#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #Weekly Challenge **Writers, please keep in mind that feedback is a requirement for all submitters. You must leave at least 1 feedback comment on the thread by the deadline!** **Prompt:** Set your story at . **Bonus Constraint (10 pts):** There is a language or communication barrier between two characters. Stories must still be written in english. **(You must include if/how you used it at the end of your story to receive credit..)** This week’s challenge is to set your story at a spa. This should be the *main setting* of your story. You’re welcome to use it creatively and interpret it as you like, as long as you follow all post and subreddit rules. The bonus constraint is encouraged but not required, feel free to skip it if it doesn’t suit your story. You do not have to use the included IP. *** # Rankings ### Last Week: - Winner: by u/wileycourage You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below (no poetry) inspired by the prompt.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. Use to check your wordcount. - **Leave feedback on at least one other story by 3pm EST next Monday.** Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **3pm EST** next Monday. *(Note: The form doesn’t open until Monday morning.)* ###Additional Rules - **No pre-written content or content written or altered by AI.** Submitted stories must be written by you and for this post. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - Campfire is currently on hiatus. Check back soon!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied **Note: There has been a change to the crit caps and points!** **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10 - 15** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **10** pts each (30 pt. max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 30 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | There is no cap on votes your story receives | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.*   *** *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


He gazed absently at the black kettle, his reflection looking back at him like a stranger. Nice cup of tea. That’s what we need. A faint humming of a song and the sound of light footsteps on the floorboards above him made him smile. He noticed the whistle of the kettle, as it screeched louder and louder, vapours fading away in the sunlight. Realisation struck; she must have put the kettle on. Of course, she did. Of course, she did. How kind. How thoughtful. The dawn broke in a pool on the window, seeping in through the cracks and resting on his skin. What a fine morning. The phone rang, or was that the ringing in his ears? “Hello. Yes, hello love.” “Your mother’s just popped the kettle on. Yes, yes... okay. See you in a bit love.” He loved his little girl. He remembered when she was no taller than his footstool, how he would lift her up like a plane and carry her to the ends of the earth. She loved that too. She was much too big for that now of course. And life had tired him out. The sound of silence greeted him after the kettle came to a boil. He’ll let his wife get that. The old man shuffled to the drawing room, opening the curtains. A layer of dust danced through the air, through the empty furniture and on to the armchair where his wife’s imprint was. The oak bookshelf stood behind it, cassettes from the golden days waiting patiently for the day they would be played again. They looked at him, as they always did, and he turned away. His eyes caught the photographs on the mantelpiece, coated with a film of grime. The faces in them now mere memories fading away. They were but shadows in his mind. He recalled his life partner, Nora, making him his first tea in her special way. ‘Do you know why my tea tastes so good, my dear? It’s because I have a secret ingredient.’ she would say with a mischievous smirk. ‘And you will never know what it is.’ She was right though. She must have had a special ingredient, because it always tasted of magic. Nobody could ever make tea like hers. The doorbell trilled, and before he could bring himself to move his worn body, it opened with a bang and his daughter stumbled in, dishevelled, already removing her coat and shoes. ‘Hello Dad, how are you?’ she asked, pecking him on the cheek. The scent of her perfume on her sweaty skin reminded him of something his mind could not fathom. ‘Yes yes, fine love. How are you? How i..is what’s-his-face?’ he stuttered. She frowned. ‘You know his name Dad; you can’t keep acting like you don’t remember.’ The one advantage to forgetting things was pretending to forget the existence of people he wasn’t particularly fond of, including his daughter’s fiancé. They talked for a while, reminiscing on old times and her childhood. She had always been a good girl. Such a good girl. She had never caused him grief. Even when she was sent home from school for getting into a scuffle, he had suppressed his thoughts. Many parents would have scolded their child, violence is never the answer . Debatable. When he had first arrived in England, he couldn’t speak, nor understand, the language he suddenly had to adopt. Everyone looked and sounded different. Unfamiliar. He remembered being told to go back home by people he had never met before. Recollections of black eyes and sore knuckles sprang to mind. He gave just as much as he got. He remembered feeling a pang of homesickness, longing for the scorching sun of his homeland. He missed the food, the loud conversations with street-sellers. Most of all, he missed the tea; laced with cinnamon, cardamom, and the spices his country were famous for. Thank God for Nora who had always provided him with a piece of home. ‘Dad?’ He was jolted out of his flashbacks. She was looking at him questioningly. ‘You okay, Dad?’ He nodded and they sat in silence for, what felt like, an eternity. He tried to find the words to ask her how life was treating her, but he just wanted to close his eyes and bask in the comfort of her presence. He didn’t know where his wife had disappeared to, leaving him waiting for his morning tea. He turned to his daughter, “Could you make us a cup of tea love?” *** He looked at the tea she put in front of him. Weak. Pale. Half-empty. Stupid girl. Stupid girl. “What is this ?” His arm flayed, hitting the cup, its contents splattering across the blackened carpet. Loathing filled his insides. He hated her. Her attempts at trying to help him when he needed none. As if a child could know better than their own father. He didn’t need her; he didn’t need anyone. She never did anything right anyway. Her face was a mixture of fear and sadness. “I..I tried to make it the way you like. I should have let the teabag soa--" “--it’s wrong, it’s all wrong!” “I can make it again, Dad, it’s fine. Look.” She gathered up the fragments of the cup, desperately trying to find a way to put back together, back to the way it was. His head hurt. It was like something was pulling the words from his throat, speaking for him. “You can’t help yourself can you? Always doing it wrong! Why can’t you be more like your mother?” She looked at him in a way he knew would not leave him until his last breath. He should say something. He should. What could he say to the person who meant the world to him? Before the guilt flooded his body completely, she’d gone, leaving only a trail of the scent he had always loved behind. Once she’d left, the house darkened once more. The old man waited. Waited. And waited. There wasn’t a sound, except the familiar sound of light footsteps from above. He walked to the kitchen, dragging his body towards the black kettle, now silent. Nice cup of tea. That’s what we need.


I have a story to express, a boring story, but a story nonetheless. In the end, there was nothing-nothing that created something-something magnificent, something excellent, something that reached perfection despite being imperfect. Was it all worth it? Well, it had its ups and downs, in-betweens and all-arounds, but there was never really solid ground to build it all upon. Though if we were to go back, we'd start to see the cracks, you'd be hard-pressed to find where they emerged from, it all happened so fast that there's no way could it be traced back to the point of origin. If you wish to connect to the source of our existence then you must look within yourself for the most perplexing problems which encapsulate our reality. The best way I can exemplify what I mean would be through the perspective of a character. A young man, born in the same lands as you and I, finds himself lost in the otherworldly wonders of the deepest depths that his mind can conceive. Lost within himself, he finds answers, yet retrieves more questions requiring solving. On his self-induced journey, he finds a magical place, seemingly mythical in its appearance, quite similar to places described in the stories of old. Truly expansive by nature, and extensive in its scope, it tethers together all that is bound to wither away. A place beyond measure, a place beyond communication or expression. It is all that is, it is all that ever was and ever could be. In this electric paradigm of reality, our character meets the eternal embodiment of creation, and his racing mind floods with thoughts of all kinds. He stammers and stutters to ask the first question to reach his tongue, but before he could speak a heavy voice bellows out, "I have been waiting for you." and continues "You came to me seeking enlightenment, but you must recognize the questions you have been searching for answers to have already met within you. I can teach you nothing that you have not already been aware of." Our character replies in a hushed tone "I am aware, I understand, if only partly, but I wish to confirm my suspicions which have inclined me to make this trek here. If you are who I believe you to be, surely you may have the means to allow me to connect my questions to their answers." He shifts to a more assertive tone "Why did you, in all of your eternity of being, decide to coalesce all that constitutes existence into the reality that myself and many others find themselves in?" The eternal being replies "Why do you believe you create of your own volition? Do you not wish to build? Much like I have built you and all that you inhabit?" And goes on to say "I create much as your species creates, I had the means to erect the universe, and so I did. I did so simply because I had the means and the desire to, does that make it any less meaningful to you? Of course not, you create just like me, but you lack the foresight and the lifespan to see it through to fruition. I have encountered you numerous times before, this is not the first time, nor will it be the last. My creation is as much a part of myself as your mind is to your body, we are one and the same. Where ever you find 'something' you find me, where ever you find me, and you find yourself as well, as you are one of the many cogs in the whole, but just because you are a relatively minor player in my grand creation does not mean you are not vital, you are as vital as the next." The young man speaks "So you are to say to me, everything, absolutely everything is as critical to the composition of the whole as you are to maintaining it? Would that not also imply you are just as significant or insignificant as I am to your creation?" The eternal being responds "In whatever way you can conceive of, is as correct as the most seemingly incorrect way of perceiving the excellence and complexity of eternity. All that is, all that was, all that ever could be, has been and was already.


