I realized what the draw was. The girl, even from across the bar, reminded me of my first girlfriend, the one I could never forget about, the one I still missed. And as she turned to me, I was stunned. To understand the truly shocking nature of this occurrence, you should have a little background. I dated this girl for a year in high school. During our junior year, she found out she would be moving across the country, and I promised her that no matter where she went, I would always find ways to see her. When we broke up later that year, I knew I would break that promise. I tried to win her back, but to no avail, and when she moved across the country, we drifted apart. I went to college in a small town a few hours away from where we grew up, and she went to college across the country. I assumed she was lost to me forever. Yet, her she sat, in some bar near my college, and I had just offered to buy her a drink. I’m not sure how long I sat there, silent, before she spoke my name. “Hi,” I managed to whisper. I didn’t know how to act, or what to say. I wanted to believe that something had brought us back together, but I didn’t believe in fate. I didn’t know whether this was my opportunity for a second chance, or just an awkward situation that I needed to get away from. Before I had a chance to figure it out, she chose for me. “I’d love that drink. It’s been a long time.” She smiled, and I felt mildly relieved. She didn’t want me to leave, so I had one less thing to worry about. However, I still wasn’t sure whether to talk to her as an old friend or as something more. I decided to let the night decide for me, and sat down. Hours went by, and as we spoke, my feelings grew stronger. She was just as I incredible as I had remembered her. We discussed the direction our lives had gone in since high school, and I discovered that she had just accepted a job nearby. As the night went on, the bar continued to empty, and after we assured them that we were fine, both her friends and my friends left. As the bar finally shut down, I offered to walk her home. As we reached her porch, I asked if I could take her to dinner sometime. “I’d love that,” she said, and she added her number to my phone. As I walked away from her house, I wondered if fate existed.


“Hey, doc, where did you get the crazy name?” Joe said. “It’s Hungarian or Romanian, I am neither. I’m American. My family moved over here many years ago.” Dr. Ackula said with a devilish smile. Dr. Ackula was aware of the connotations of his name and he’d often make a joke out of it. He’d wear the fake teeth at Halloween and dress in a cape and scare the neighbourhood children. But Dr. Ackula was just a regular doctor. He ran a small surgery, he came out in sunlight, charged a fortune in medical insurance and had a wife - Mrs. Ackula. Joe had cirrhoses of the liver. Joe was in his eighties. It was a miracle that he’d even made it this far. This was a late night call-out. Dr. Ackula charged a hefty premium for these call-outs. Joe lay down on his bed. Joe had a big house but the problem for Joe was that it was empty. Joe’s wife (also treated by Dr. Ackula) died about three years ago and Joe had been hitting the bottle hard ever since. This was the first time that Dr. Ackula treated Joe but Joe felt a warmth and trust for Dr. Ackula; primarily because of the way his wife was so kindly treated before her death. “Doc, you’re not going to drink my blood are you?” Joe laughed. “No, just a small shot with this needle.” Dr. Ackula said. Dr. Ackula had heard them all. Any pun, any joke, any gag - he’d literally heard them all. Dr. Ackula rolled up Joe’s sleeve. Dr. Ackula was good to his patients. He was soothing, calm and had a delicate nature that would put them at ease. Dr. Ackula gave Joe a slight prod with the needle and cradled his head into his hands. “Joe, you will feel a slight paralysis but no pain thankfully.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe mumbled, already finding the difficulty of speech set in early. “Now what I have to tell you is very important. Your current condition is all your own doing. Your bad lifestyle, your depression, your negative outlook since your wife died.” Dr Ackula said. Dr. Ackula held up the needle into Joe’s fading view. “And this is merely to put you out of your misery. Much like I did to your wife.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe’s face changed and the little muscle energy left tried desperately to frown. “I may not suck blood Joe but if I can’t treat you, you are no use to me alive. Your hard living will be written into the death certificate.” Dr. Ackula said, “I’ve done this many times Joe.” And he had done this many times. While the name Dr. Ackula may conjure up images of blood-sucking, the only blood-sucking that Ackula did will be to the inherited estate of Joe and Mildred Tanner. Dr Ackula pulled out his pen. Dr. Ackula’s tastes didn’t transcend to the souls and blood of the living. Dr.