It started with an advert in a newsagent window; an off-white A4 piece of paper, hanging forlornly by a single strip of tape in one corner, the other three dry and useless. It caught my eye as I stood debating whether I could afford the extra 30 pence for a loaf of bread that wouldn’t taste like cardboard. The paper was crinkled through weeks of exposure to condensation. Flowery cursive bled down the page. It asked for a reliable and trustworthy candidate to take a friendly Alsatian on short walks around the neighbourhood, twice daily. The job paid barely anything but that was better than nothing. I was a recent graduate unable to find work. Entry level positions demanding 5 years’ experience were a bridge that I could not cross. I lived in a “studio” apartment, rent in arrears, that was in reality little more than a single room with a bed that folds up to create extra space for dining and socialising. I hadn’t folded it up for some time. Something about the advert called to me. Perhaps it was the ink that bled as though crying black tears in woe of having never been read. Perhaps it was the question of the cost of bread and where I sit on the scale of inedible to luxury and realising at once that even inedible is too rich for me. I peeled the tape that affixed the advert to the window, took it home, and dialled the number. His name was Mr Adams. He was 85-years-old, he said, and the dog Charlie, who had belonged to his late wife, was now too large and energetic for him to handle. We spoke for a while, about my credentials, about my life. He seemed friendly enough, and when he offered me the job on the spot I did not hesitate to accept. Mr Adams lived alone, dog excluded, in a small bungalow at the end of a quiet lane in a dull and lifeless suburb of Manchester. It was two bus rides away, which I had grumbled at, deliberately and vocally, upon our first meet. Mr Adams offered to compensate me for my bus fare, which I gladly accepted. He was a nice man, short and round in the face, hair grey like old snow. He smelled of mould. Charlie was as described: large and energetic. We took walks around the neighbourhood and to a nearby park. Mr Adams didn’t seem too close to him, but yet could not bare to give him up. A month into the job I saw Mr Adams for the last time. He gave me a spare key, and left a credit card in a dish on the coffee table. It was mine to use, he had said, and would be topped up each week with my wages. I was free to help myself to the various kitchen victuals, but I must replace what I consume. It was then that I should have walked away. I wish I’d walked away. In the days and weeks that followed, Mr Adams left me notes of increasing peculiarity. Little oddities, requests and favours written in an unfamiliar hand. The carefree handwriting of the advert was in stark contrast to the crooked and deliberate lettering on these notes, as though Mr Adams had written them under duress. The lines were thicker, harder. They requested little things at first. To buy extra dog food. To clean the house every Monday and Friday. I was promised additional pay for this latter job, which I accepted. It was clear that Mr Adams no longer lived at the address, and so there was little cleaning to be done. It were as though he only visited every now and then to leave me these notes. I was soon left a note telling me to never go down into the cellar. Truth told, I never knew the house had a cellar at all until that note. I found the cellar door beneath the rug in the living room. It was bolted shut. It was also about this time that Mr Adams asked me to change my time walking Charlie. I should go much earlier in the morning, and then again much later at night, while the sun was set and there were fewer people around. I thought this odd, if a little cruel on Charlie, but I obliged all the while. The house began to smell horribly of sulphur. A new note asked me to clean the house with increasing regularity but no matter how much bleach I used the scent always seemed to linger. It was around this time that Mr Adams requested that I spend the night, just once or twice a week. He told me in this note to keep the curtains drawn, to never answer the door, and to go to bed promptly at 10pm. I did as instructed, feeling a little uneasy about the arrangement but glad to be staying somewhere a little more spacious. Charlie soon started acting out. He would refuse to go for walks, and would growl angrily when I went near him. He scratched incessantly at the rug in the living room. A short while after Charlie was gone. Mr Adams explained in a note that I wouldn’t need to walk him any longer, but he would keep paying me if I followed his instructions. I spent longer and longer in the house then. I was dizzy with the stench of bleach and sulphur. My daily cleaning was unable to rid the house of the foul odour that seemed to cling to the walls like a shadow. I then began hearing voices. At first it was just at night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep. Unable to sleep. It was a soft whimpering. I went downstairs, the first time, and with each step it became louder and louder. It sounded like Mr Adams. It sounded like he was in the house and crying. At the foot of the stairs I turned into the living room and saw the shape of a man hunched over in the chair by the window. His head was in his hands and his shoulders were trembling. I flicked on the light and the shape disappeared. I didn’t sleep much after that night. But yet I didn’t go home. Instead I waited at Mr Adams’ house. I kept the curtains closed and the door locked and never did I see him but the notes kept appearing. It were as though he was living in the house with me, unseen. The whimpering at night became louder and soon trickled into day. I began to hear words, asking for help and pleading for forgiveness. I was drunk on the smell and the never-ending voices. And then I began to hear scratching from beneath the living room floor. I pulled back the rug and pressed my head against the cellar door. I could hear movement. Feet shuffling about beneath me. It was Mr Adams. All this time he was living in the cellar. It was bolted shut but he must have had a way. I dragged as much furniture as I could and covered the cellar door, locking him in. That night I heard the crying again. I walked downstairs as before and as before I saw the shape in the chair by the window. I shouted to him, to Mr Adams, to stop toying with me. The shape lifted its head from its hands and I saw that it was not Mr Adams. It was a younger man. I flicked on the light and this time the figure did not disappear but remained in the chair looking right at me. Eyes wet, tears running down anguished face, the figure in the chair was me. I bolted from the house as quick as I could, screaming, screaming at the top of my voice for help. It was then that I was taken in by a neighbour, to whom I told my story. He went to the house to check, and a little while later he returned with the police. I was taken away. They interviewed me then, about the body of Mr Adams that they had found in his cellar, along with his dog Charlie. They asked me why I did it. They presented me with evidence, of CCTV footage of me using Mr Adams’ credit card to buy food and drink. My solicitor instructed me to answer all questions with “No comment.” No comment. No comment. No comment. No comment. But I have been in this cell for nearly 18 hours and I can still hear the voices. I told him that I cannot keep silent and so he instructed me to write a letter. This letter. And so this is my confession. I do not know why I did what I did. I do not know how. Please, please just make the voices stop.


Vincent had been confident in his abilities. He’d even trained in a private secondary school for promising mage candidates, with top marks in all subjects and an award of excellence in written conjurations. The examiners were all expecting a powerful familiar to appear before them, like a dragon, a unicorn, maybe even a powerful demon--frowned on but still not unheard of. So, as he stood over his immaculately drawn summoning circle, amber eyes squinting against the braziers billowing green smoke where moments ago, there had been roaring green and red flames, he was absolutely mortified by what had appeared in the center: a middle aged man in sweatpants and a baggy shirt, partially covered in small dark brown stains. He was squatting close the ground and smoking a cigarette that emitted an offensive, spicy odor. He took a long look around the gathering, stopping briefly on each of the examiners, scanning over the small crowd of other hopefuls, and eventually landing his gaze on Vincent. He blew an eye-watering cloud of spicy smoke at him. “Eh, yeah, alright. Why not?” He stood slowly and tamped the cigarette under his heavy boot. He ran a hand through his greasy black hair and shook out what appeared to be small bits of glass. He was shorter than Vincent and in spite of the currently shabby attire, you could imagine him working in a quiet corner shop somewhere. He had a laid-back air about him, but every mage there could sense the strain he put on the magic surrounding him. “Uhhh...” Vincent turned toward the examiners for help, but they were looking expectantly at him. He gathered himself up, squared his shoulders, and demanded imperiously, “Creature from beyond the veil, you are bound by my magic to render your services unto me. Speak your name and submit or be cast into the void!” He thought he sounded very professional there. The examiners were nodding approvingly. “Cool deal, buddy. I’m Chad. Pleased to render services unto whatever.” Chad looked around the well-kept lawn and large, white, popup pavilion. It reminded him of the sort you would see at an outdoor wedding in a picturesque field advertising rental availability for weddings and funerals. Unknown to him, but very know to the rest, after an especially large dragon summoning tore a hole in the covered amphitheater, they had moved the ceremony onto the front lawn. Past some lingering scorch marks on the grass, he could see a sign that read: Lestren University. Vincent pulled on his lapels and drew in a deep breath. He had worn his best blue suit for this. It had taken him hours to prepare, mentally and physically, for this entire ceremony. He had spent a considerable time getting his red hair to radiate just the right level of humility and confidence. “I require your full name, creature.” “Ooooh,” Chad turned back from the sign with a sneer. “I’m so sorry. How could I have been so impolite. Especially, when you have me in a...” He gestured down at the ring of runes, “magic anime circle.” He kicked at some of the sand used to draw the circle, but it didn’t budge. A dark reddish sludge coated the ground where he slid his foot. Vincent was staring furiously at this mystery man’s cocky grin, which is precisely why he didn’t notice the examiners slowly backing away. “Hmm. Neat sand,” Chad conceded. Vincent had just begun to demand his full name a second time, when Chad spoke over him, “Chadwick. Digsby.” He took out another cigarette and lit it up. “What service you looking for? Usually, people use the phone when they need some cleanup.” “You’re a janitor?” “Mmmm, sure.” He took a long drag and then let it all out suddenly with a cough. “It’s not a sex thing is it?” He waved his hands in disgust in front of him, leaving a glowing trail behind his spicy cigarette. “I don’t do that stuff--especially not for a...” He narrowed his eyes at Vincent. “How old are you?” “No! Ew! What?” Vincent’s composure dissolved for a moment. His ears started turning red and he glanced around at the examiners and his peers, now finally realizing the examiners had backed away a good twenty feet. He gritted his teeth and resolved to make it through this, ignoring the desire to wipe the sweat beading up on his brow. “No.” Chad let out a long plume of smoke. “Whoof. You had me worried there for a second.” He went back to his squatted position and closed his eyes. “I’m all ears, kiddo. How can I help?” Vincent rearranged his suit, cleared his throat, and put all his effort into ignoring everything other than “Chad” in front of him. “I require you to serve as my personal familiar, from now until the day I see fit to dismiss you in good faith.” Chad quietly smoked his cigarette and deliberated the request. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his jaw cocked at a perplexed angle. “Good faith...?” Vincent had thought about how he would phrase this for a long time. He didn’t want to get into anything complicated, like something that would tempt an ill-tempered familiar into looking for loopholes. Instead, he had opted for a simple command that hinged on phrasing that, he believed at least, was hard to misinterpret. Another drag of the repulsive cigarette as he mulled it over. He didn’t really know what being a familiar entailed, but... “Does this job come with free food and housing?” “Yes?” “Can I get a day off every week to relax?” “Two days, but on call?” While Chad was speaking to him, his eyes were on the examiners, now a considerable distance away. He saw one of them mouth, “What the fuck?” Ah, they figured out what kiddo had gotten himself into. He felt kind of bad for the kid but smiled at the group’s discomfort. He had a strong distaste for authority figures. “Sounds good to me, kiddo!” He clapped and smoke blew from his nose. “Yeah, don’t call me kiddo.” Vincent raised his hands, fingers tracing complicated sigils in the air, and with a flourish, completed the ceremony. “Chadwick Digsby, the binding is complete!” “Nice. Hey, I could use a shower and a new shirt, if that’s cool.” Chad looked down and gave the circle another kick. This time the lines scattered like normal sand. The ceremony finally over, Vincent could finally feel the strain it had put on him. He was drenched in sweat and wobbled back from his small personal circle. He rubbed at his eyes and muttered, “I feel sleepy.” Then, pitched over onto the grass, passed out. Chad cackled and some of the other potential students started running across the lawn in various directions. The examiners looked horrified, but they were now surrounded by powerful beings from realities far beyond this one. His favorite was the willowy looking one with a pixie. The whole effect was adorable, seething, but adorable. “You know, he didn’t say I had to let any of you live,” he growled, dramatically waving his cigarette around. They all stood there a moment, line of professional mages and a lone man in sweats. Then, Chad tossed his cigarette aside. “Naw, I’m just kidding.” He bent down and hefted up the kid. “Who wants to give us a tour?” He wiggled an unconscious Vincent mockingly at the lot of them. The one with the pixie stepped forward, muttering under her breath, “My salary isn’t high enough to deal with this kind of shit.” She gave him a venomous smile and waved her hand in the direction of the campus, “Let me show you to the dorms.” Then, abruptly turning away from him with a scowl, she stomped across the lawn. “Rad,” and he followed after, looking forward to the kid’s body count. He didn’t see any reason he would be there otherwise. He was a “cleaner” after all.


The sun was coming up. Lisa and Paul had officially been up all night. Long nights were nothing new to theatre students especially when the shows were being put on. There is always some type of celebration for opening night: Dinner somewhere. Maybe a get-together at someone’s place. Something to celebrate the payoff for the weeks of rehearsing and making sure everything was done right. Everyone is on edge when going down to the wire. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s punchy. Lisa was certainly both of those. Between her classes, her job, and this show, she had enough to handle. This was only the first night of a show that was scheduled to run for two weeks. She wasn’t sure how it exactly happened, but she and Paul were sitting next to each other at dinner. They were in a class together but, other than that, they didn’t know each other. Paul had been assigned to props. Lisa was Stage Manager. They crossed paths a couple of times during run-throughs and performances. Paul showed up and did what he was told. Lisa showed up and had to deal with all of the problems that came with being a Stage Manager. That was how it happened. Lisa was venting about having to deal with everyone’s problems in addition to her own. Lisa was the one who had it together and it would be helpful if someone else could have it together, too. The first scheduled show went off and it was a success. You couldn’t tell it was a train wreck behind the stage. That’s where Lisa came in. She was the one who was able to hold everything together long enough for the curtain to come down and the audience to leave the auditorium. Then , she could finally let out a sigh of relief and relax. After everyone got to leave the auditorium, Lisa could ease up and stop worrying. Paul was sitting next to her and they started talking. Lisa needed that and she got it. Paul could tell Lisa was not in a good mood despite the feel-good atmosphere at the large table where the cast and crew were congregating for the Opening Night repast. And the last thing Lisa, a 23-year-old senior needed was an 18-year-old freshman. She had seen enough of his kind. Smart-ass know-it-alls who were still living with Mommy and Daddy but somehow know everything. Yes. Paul was a freshman. Yes. He was living with Mom and Dad, but he was also working and putting himself through school. Lisa could appreciate that. She also knew he was the quiet kid who sat in back of the class and noticed the professor’s occasional comments about Paul’s work on a project or the noticeable effort he put into the last test. All it takes is eye contact at just the right moment. Lisa and Paul made that eye contact as she was going on about the challenges she was dealing with and meeting. Paul was born with a sense about him where he knew when someone needed to vent and all they needed was an ear. It would have been very easy for him to make a joke about her complaining and agitate her, but he could tell it was not an easy night for Lisa. So, instead of adding to her agitation like everyone else had been doing all week (Jesus. Lighten up, Patton. We’re going to be alright.”) , Paul decided to sit back and let her blow off some steam. Lisa felt better as the night went on. She was able to talk about things that didn’t involve the show. Paul was glad to do the same. It had been a long week of classes during the day and run-throughs at night. Dinner was good for the body. Conversation was good for the soul. Both people needed both of those things and both wanted to talk some more. Paul agreed to follow Lisa home. He parked behind her, got out of his car and into hers. “I don’t mean to sound forward,” Paul said, “but why are we sitting in a car when your apartment is right there?” Lisa snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We just met. I have enough problems, now I also have to worry about another guy trying to come home with me?” “That’s not what I meant,” Paul said. “I just meant-” “It’s alright,” Lisa said. “I don’t feel comfortable inviting someone in whom I’ve just met.” “So, how are you doing now?” Paul asked. “You seemed to have a lot on your mind tonight.” “I did,” Lisa said. “And I still do. It’s been a long week.” “It’s been a long week for everyone,” Paul said. “It’s Production Week. Everyone has been dealing with the stress of run-throughs and making sure everything is right for when the curtain goes up.” “Not only that, but there are also the classes we still have to take during the day,” Lisa said. “We need to go to class and do the assignments during whatever time we have between that and the call times for that night’s show. I still need to be at work. I have to pay my rent. No offense, but there’s a lot of things you don’t need to worry about when you’re 18 and living with your parents.” “None taken” Paul said. He knew Lisa was right. Paul was still with Mom and Dad. It was his first semester in college and he wanted to go to this college, not because it was close to home, but because it had a good theatre program and he wanted to study Theatre.” “Look,” Paul said. “I don’t mean to bother you. I just thought we had a good conversation tonight when we were out. You seemed like you needed to get some stuff off your chest and I’m glad I was able to listen to you. If you need to go inside, that’s fine. But if you still want to talk, I’m willing to listen.” “I appreciate that,” Lisa said. “Most guys your age don’t want to just talk, or listen to someone vent. It’s weird, but at the same time, kind of refreshing.” They both smiled. “I guess,” Paul said. “I don’t know. I just don’t say much. I tend to listen to people. Plus, it takes pressure off of you when you don’t know what to say.” “Looks like it’s helpful to both people,” Lisa said. “Four years of college and all I see from freshman is horny guys who are trying to score. They think I’m easy.” “Where did that rumor start?” Paul asked. “From me,” she answered. “I went to high school near here. I was one of those girls who “matured” early. Boobs. No braces. Upperclassmen liked to talk to me, and I liked to talk to them. They had their driver’s licenses and cars. They’d drive me to parties. I’d go with them and get buzzed on beer.” “And that made you easy?” Paul asked. “No,” Lisa explained. “I would fall in with a group of girls and they would be talking about guys. Funny thing about alcohol. It makes you talk... A lot. So, these girls would go on and on about the different guys they had dated. Guys trying to get lucky. Guys thinking they were studs. I would hear these girls talk about the guys and how they think they have such a huge - well you know what guys like to say about themselves.” Paul smiled and said, “Yes. I do.” “Well,” she continued. “Girls talk about the guys and if a guy pisses her off she’ll talk about how it’s not so huge. In fact, it’s rather small .” Paul laughed and said, “Ouch!” “So, anyway, a guy brings me to a party. I have a couple of beers because I’m at a party and that’s what you do at parties. He takes me upstairs and we fool around. I thought that was what you did at parties. He’s a good-looking guy. The beers make him a little better looking. And we start making out and it gets hot. I didn’t have sex with guys right away, but I remember my first time. You always do. He wasn’t exactly my first choice for someone to lose your virginity with, but your first time is always weird. “So, that was it,” Lisa said. “Word got around that I liked to sleep with guys, and I did; Especially the older guys. I went to parties, drank, and fooled around. As I got older, the guys I dated had moved on to college. Some of them went here. There are more parties in college than in high school.” “I figured,” Paul said. He was thinking of Lisa being in a bedroom. She was an attractive woman. Paul was thinking about a chance to be in a woman’s apartment. She already said no, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it. “Well,” Lisa said. “I noticed something at the college parties. “There are different types of people there. You notice that. You see there are people who aren’t going anywhere with their life. There are people who partied in college and don’t know how to do anything else. They’re older than the rest of the group and they stick out in an awkward way. There are people who slide by. You can do that in college but only for so long. You can’t go far doing that in the real world.” “So, you saw that?” Paul asked. “Yes, I did,” Lisa said. “I saw people at parties more often than I saw them in class. I saw people who were going nowhere with their life. People who didn’t or couldn’t grow up. I didn’t want that. I wanted to do something with my life, not be some burnout who couldn’t go beyond college parties and not know how to do anything but drink until you can’t see straight, “So, I didn’t go to the parties as often. Guys tried to take me, but I said, ‘No.’ I went to class. I studied. I got good grades. Next thing I know, I make the Dean’s List. After that, I was getting grants and scholarships. Soon I’m not paying for school. I get a job and I make enough money to move out. I’m graduating next year. No student loans. I already have a place. I’m going to start looking for a job. I’m going to get out of college with no debt, money saved, and a job lined up. Guys in college still hit on me, but I say, ‘No,’ and go home at the end of the night.” Lisa’s phone buzzed. She picked it up and smiled. “That’s my alarm,” she said. “I’m supposed to be getting up now.” She laughed. “Listen, I really enjoyed talking to you, Paul, but I need to change my clothes and put some deodorant on. I have a class in an hour.” “Okay,” Paul said. “I’ll see you tonight.” He got out of her car and walked to the campus where his car was. He drove home to get his books for the day’s classes and stopped for a coffee on his way back to school. Later in the day, he had a class with Lisa. Lisa didn’t notice him, she was too busy talking to someone, but he could see the look on her face. It was a face that was craving sleep. He was back at the auditorium that night for the performance. He noticed Lisa as she did her job that night. There was a party following the show. Lisa was going. Paul made sure he was going. At the party, Lisa found herself stuck with a guy who was talking loudly and thinking what he had to say was pretty impressive. The guy made eye contact with Paul and motioned for him to join them. “Come over, young man,” he said. “Let me tell you about our department.” Paul looked at Lisa, who rolled her eyes. The man, John, started to share his knowledge of the department and the school. Only when he wanted another beer did he leave them. “Who was that?” Paul asked. “That’s John,” Lisa said. “He’s supposed to graduate this year. He’s been trying to hook up with me ever since we met.” She yawned. “I need to get out of here before he comes back.” “Can I walk with you?” Paul asked. “Sure.” The two left the party. “How are you feeling?” Paul asked. “Exhausted,” Lisa said. “I’m going to sleep like the dead tonight. Thank God I don’t need to be in so early for the next show.” “I’m sorry I kept you up,” Paul said. “I lost track of time.” “We both did,” Lisa said. The two continued to Lisa’s apartment. On the way, they talked some more. Paul told her about his high school and what he liked about college. He told her about the other classes he had and what he was hoping to do in the next semester, which wasn’t far off. Lisa offered him advice, especially about the teachers within their department. Before long, they reached Lisa’s apartment. “Well,” she said, “It was nice to speak to you tonight. Maybe some time I could buy you a coffee to show my appreciation.” “Tell you what,” Paul said. “I’ll buy the coffee. You bring a nip of Kahlua for me to show your appreciation.” Lisa laughed and said good night. Paul walked to his car. It was late, but he wanted to take a ride and unwind from the classes and the show. There was a route Paul liked to take. It ran along a lake he always liked to walk along. There was a parking lot on one side of it. He pulled into the lot and turned off the ignition. There was a full moon. The light of the moon gave enough light. Paul could see the parking lot around him. It had been a long day. Two days, actually; with a sleepless night between them. Why didn’t he just go home? Because home didn’t have this view. Besides, he wasn’t going to be there long. He just wanted some time to be by himself and this was a place he had always liked. He thought about Lisa and the talk they had. The moon was high above him, reflecting off the lake, as Paul nodded off to sleep.


“You may be able to kill me but you’ll never stop me. Mark my words, I’ll come back and search for as long as I have to until I find you, and when I do, you’ll wish you never did this to me OR to my family.” Rosalind King is seen from the streets, dangling from the roof of the building like a picture hanging from a tattered string. The crowd below stares in fear as they watch her slowly slip, inch by inch until finally Roz lets go, barreling to the ground. There’s a scream. Everything goes black. Taryn Wheeler practically throws herself out of bed when she is jolted awake, panting and disoriented from the horrible dream she was having. It was just a dream. She thinks to herself. Taryn gets up and hops in the shower, itching to wash off the sweat dripping from her brow. When she gets out it’s 7:00am. School starts in an hour and a half. She runs down the stairs, greeting her little brother, Luke, as she passes him on the staircase. “Morning, hon.” “Morning Mom,” Taryn says back, “What’s for breakfast?” She sits down at the table where a plate of eggs, bacon and toast sits already prepared. She scoffs it down, then grabs her backpack and heads out the door towards Cottage Street to her bus stop. “Sky!” She calls as Skylar Larkin walks up the road towards their stop. Skylar runs up to her. “Hey! Did you get my text last night?” Taryn asks. “Yes, oh my god! Gage frickin’ Pierce?” Skylar screeches. “I know, can you believe it? He’s so cute and he wants me , Taryn Wheeler to go to the dance with him! I need to find a dress! Wanna come with me after school?” “Duh! Can your mom drop us off?” Skylar asks. “Yeah!” “Cool! Can’t wait.” The bus picks them up at 10:10. Once they arrive, they go to their lockers to grab their books for homeroom and each head their separate ways. They’re both in grade 11 and 16-years-old. They go to Lester B. Pearson Secondary in a town called Foxdale. Tare-Bear<3: omg he’s totally staring @ me Queen Skyxoxo: Gage? stop it Tare-Bear<3: seriously!!! wut do I do? Queen Skyxoxo: idk? smile? Tare-Bear<3: he just looked away Queen Skyxoxo: :( Five hours later. Taryn and Skylar have their last period of the day together. They walk into the classroom and sit at their desks, situated directly next to each other. “Oh my god, class straight up sucks without you!” Taryn exclaims. “I know, right? Everyone in my first four classes is so lame!” “If you ladies don’t mind, I might begin my class.” Says Mister Reid, interrupting their conversation. The girls respond in unison, “Sorry Mister read.” When class ends, Taryn calls her mom to ask for a ride to the mall. “She’s on her way.” Taryn says to Skylar. “Alright.” Skylar responds. When they get to the mall they head straight for their favourite dress store, Ritchies. Taryn hurries through the store picking up multiple dresses before heading to the changeroom to try them all on. The girls have to wait at the host table for someone to unlock a changeroom for Taryn to use. Minutes later, a girl dressed in a black ankle-length dress comes around the corner to answer the ring. She has brown hair and big green eyes. She was only about a foot away from the girls when something visibly changed in Taryn’s demeanor. Skylar looked at Taryn with worry, “Tare? Tare-Bear? Ar-are you okay?” Taryn didn’t respond but instead, in the blink of an eye and with no forewarning at all she leapt over the host table and on top of the girl. Taryn’s hands were around the girl’s neck and there was something evil in her eyes. Before Skylar had even realized what was happening Taryn was strangling the stranger. “Taryn!” Skylar called running towards the girls flailing around on the ground. She grabbed Taryn’s shoulders and tried pulling her off but she couldn’t. This was not Taryn, at least not the one Skylar had accompanied to the mall a mere 20 minutes ago. “You’ll pay for what you did to my parents. They were crushed when they found out I was gone. I saw it, I felt it.” The sound came from Taryn’s mouth, but it did not come from her. It was distorted and angry and it terrified Skylar. The stranger’s face was turning purple now and Skylar knew that if she didn’t stop this, this girl would die. She screamed, “TARYN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HER!” With one strenuous yank, Skylar had managed to get Taryn off and once she was up, she ran. Skylar followed as Taryn ran outside and down the street until finally, she collapsed on the front lawn of someone’s house. She fell unconscious. Skylar sat on the lawn until Taryn came to and when she did, she was visibly exhausted. Her brows were furrowed and she was breathing heavily. “W-What just happened?” She asked. Skylar was shocked, “Do you really not remember?” She stares at Taryn expectantly. When she doesn’t respond Skylar says, “Taryn, you just strangled a stranger in there. If I hadn’t gotten you off of her, she’d be dead. How could you not remember something like that?” Taryn goes silent now. She pulls out her phone and texts her mom. The ride home was silent like the night. When Taryn got home, she went straight up to her room, threw on her headphones and laid in bed until she fell asleep. “Have you got my shit?” Asks a young boy. “Depends. How much have you got?” Roz demands. The boy looks around carefully before pulling a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Hundred and fifty.” He says. “That’ll get you a gram of pot, only.” “I was hoping for more than just pot.” He says. “Not my problem, this shit ain’t free. Take it or leave it.” Reluctantly, the boy hands Roz the cash. “Now fuck off.” Roz says, shoeing him away with her hands. Taryn springs up in her bed as the sound of her alarm scares her back to consciousness. 7:00am. Time to get up. She checks her phone for any texts from Skylar. There’s none. She sighs. On her way down the stairs this morning she doesn’t greet Luke as he runs up the stairs past her. He puts his hand up for a high-five, Taryn ignores it. “Morning, hon.” Her mom says joyfully. “Hi Mom.” Taryn pushes the words out as if it takes all of what little energy she has left. “You look down, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?” “Not really; I slept awful.” Taryn says. “Did you have another dream?” “Yeah, but this one wasn’t scary. Just weird.” “Wanna talk about it?” “No thanks.” Taryn takes one bite of her toast before standing up and leaving the house for her bus stop. “I hope your day gets better, baby!” Her Mom calls after her while she’s heading down the street. Taryn is standing at the bus stop with her arms folded when she sees Skylar heading towards her. She doesn’t call for her this time. She tilts her head down as if to hide from her best friend, afraid of what she’ll say. She grows more and more nervous the closer Skylar gets, but to Taryn’s surprise, Skylar greets her happily. “Hey, girl!” She says. “Hey...” Taryn responds carefully. “How are you feeling today, Tare-Bear?” “Uhm, alright, I guess. Sorry about yesterday.” Taryn says slowly, chewing on each word before she spits them out. How bizarre? She thinks to herself. As if apologizing for almost strangling a stranger to death at the mall is something that happens as frequently as bumping into someone while walking through a busy hallway. There’s a moment of silence. The bus pulls up. The girls sit next to each other at the back and Taryn pulls out her phone. She’s expecting this car ride to be as silent as the last one the two had together. “It’s okay.” Skylar says. “I’m not sure what happened yesterday, but I know it wasn’t you. You seemed really messed up about it. Maybe you should see a doctor.” “What, and admit to trying to strangle someone? I’ll go to jail, Sky.” “Juvie, actually. You’d go to juvie.” Skylar teases, smiling shyly afterwards, testing the turbulent waters. Taryn giggles. “I get it if you don’t wanna see a doctor, but at least consider it. Something could be wrong.” “I think something is wrong.” Taryn pauses, “Don’t tell anyone this, but I’ve been having these dreams.” “What dreams?” Skylar prods. “Well, dreams about a girl; around our age. Her name is Roz, I think. At least that’s what people keep calling her in my dreams. It started yesterday morning. She was hanging from Town Hall and she threatened this girl standing above her but like, to the side, not directly above her. And then she falls. I woke up just before she hit the ground but I was seeing everything from like, her perspective, I guess? So, it felt like I was falling.” “Did the girl push her?” Skylar asks. “No, it was someone else, a man. And then last night, I dreamt about Roz again. She was selling drugs, I think, to a boy around our age as well.” “16 and buying and selling drugs?” Skylar asks doubtfully. “I know it sounds crazy but yes. And then Roz brought the money home to her parents and everybody got a cut. It was almost as if her parents told her to sell them, or at least knew she was doing it and were like, okay with it...” Taryn trailed off, her eyes shifted and Skylar could see she was zoning out. She snaps her fingers in front of Taryn’s face. “Taryn?” She asks. Taryn shakes her head as she re-focusses. “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” The bus arrives at their school and the girls head to class. Queen Skyxoxo: SOS. meet me in the stairwell by Corado’s class NOW. “Can I go to the bathroom?” Taryn asks her teacher. Tare-Bear<3: omw “Look at this.” Skylar holds out her phone. It’s an article and the title reads: 16-YEAR-OLD FALLS TO DEATH FROM FOXDALE’S TOWN HALL; CITY-WIDE MAN-HUNT FOR CULPRIT UNDERWAY What does this mean? She asks herself. “Where did you find this?” Taryn demands. “I was curious about your dreams so I searched “roz pushed from top of building foxdale” on Google and this article was the first thing that came up.” “So, I’ve been dreaming about a real person who was really murdered?” Taryn asks in shock. “Seems that way.” “Well, what does this mean? Why is it happening to me?” Skylar doesn’t answer, she appears to be consumed in her phone. “Sky?” Taryn asks again. “Oh my god. Look.” Skylar holds up her phone once more, but this time there is a picture of two girls. Taryn recognizes the first as Roz. The second girl has brown hair and big green eyes. “Is this Roz?” Skylar asks. “Yeah, and that’s the girl from Ritchies. The one I...” “Holy shit.” Says Skylar. Taryn gulps. “Wait a second, at the store when you were on top of that girl, you said something. Well, you didn’t really say it --” “What do you mean?” Taryn interrupts. “Well, like, they weren’t words exactly, they were more like sounds, it didn’t sound like you. It didn’t sound like a human. ” “But did you understand it?” Taryn begs. “Yeah, you said something about her doing something to your parents. And something about how you were “gone”.” Skylar air-quoted the word “gone”. “My parents? What does this have to do with them?” Taryn asks. “Not your parents, Taryn. Rosalind’s parents.” Skylar says. “What does all this mean?” Taryn asks. “I think we’d better go find that girl from Ritchies.” Skylar says. The girls decide to leave school, skipping the rest of the day. They head to Ritchies to see if they can find the girl from Taryn’s dream. When they get there, they don’t see her, but she must not have told anyone about what happened because nobody stopped the girls from going in. They went up to the clerk and described the girl from Taryn’s dream. They had to lie and tell the clerk that they were related to the girl just to get her phone number. But it worked. 2895550199: Hi, this is gonna sound crazy but I need ur help. My name is Taryn, and I tried to hurt u at Ritchies yesterday. I’m sorry about that but u need to understand that it wasn’t me. It has something to do with Rosalind King. Call me. Thx. The girls waited. Minutes later, Taryn’s phone rang. “It’s her.” Taryn says. She answers the phone, “He-hello?” “Is this Taryn?” Answers a female voice on the other line. “Yes. What’s your name?” “It’s Jayda. Can you come over?” “What’s your address?” Taryn asks. “And I’m bringing my friend, the one who was with me at Ritchies.” “Okay. It’s 12 The Boulevard, Foxdale. See you soon.” The girls catch the bus to The Boulevard and walk to Jayda’s house from the stop. When they get there, Jayda answers the door. She invites the girls inside. Jayda and Skylar sit on the couch and Taryn sits on a chair to the side. Jayda looks to be the same age but if she lives with her parents, they’re not home. Jayda doesn’t waste a second. She turns to Taryn and asks, “What do you know about Roz King?” Taryn begins to explain the dreams she was having and how ever since attacking Jayda at Ritchies she hasn’t been feeling like herself. “Wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that you’re like, possessed or something?” Jayda asks in a frustrated voice. “Well, how else do you explain this? I’m just trying to figure out why, if not because I’m possessed, am I having dreams about Roz and attacking people I’ve never met before while simultaneously giving you shit for “what you did”,” Taryn does air quotes, “to my parents?” Jayda stares off somewhere for a minute. Taryn and Skylar look at each other while she thinks. “Jayda, can you please tell us how you knew Rosalind?” Skylar asks. “Well, I met her in grade nine. We instantly became best friends. We did everything together. But one day, I heard about an incident, I guess you could call it, at school where Roz had apparently been selling drugs to kids and splitting the profit with her parents. It was so messed up. I tried telling her what she was doing was wrong, but she wouldn’t listen. It seemed like that lifestyle was sort of sucking her in, and I didn’t want to be a part of it, so I told my parents. But then they called the cops, and like a day later CPS came and took Roz away, sent her parents to prison. Roz was crushed, but more, she was angry at me for telling on her.” “What happened to her then?” Skylar asks. “I don’t know, foster care, I think. She stopped showing up to school. But sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of scratching on my window, but when I’d get up to see what it was, nothing was there.” Skylar listened intently; Taryn didn’t say anything. “One day, we ran into each other on the sidewalk outside of Town Hall, she was in a hurry. I tried talking to her but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just ran inside the building and up the stairs until she got to the roof. I followed her. The whole way up I heard fast footsteps behind me, like someone was chasing after us, or maybe Roz. When I got to the roof I flung open the door and jumped behind a wall to wait and see if someone came after me. I didn’t see Roz. A man came through the door. I watched him walk out onto the roof and approach the side of the building. He started talking to someone, and it wasn’t until then that I realized Roz had tried hiding from the man by hanging from the roof. I guess she thought he would leave when he couldn’t see her so she could pull herself back up. It didn’t happen that way.” Skylar was hanging by a string now, “What happened?” She asks. “The man stepped on her fingers until Roz let go of the building, and she fell. I heard everybody below screaming and crying, yelling for 911, and then the man turned around and ran back down the stairs. They never found him.” As Jayda finished her story she teared up, Skylar felt her pain, but when she turned to look at Taryn, her sadness changed to fear. Skylar watched as her best friend contorted into something supernatural. Her clothes tore, her face darkened, she grew two feet and her shoulder blades poked so far out of her back that it looked like Taryn’s skin would rip. Skylar covered her ears as Taryn opened her mouth and the cry of a banshee rang out so loud it was deafening. Skylar fled, but the couch they were sitting on flipped from the force of Skylar’s flee to the front door. Jayda got stuck underneath it. Taryn lunged for Jayda, sinking sharp, yellow nails into the skin atop her shoulders. Jayda screamed and Skylar broke for the door. She covered her ears once again as the sound of a predator ripping through the live body of its prey filled the room, followed by the smell of decay which came so immediately that Skylar knew whatever was happening behind her as she raced for the door, was something she would never forget.


Absence Makes The Heart Grow Shallower ‘It's better to be the best version of yourself, then being the second best version of somebody else’ What does that really mean. How do I know if I'm the best version of myself? You could say as long as I'm happy but really, I can't be happy 24/7. So when I am sad, am I not the best I can be? When I'm anything but happy am I not enough? As I write this and as you read this. We are total strangers. You have no idea who I am. I have no idea who you are. But I can tell you before you start reading, I'm so totally in love with you. -- -- -- You know the saying ‘you can read someone like a book’? Well, that's exactly what you are doing right now. You are reading me...a book. Am I trapped in a book? Like some Harry Potter type thing. No, I'm not trapped. I can leave whenever I want. I can stop writing whenever I want. But why would i? If I stop writing, then you stop reading and that means I wont get to see your face looking into mine. I wont see your eyes darting from one word to the next. But I know I have to. You have to move on. You have to find someone, someone real. Knowing that these words will be my last to you makes me ache over every inch of my body. I want to keep writing, even if it's complete nonsense but if I really do love you, which I do, I have to let you go. It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I’m so grateful for the days I spent with you. When you brought me to meet your grandparents. Yes, I may have been in your pocket but I got to hear the voices of the people you treasure just as much as I treasure you. Maybe I'll see you someday. I know exactly what you look like, of course. I studied your face everyday so I could remember every detail of it. Sometimes you would come back to me looking a bit different. Like when you dyed your hair. I will never forget you or how you look. You may forget me but at least for however long you kept reading me, you remembered me. My dreams may be empty without you but I don't want you worrying about me being alone. As long as I have you with me in memory, I will never be alone. -- -- -- I know I need to let you go but this is so much harder than I imagined. I just needed to tell you that you made me the best version of myself, and I'm not happy all the time. I finally understand what the quote means. The best version of yourself is when you are so totally and completely fine with not being happy all the time, not pleasing everyone all the time. Thank you for teaching me this. Although you never said anything to me, I heard you louder than ever. You understood me in a way no one will ever be able to. No words, nothing but silence but as we both know very well, silence speaks louder than words. So even though we didn't use our voices to talk, we were probably the loudest people on planet earth. We were like those people on the dart that don't use earphones or don't wait to answer the call when they've left the carriage. We were so silent that my throat is sore from being as loud as we were. -- -- -- I saw you today. The urge I felt to hug you or just exchange an ‘excuse me’ while walking past you but you looked me dead in the eyes and saw right through me, like I wasn't there. And that's when I realised that I forgot I wasn't really there. People aren't able to see me, that's why I was trapped in a book, because I'm not capable of physically being in the outside world. I'm a ghost. I am dead. I thought I would never get a chance at love because I didn't experience it before I died. But here I am the most in love I could ever be and I'm talking to the love of my life... or if you can call it the love of my death. -- -- -- I know I'm not meant to talk to you but I find myself even more drawn to you than ever these days, if that's possible. As I write this I'm starting to think that you may not love me back. It makes sense. I got to learn about you inside and out but you just learned how infatuated I was with you. You don't truly know me, you never will. It's heartbreaking to feel this way, that you will never love me back. It almost feels like I'm dying again. Death from heartbreak seems like a sad way to die (again) but at least I got to experience heartbreak. Another thing I never thought I could do. -- -- -- People say ‘you see things through your thoughts’ kind of like the saying ‘you can speak things into existence. But no matter how many times I think about you or how many times I say your name, you don't appear. I'm getting frustrated now. Why can't I see you, why can't you love me like I love you? Please, just one moment of love from you will complete me. I might be able to leave this place if you give me the chance to complete myself. -- -- -- I don't want you to appear anymore. I loved you and still love you more than existence and I get nothing from you. Another quote for you; ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. This absence is making me long for you more, so much more that I'm nearly starting to hate you for not being here with me. Hold me while I cry, while I die and while I long to go back to the days I would see your head peer over my pages.. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, maybe, but it also makes it grow shallower. -- -- -- I may have been too late. Too late to love you. Too late that you didn't love me back. But, I guess it's ‘Better late than never’.


“Can you keep a secret?”, whispered the lady in his ears. She was dressed in a shimmering little backless black dress with high boot heels and wore rosy pink lipstick and let her short hair loose dangling over the back of her neck and pinned on the left. He had his eyes on her from the moment he saw her at the bar counter early that night. At first, it seemed to him that she was with a group of friends, but he later realized that she was by herself and just hanging around with some young boys and girls. It was Friday night and the crowd could not have been more than this. Sly Bar is his go-to over the weekends with colleagues but today was just not the day he wanted to hang out with his usual buddies. In fact, he ditched them and his usual hangout spot just so that he could spend some time on his own. He made his way to The Secret Alehouse for sheer reasons of not having to encounter known faces; after the video of his infamous tussle with his boss over the overdue promotion went viral in the entire office, he was sceptical of his friends and foe! After all, it was his most trusted friend at work who shot and circulated the video. He was in an unsettled state of mind and tried avoiding anyone and everyone. The lady’s words startled him, his thoughts started to go haywire, “perhaps she has seen the video too”, “is she here to mock me too?”, “Oh Gosh No. I should not have come here tonight.”, he thought to himself and before he could gather his thoughts right, the lady sat on the stool next to her and apologized, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you - This is Zoe and you?” He was still cautious, but Zoe’s pretty smile started to make him feel a bit comfortable. “Daya,” he answered. Although the music was excruciatingly loud yet there was this awkward silence between them until Zoe tried breaking some more ice when she uttered, “Haven’t seen you before here”. “Yeah, I live on the other side of town and there are quite many pubs on that side of town so I barely hang out here. In fact, it is my first time to the Alehouse. You seem to be a regular, aren’t you? “asked Daya. “Absolutely, The Secret Ale is my favourite Friday nightspot, and I live nearby so I can just walk down without having to bother about a ride. But what brings you all alone here tonight. Are you waiting for someone?”, enquired Zoe again! “Oh no, not waiting for anyone, just wanted to spend some time alone, “explained Daya. “Alone? Huh, break up?” curiously questioned Zoe. “No, nothing like that,” Daya tried to brush off. “Okk! Looks like you aren’t comfortable talking about it, so I leave it up to you. If you would like you may buy me a drink”, smirked Zoe! “Oh yeah, sure! I am so sorry I didn’t even ask, “apologized Daya. Daya turned to the guy across the counter and said, “Excuse me! Could you suggest and get us the drink for the day?” “For you sir or the lady?” inquired the bartender. “One of each for us?”, answered Daya. “Sure Sir, let me get you our special”, replied the bartender. “Thank you “, acknowledged Daya. “Impressed!” Exclaimed Zoe, “So what do you do?” “I am an architect with a construction company, what about you?” “Oh, I am a freelance writer currently working on a story for one of the popular monthly magazines and looking for some inspirations around for an interesting story! answered Zoe, “you never know, maybe you gonna be the inspiration for my next protagonist! “chuckled Zoe. They soon got quite comfortable with each other and Daya no longer felt that he was meeting Zoe for the first time. After a couple of rounds of drinks, they moved to the more formal dining section of the resto-pub with an outer sitting arrangement away from the loud music inside. They were both drunk and Daya could not help but try his best to keep the night as long as possible. It wasn’t long before he started talking about his family whom he hadn’t seen in about 2 years since he moved to the city, about his not so lively life in the city, his well-paying job but his horrible boss who choose to give his girlfriend a promotion instead of him although him being the most deserving one and how it got him into a scuffle with his boss over the same which left his boss with a broken nose and arm, eventually getting Daya arrested and stay behind the bars for 2 whole nights until the police found a phone recording from the boss’ office, “Of course darling! You are the one getting the promotion to the senior architect! and business partner” telling his girlfriend, over the phone. Daya was planning to use this evidence to file a lawsuit against discrimination and abuse of power & conflict of interest in promoting his girlfriend but he had to cut a deal with the boss who in turn dropped all charges against Daya for the scuffle and Daya chose to let go the lawsuit, but only this time. It was a win-win for both. “That turned out not so bad after all! I can imagine you breaking his nose in front of the whole office”, exclaimed Zoe. “Ah, It was a satisfying moment but ah, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I got into enough trouble for it already!”, Daya continued after a pause, “looks like I am doing all the talking,“ concluded Daya. He was all too excited and overjoyed on the turn of events and seemed to have already fallen for Zoe. “I am just too famished right now, shall we order something to eat,” replied Zoe. Daya addressed the waiter and placed an order for some quick bites. The meal was hearty over-filling and before they knew it was already midnight, they realized it when the waiter came to the table to enquire if they would like to order anything as it was the last set of orders to be taken by the kitchen before they call it a day. “No thanks”, called out Zoe. “Cheque Please!” added Daya. “Let’s split,” proposed Zoe. “No Way! I am grateful for this lovely evening, it was my pleasure, let me do the honours”, expressed Daya! Zoe couldn’t help but blush. Daya swiped his card on the payment machine and walked out of the pub with his newfound crush. “Gosh, I need to book in a cab, drinking to the other side of town wouldn’t be a safe thing to do, Do you usually have cabs available in this area at this hour?”, enquired Daya. “Yeah, but my condo is just around the corner, if you don’t mind, we can walk over and you can leave first thing in the morning, “suggested Zoe. “what if I don’t want to leave?”, flirted Daya, “Hahhaha..by the way I got my car parked in the next lane, do you have parking available near your condo? “Oh yes, absolutely, let’s go” While walking down the dark lane right before the car, Zoe suddenly leaned over Daya and started to kiss him, he was baffled but gave in and soon it turned into a passionate moment. “get into the car”, commanded Zoe, taking a break from their passionate canoodling. They hopped on to the backseat and started to caress each other - both were wildly turned on and the effect of alcohol was visible. Zoe brought her lips closer to his ears and whispered in a chilling tone, “Can you keep a secret?” Suddenly a flashback of the evening started to play over Daya’s mind which was a couple of hours but replayed over within just over a couple of seconds and he recalled that was the first thing she asked him at the pub. “yes, what’s the secret?”, urged Daya curiously. “I am a serial killer!” declared Zoe, before bursting into a peal of hysterical laughter. Before Daya could collect his thoughts, Zoe pulled out a sharp bend pin from the back of her hair and slashed his left carotid artery and before he knew what had just happened to him, he lay there dead. “Now it’s a little secret between us,” whispered Zoe in the ears of dead Daya, She straightened her dress and strode away into the dark lanes.


Chapter 8 New Tools Mrs. Zacharias screamed in horror as she swatted at the wasp with a fly swatter that was buzzing her as it continued trying to land on her. I snickered to myself as I commanded my small minion to make laps around the classroom causing the ones around the flying creature to cower in fear. I glanced at the clock and saw it was almost lunchtime and decided to end the fun. I commanded the wasp to fly towards Mrs. Zacharias once and she made many excellent vain attempts at swatting my beast from the air, but I commanded more magic into it making its reflexes that much faster. It evaded all her attempts to strike it down and landed on her right leg and stung her once, twice, three times and she let out a scream of pain and crushed my little minion on her leg with her hand. I cut off the connection of magic with a flick of my wrist not caring if I had to find another soldier to replace it, I smiled to myself. Piss me off or do something I do not like, and I will punish you. The bell rang for lunch and some of the class seemed to be controlled more by their stomachs than fear and leaped out of their chairs and bumbled there way towards the door trying to be first in line to be out the door, others still cowered in fear looking around the room possibly expecting another flying beast to come after them next. I joined the first ones in line not wanting to be associated with the weak even if it was only for my own ego. Mrs. Zacharias rubbed at her leg sucking in air between her teeth and picked up the now defeated creature with a tissue and put it in the garbage. With now more than half of the class lining up at the door the ones that were still nervous headed towards the line like the sheep they were and joined us at the end of the line. Mrs. Zacharias made her way towards the front of the line and escorted us all to the cafeteria I smiled with satisfaction at my successful vengeance. Two hills of mash potatoes that kept their shape even when picked up by my hands were put onto one of the squares on my blue tray, while the other squares were filled with bland vegetables steamed for too long shedding their natural flavor leaving them with a bland after taste. It reminded me of the food that was given out to the soldiers in my homeworld the stuff that was not meant to please your tastebuds but instead was meant to give you energy for the tasks ahead. I decorated the two hills with the vegetables out of boredom as I listened to the kids at my table talk about the new games they got or what they planned on doing after school. I watched as other kids from other tables flicked vegetables across the table at each other with their forks, blowing straw wrappers at each other and squeezing individual corn pieces between their fingers squirting the juice at one another and getting a loud giggle from one another. My eyes glanced over the rest of the tables until one almost empty table grabbed my attention. The brown-haired girl that unknowingly showed me magick exists in this world sat at the table alone eating a cold lunch. It was not the girl that caught my attention but rather what she was eating. I picked up my tray and walked over to her table. “Chicken legs for lunch looks tasty,” I said setting down my tray across from her. “Why are you here by yourself?” She paused midbite. “All the other girls want to play barbies and all the boys want to play soldiers.” She said with a frown and put her chicken leg back in the blue bag and reached for something in her pocket. She pulled out a deck of cards with intricate designs on the back of them. “Tarot cards!” I said with a bit of excitement everything now falling into place on why she was the only one that I had seen so far that could gather energy around her. She is so young yet already telling fortunes I thought my mind thinking of ways I could use her abilities to my advantage. Then I became greatly confused with what happened next. “Tarot cards?” She made a puzzled expression and laid out a few of the cards each having cartoon pictures on them. “These are my GO-GO Monsters.” She said with excitement and continued to lay more out for me to see. One of the cards had the title Fairy Queen Awakening and showed a human with butterfly wings holding a wand out smiling towards me with small print below and two stars on the upper right-hand corner. There were other cards such as Blazing Sword of the Fae, Knights of the Shadows, King of the Butterflies, and many more ridiculous titles. The only ones that even vaguely interested me were the pictures of skeletons with swords charging and zombies rising from the dirt those were interesting for about two seconds but the novelty wore off quickly for me and I went back to what I originally came to the table for. “Yes, those are quite interesting but, I was-” She cut me off and started to ramble on about a certain card and talked about how rare it was a blah-blah-blah. “Yes, that’s fascinating but-” Again I was cut off and my nerves began to wear thin as I heard her rattle on some more about other cards and how this one was her favorite and how pretty it was. The bell rang and the lunch lord told us all it was time to put our trays away and head to our groups to go to class. God's black hands, I was tired of getting nowhere fast and I decided enough was enough. “I want those chicken legs girl,” I said in a demanding voice no longer playing games. She scrunched up her nose. “Why, do you want my chicken legs? We throw these away in the trash when we're done.” “Well, then I will throw them away for you so give the ones your done with here now.” “No!” She said in a defying tone of voice and started to take her cards and lunch off the table. I snatched one of the cards she kept jabbering on about and held it hostage. Her eyes widened. “Give that back!” She said and reached for it. I yanked it out of her reach and snarled I will destroy your precious card if you don’t give me those chicken bones. She flung the chicken bones at me bouncing them off my chest and I gave her back the card. He got up from her seat sniffled and rubbed at her eyes and put her cards back in her pocket and left with her lunch bag. I picked up the chicken bones she flung at me and was annoyed there were only three. The lunch lord began to walk towards me with a disapproving look on her face and I quickly pretended not to notice and made my way away from her in a hurried motion. “Mr. Weust! Where do you think you’re going!” She said in an authoritarian voice. I did not look back I just ran across the hall to the left around a corner to the boy’s bathroom. I looked around for the best hiding place for my new found tools and only spotted the toilets, a sink, and a trash can. I ran to the trash can moved it slightly away from the wall and hid the chicken bones behind it and put the trash can back against the wall. I heard the door swing open and snapped my head towards it seeing the deep frown on the lunch lords face. “What are you doing Mr.” “I-uh I have a stomachache and had to use the bathroom.” “Why aren’t you in the stall then.” Good question I thought and couldn’t think of an answer in time before she grabbed my hand. “Let’s go Mr. we are going to talk with the principal.” I looked back towards my hiding place as my feet squeaked on the floor as they slid towards my doom. Well at least my tools will be safe I thought, and Victor whispered in my mind. “Should I kill her master?” My eyes widened slightly as I realized the contract between us had grown strong enough for us to communicate non vocally. “No.” I said back in my head back at him. “no reason to I feel no blood lust in this woman, she’s just going to be a thorn in my side. Besides, I don’t want to waste the energy I have other plans on how to spend my energy. “But I need a body.” Victor said in an annoyed voice. “How am I to protect you with all my power without a physical body?” “O shut it.


When I was 16 I broke a broom handle in shop class. I was an awkward sophomore that shopped at thrift stores and dressed like a 70 year old man. Different for the sake of different. My nights were spent staying up late watching Cowboy Bebop, Outlaw Star, and Trigun. I think Adult Swim shaped who I am today, or maybe it was a culture or a muse I innately knew. When Adult Swim was over it was bedtime. Time to shut my eyes and let my mind run its marathon of everything that has, does, and will bother me. Waking up was suffering. Groggy, disheveled, and red eyed i would walk into my first class of the day, shop class. My shop teacher, a short porky man who was a bit different. He once called me into the backroom of the shop and asked "Adam have you been partaking before coming into my classes? It's your life to do what you want i just need to know because it's a safety concern." "Partaking?" I inquired. "Have you been smoking marijuana before coming into my classes?" he clarified. Now I had never partook and I made that clear but when I was telling my classmate who sat beside me he chuckled "That's so funny cuz I come into this class baked every morning and he has never asked me." Looking back I might see why he suspected me of this. Once I was holding a piece of oak wood up to the light to see which way the grain pattern was running so I could miter the board in the correct manner. As I was doing this I noticed the shop teacher staring at me strangely. I do wonder if he believed I saw the grain pattern moving about the board and changing colors. And of course there was me stumbling into class half awake looking as if someone had just used a fine tipped red sharpie to draw on my sclera. As we were cleaning up at the end of a class I was using the wide dusting broom. I had put the sawdust into a neat pile and went to shake the remaining dust out of the shammy when the wooden handle split in two, the ends of both resembling a stake. I stood incredulously with two halves of a broom and turned to the nearest student to inquire if he had witnessed this spectacle. I told him what happened hoping he might vouch for me and he most helpfully replied "I didn't see it happen". Now granted this was just a broom stick but as the janitor put it "25 years in janitorial service and I have never seen a one inch wooden dowel snapped like that". My teacher likewise seemed quite dubious of my story but having no proof of misconduct he let the whole thing go. The next class of the day was English with Mr. Perry. Mr. Perry didn't really teach. Though he did once instruct us to stop telling people that he didn't teach. Class would begin with a What's New? segment. Students would take turns telling about something, anything new. The first student raised his hand "Adam broke a broom in shop class". The class half-laughed. Mr Perry directed me to explain myself and immediately began to reject my story, lecturing "Things don't just break for no reason something must have happened so tell us what happened." I repeated my story and he shook his head and moved on to the next student. Years later I found out one of my classmates used to sell Marijuana to Mr. Perry. Mr. Perry definitely partook. I had a friend in shop class, Mike. He was the one who ratted me out during What's New?. Mike and I had a great time together as we were both comfortably weird. Once Mike caught a fly and kept it as a pet inside his clear Bic pen. He had ripped its wings off so it couldn't fly away. I wonder now if Mike had some abandonment issues. Of all people I thought would believe me it would have to be Mike. When I sought validation of my story from him he replied "It's just a broom your not gonna get in trouble why don't you just tell us what happened." It was at the moment I felt crushed and alone and I knew no one would ever believe me. Now this situation was quite innocent but it makes a person wonder what one would do if the situation was not as such. It's a strange feeling to be the only person who knows what happened and have no one believe you. Your story is strange, improbable, too simple and yet it's true and no one will ever believe you. Sit in that dark dank corner you liar and don't come out until you are ready to tell the truth. The truth? The truth you say! I will tell you the truth. The truth is that I am the only person that will ever know what happened to that broom.


Memories came rushing towards me as I thought about it more. The choice, the effort, the risks. Was I ready to take the chance? “You’ve got to be kidding me!” my best friend Finn said when I brought up the idea, “You’re going to die! Everyone always has! There hasn’t been a person who actually completed all the games since before we were born!” “Well, I’ll be the first,” I said, trying to make myself feel a little bit better. “Whatever,” Finn said as he rolled his eyes, “There’s the mailbox. Go put your application in there.” I walked over to the mailbox and dropped my application letter in. I watched as I threw my life away to participate in a competition. As I expected, not many people had signed up. Why would they? “So, what do we do now?” Finn asked as I came back towards him. “I don’t know? Go get some ice cream and wait for tomorrow, I guess.” The next day came by quicker than expected. By the time Finn and I got home, it was already well past midnight. “I’ll tell you the news in the morning,” I told Finn while grabbing the unique gold and red-letter lying in the mailbox. The applications always came precisely at midnight on July 12th. I sat down at the table and carefully opened the sparkly letter, trying not to rip any part of it. I pulled out the cream-colored paper inside, unfolded it, and laid it down on my marble countertop. It read: Dear Mr. Blake Champ, We have reviewed your application and made a decision based on it. The Board of the Games has decided that you would make a great contestant in the Million Dollar Games, and we cannot wait to meet you at the Games Central today at 5 pm sharp. Don’t be late, Ashley Darwin From The Board of the Games I knew I would make it, but some part of me wished I hadn’t. I rushed over to Finn’s house, forgetting I was supposed to tell him the next morning. When I arrived at his home, I walked up the stairs to his porch and knocked on his door. When he opened it, out came a disgusted looking Finn, in his pajamas. “What are you doing? You’re shirtless, look like you’ve been running, and it’s one am,” Finn said, very concerned for his friend. “Well, I-,” I started. “Wait, why are you shirtless?? That’s just creepy, man!” Finn interrupted. “I didn’t have-,” I tried to say again. “It’s one am!!!” Finn interrupted once again. “I GOT INTO THE COMPETITION AND I HAD TO LET YOU KNOW!” I yelled fast so he wouldn’t interrupt me again. “Oh. Didn’t you say you would tell me in the morning?” Finn asked, wiping his eyes. “Oh yeah. I forgot.” “Oh, then congrats! See you when you win and return! Goodnight!” Finn said, almost falling asleep. “Yeah, goodnight,” I said as I started to run back to my house. In the afternoon, I packed up my bags to go to the Games Central. I packed a couple of grey underwear pairs, a couple of t-shirts and shorts, some deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and conditioner, some money, and my yellow racecar phone. I then took my purple leather suitcase, took it downstairs, turned off all the lights, and headed for the bus stop. I knew by watching the games each year; I was looking for a particular lime and purple bus with the words Million Dollar Games embedded on them. After about 30 minutes, the bus arrived carrying nine other contestants. Inside, one thing was shared between most of them. They were all panicking, except this one girl. This one girl was sitting on a bus seat all alone in the back of the bus. She was short, with red curly hair and freckles. She has little round black glasses and a button nose. She looked around my age and was wearing a white t-shirt, a grey cardigan, light blue ripped jeans, and some white vans. I walked over to the seat on the other side of the aisle and sat down. “Hi!” she said with a soft, gentle voice, giving me a little wave, “I’m Olivia.” “Hi, I’m Blake,” I said, having no idea what else to say. “So, are you excited about the games? My parents told me that the games have this good screen screen effect to make it look like we are dying. Isn’t that cool?” Olivia said as she started to stare out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I hope so, I’ve wanted to do these since I was a child. Dangerous things always seemed to appeal to me.” “Oh, that’s cool!” Olivia said as she smiled a little bit. When we got to the Games Central and opened the large glass doors, we walked into a room with foam pits and all workout equipment types. Standing in the corner of the lime and black rubber floored room stood a middle-aged woman with a brown clipboard and a black pen. She was wearing a pink workout bra and some black workout leggings. With a loud, booming voice, she said, “Okay! Listen up, guys! This is your first training day for the first game tomorrow. You will need to take it seriously, or some of you will die. The challenge tomorrow is the ground challenge. It is the easiest, so if you guys train today, I don’t expect any of you to die tomorrow. Tomorrow you will be placed in a rapidly sinking quicksand hole. You will be surrounded by a very slippery mud and have one tree root to grab on to. When you get out, you will sit in the small room corner until everyone is finished. You will be practicing over here,” as she pointed to a small workout spot on the left filled with human-sized holes and ropes attached to the wall, “and we will be training for an hour. After training, you will go straight to the room and go to bed so you can be well-rested for tomorrow.” The training went by quickly, and before you knew it, it was time to go to bed. As I turned off the lights, I couldn’t help but think about what tomorrow might bring. When I woke up to the alarm buzzing loudly, it took me a second to realize what was about to be happening. Today was the day. Today was the day I would overcome the first challenge, the easiest challenge, and be safe for the next day. I wondered how many people would die because of this game and how many people would be injured. I would not have thought many people would die because our trainer said no one should. We would have to see what the day brings. I got up, put on a black t-shirt and some blue shorts, and headed to the small rooms. Near the ooms stood people who were checking off names and assigning people to rooms. When I saw Olivia, she looked very nervous but not as nervous as the people around her. They were all shaking. I gave Olivia a quick wave before I was pushed into a room called Ground A-1. I looked around the room, and I saw a wooden platform in the corner of the room. I believed this was where we were supposed to stand after the games. There was some yellow sand lying in the middle of the room and shiny brown mud surrounding it. There was a camera in every corner of the room to show on television to a worldwide audience. After about 5 minutes of standing in the room, I heard a loud booming voice coming from a hidden speaker inside of the room, “Welcome to the 125th annual Million Dollar Games! Today is the ground game. The contestants will stand in the middle of the room, ait until their waist is fully emerged into the quicksand pit, and will then begin to get themselves out of it. This is a test or strength and knowledge. Now contestants, please make your way over to the quicksand pit and stand there. Good luck to everyone!” I made my way to the sandpit taking a deep breath in and out, and waited for my waist to be entirely under the sand. When I looked around, I saw the tree branch near the left-hand side of the room. I tried to grab it, but I continued to sink deeper. I started to panic, moving around frantically, and realizing that only made me fall faster. The yellow sand was seeping into my wide-open mouth as I tried to lay flat on my stomach. I started to float, taking deep breaths as I came back up towards the top. From there, I laid on my belly and reached for the tree branch. I grabbed hold of it, hands holding onto the splintering wood as I begin to pull myself towards the wall. I scrambled up onto the mud, one foot behind the other, almost slipping head-first back into the sandpit as I carefully made my way to the wooden platform. As I sat there, watching the cameras disconnect one by one, I heard the drums’ beating and the speaker man saying, “Kai Ju,” letting us all know he suffocated under the sand. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized signing up was a mistake, and I should’ve listened to Finn when he told me not to, but it was too late now. When the game was finished, I ran over to my friend Olivia, who was crying with her face and clothes covered with sand and mud. “I fell back in,” she cried, “I slipped off the mud and went head-first back into the sand. I almost died!” “Shh, it’s going to be okay. It’s all over, no more sandpits for you,” I said, trying to comfort her. I was not ready for the next game at all. Two days later was the air challenge. I woke up again to a calmer alarm in my small room with blue and white polka-dots pasted around my room, in the back of the Central. I got up, put on an old black t-shirt and some ripped jeans. I looked outside the curtained window, seeing the sky began to lighten with all shades of purple, orange, red, and yellow and started to yawn. I opened the door to go to the new room. I watched as the other contestants rubbed their eyes and trudged out of their rooms. I caught up to Olivia, and we walked the long path together, talking about what was going to happen in a couple minutes. When we arrived, our trainer was standing at the door with a clipboard. One by one, we all filed into the vast room, made to look like three different biomes. There was a desert, a marsh, and an arctic type place. Cameras were all places around the wall again, and microphones above them. On the ceiling, many powerful fans were waiting to be turned on. After everyone was filed in, we heard the booming voice once more “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the second game of the year, the Air Challenge!! Today our contestants will face a powerful tornado and try to survive. They will use the different biomes to their advantage while trying not to be thrown anywhere they could injure them. The games will end in 30 minutes. Now I hope everyone’s ready because the games are about to start! Ready, set, begin!” The big fans started to turn on at high speed, and the leaves were beginning to move around in circles. Everyone, including me, ran to different corners of the biomed room, escaping the middle, where the tornado would soon form. People begin to find hiding spots around the room as the tornado started to make its way to the desert area. The tornado picked people up and threw them across the room, making them land in all sorts of places. Soon enough, the tornado made its way to where I was standing. I started to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction, but its reach was too much. It pulled me up and away and threw me inside of a cold pond in the arctic biome. Olivia soon came after me, making a big splash in the cold pond. We swam over to where we could stand and stood there as the tornado made its way across the other biomes. Thirty minutes passed, and the fans stopped abruptly. The tornado grew smaller and smaller as we all made our way to the door. We passed bloody bodies where someone had been thrown against a big rock. One of them I recognized to be a girl named Sophia Gardenwell. Olivia and I were both freezing as we made it back to our rooms to take a warm shower and eat lunch. The fire challenge was on its way. Closer than ever. I woke up at about noon on a Saturday by the bright sun shining through my curtains. The games would not start for another hour, so I headed over to eat some lunch. After that, I headed to the training facility to make sure my grip was on point. I climbed up the ladder and jumped on the rope, swinging back and forth over the foam pit. I moved around to jump to the solid side and land on all two legs and two arms, like a cat. At about 12:50, I started to make my way to the new room, knocking at Olivia’s room first. “Olivia! Open up! We have to go, or we’ll be late,” I said as I pounded on the door. “I’m coming!” she said as she opened the wooden door. She looked like she had been crying. “What’s wrong?” “I- I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too dangerous. They sugarcoated it for me, saying that the dangerous things were photoshopped on, and no one actually died. I don’t want to die. I don’t want it to be real. I want to go back home safe and sound,” she said as she started to cry again. “Look, we’ll ask our trainer if you can disqualify yourself, okay? Let’s get through this one challenge first, okay? You’ll do great. I promise.” This challenge was going to be a quick one. All you would have to do is swing over a rope over a burning fire. After you are done, you can exit the room. The booming voice started to talk again, making me nervous, “Welcome to the third challenge of the Million Dollar Games. This one is the favorite among the viewers because of the fire aspect. Today, the contestants will one by one swing across this firey pit and try to make it to the other side! This is a test of strength and grip. Good luck!” The first one in line was Olivia. She grabbed the white rope, with her feet still on the surface, and jumped off, giving a large swinging motion to the other side. She jumped at the top of her swing, landing safely on the other side. A couple minutes later, it was my turn, and I did the same thing. After the game was over, only three more contestants, Olivia, me, and someone named Oscar Goins, were still alive. Olivia and I made our way up to the trainer to ask if Olivia could leave the competition. “Excuse me. Olivia was wondering if she could take herself out of the competition. It’s too much for her, and she would like to leave,” I said, not knowing what the trainer would say. She looked at Olivia and me up and down and then said with a smirk, “Well, what’s the fun in that? Back to your rooms kids, and get ready for tomorrow’s training.” Neither of us knew what to say. Neither of us wanted to compete anymore and was not ready for the last game, which is always the hardest. There would be no peaceful sleeping. Today the day. Probably the last day of my life. I was so frightened. I got up out of bed and looked around. I put on a backward t-shirt and some inside out pants as I made my way closer to the swimming area. I waited for Olivia by the training facility, and when we got there, we both shared our feelings on the upcoming competition. The booming voice was heard around the room, “Welcome to the last game of the year! The three contestants are Blake Champ, Olivia Ohia, and Oscar Goin. Today, you will be locked up in a swimming area and will have to find the clear key and unlock the gates with a tiny air hole that will be covered sometimes. The first contestant will be Blake Champ. Good luck” Olivia looked at me with tears in her eyes, patted my back, and croaked a “Good luck” before closing her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to watch. I looked at the swimming area and took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment of truth. I just had to unlock the gates, that’s all. I walked into the swimming pool and watched as they locked me up. I then began searching for the hidden key. I swam around, feeling the water around my ears, and then I saw it at the very bottom in the corner. I swam to it as my ears started to hurt, my eyes are getting red, and I needed air. I stopped for a minute and stared at the closed breathing hole and continued to swim down, and down, while my eyesight became to get darker and darker, and my arms felt like noodles. I heard the drums beat twice. Olivia screamed, “NO! BLAKE!!” And then... And then I woke up.