Pepper was a dog. She was a little underweight for her size, with a speckled black and grey coat of fur that clung to her skin like a soft varnish. I never knew exactly how old she was when I got her. She had been initially given to me by my sister. Sis had picked her up from a pound half a year back as a guard dog--big enough to be thought a threat but small enough so that my sister wasn’t afraid of her. But Pepper was a sweetheart, and it wasn’t even a month before the TV had gone out the window, with Pepper only holding out as much resistance as what warranted a pat on the head, or a scratch behind the ear. Pepper didn’t get the curb because of that, however. It wasn’t until my sis had moved in with her new boyfriend, into an apartment complex that didn’t allow dogs, that Pepper had been pushed onto me. Now, I never really liked dogs. I never disliked them, mind you, but I never had a dog before. I had never taken care of any animal other than myself up until that point. I put Pepper’s dog bed in the kitchen--my house back then was a little townie with only five feet of maroon brick from the back door to the adjoining neighbor’s wall serving as a yard, not suitable for an outside dog. I placed her water bowl in the laundry room and spent the first hour or so of having her failing to figure out how to install a doggy door. I gave up and decided I’d just take her out myself until I could figure the door thing out, I went to bed frustrated, but falling asleep was not especially difficult. 2:00 AM The stabbing and offensive red digital numbers of my alarm clock informed me of the time. I don’t really remember initially getting up to piss in the night, all I know is that I did so without turning on the light in my bedroom. I stumbled sleepily to the bathroom and flipped the switch. Once I had finished I clicked the light neatly off and fumbled back towards my bedroom. I had lived in that house for a while, so I knew the way around, but even with the familiarity I had to walk past quite a steep set of old wooden stairs down to the merged kitchen/living-room, so I never took my chances in the dark. Going slowly, I brushed something soft with my knee. It was Pepper. It took me a moment to rationalize the initial jump of fright that came before the remembrance of *oh, right, I do have a dog now, don’t I?* Thinking that I must have woken her up, with a sigh and an invisible smile in the dark I gave her a quick scratch and strode past her, over to my bedroom. I lightly pushed open the well-oiled door and it swung open soundlessly. Not waiting for it to swing back and close it completely, I plopped, face first, onto my queen-size. I was greeted by wet kisses. Pepper had snuck up the stairs and into my bed while I was detained in the bathroom. It took three beats. Three clicks of the clock that ran the timing of my brain to realize what didn’t make sense. Slowly, I pushed myself up and turned in the dark to where I knew my doorway was. Another three beats. *Beat, beat, beat,* my eyes adjusted, and I saw Pepper, another Pepper. She stood silently in the doorway that had swung back open soundlessly to let her peer into my bedroom. I sat there on my bed, transfixed at something that was almost invisible in the greyish black of my room. The numbers of my clock weren’t bright enough to illuminate anything but themselves. The Pepper beside me had long since noticed the other one. She was whining and fidgeting in place, never managing a sound loud enough to be threatening. My heart was thumping. Cold sweat was drenching every part of me. The Pepper in the door way inched forward with one paw, then two steps closer, never breaking eye contact. I couldn’t see it breathing, it didn’t make any sound that I could hear over the whining and shaking beside me. I felt like my heart was going to rip out of my chest! It was on the Other Pepper’s third step that my primate brain took action. Before I knew it, out of fear and indignant fury, I had flung towards the lamp on my bedside table, pulled the chain with its distinct click, and turned as the room filled with soft light to see...! *Nothing.* There wasn’t anything there. The door must have swung back to its usual, almost closed, position, or maybe it had been that way since I had come in. But there was Pepper beside me, still shaking, not daring to look away from the spot that I was sure Other Pepper had been. It was not a dream, it wasn’t. I got up and closed the door completely, locking it and giving it a slight pull back and forth to make doubly sure of its closedness. I spent that night sleepless, lights on and huddled atop my bed with Pepper. The morning came, we broke from each other, but never so far that we lost sight of one another. After that night, Pepper slept in my bed as a permanent fixture, her bed abandoned in the kitchen. I forgoed the doggy door and stood out with her when she did her business. In turn, whenever I was in the bathroom she would lean against the door as if she was trying to assure me that she was still there, and it was still her. Whenever I came home from work she would be there at the door with fervent kisses as if saying: *hey! It’s me! It’s actually me!* It wasn’t until she died in ’02 from liver failure that that dog actually, truly left my side.


I look at me and her. And him. Back when things were good. Back when he was a boy. Back when things were normal. Back when things made sense. Back when I still felt warm inside. So unlike now. I put the picture frame down, lean back in my chair, and take a swig of whiskey. I try to push away the memories. But they do not yield. They push forth until they engulf my mind, and I feel tears begin to form in my eyes. I try to wipe them away. But they keep on coming. Each one is larger than the last. The memories don't want to go away. Not today. Today they mean business. I get up and walk out of the living room. Then I slowly make my way up the stairs and drop the whiskey bottle on the seventh step. I'm now on the second floor, staring into the open doorway of my bedroom. Where there was once a double bed, there is now a single, dirty mattress on a rickety frame. My bedroom used to be alive. But now, much like all the other rooms in the house, it was just a desolate skeleton of what once was. I barely even slept in there anymore. I mostly just slept in my recliner. Well, being passed out is more like it. I turn away from my bedroom and I look at the door on the other end of the hall. His room. Hesitantly, I approach. I stand there for a few seconds, quietly staring at it. I run my hand down my unkempt face, my beard prickling my palm. And then I rest my palm on the door. I glance down at the knob. I reach for it but then stay my hand. I stand there, looking at my slightly shaking hand. I shut my eyes tightly, and take a deep breath. I'm about to do something I haven't done in a very long time. I grab the knob and turn it. The door opens and I look into the dark room of my son. I take a single step inside, and I switch on the light. It's exactly as he left it. That night. I rub my red eyes and I step fully into his room and sit on his bed. I scan everything in his room. The posters. The clothes are strewn on the floor. The old toy rack. The shelves are stacked with various things. The video game console. Underneath his bed, I see his favourite book from when he was a young child. A book about prehistoric life. He loved dinosaurs. As I stare at the book, I do something I haven't done in a very long time. I smile. It's a small one. But one regardless. I open the book and I start reading it out loud. Every single page. Every single little detail. As I read, I glance at my side, expecting to see him there, wide-eyed, fascinated, taking in every single word and phrase. But he isn't there. I dropped the book on the floor, and I fell atop my son's bed. And I see the memory I hated the most, begin to take shape in my mind. Our annual summer barbecue was two days away. We thought we'd gotten everything ready. But it turned out that we hadn't bought enough sodas. My boy was sixteen, and he offered to head back to the store to buy some more. We gave him the money and off he went. He was talking to the cashier when the bastard barged into the store with a handgun. He shot my boy through the head, and he shot the cashier, and he shot two other teenagers who were there too. The two teens survived their injuries, and the cashier did too. But my boy, my sweet little boy... he didn't. That fucking gunman didn't even take anything. He just shot them all and ran off. He luckily didn't get far though. Some cops managed to intercept him, and he got torn apart in the resulting shootout. God, the memory of the morgue. My wife crying on my shoulder. My son laying on that metal table with a hole in his head. We didn't want to believe it was him. But lying to yourself isn't healthy. You had the face the cold, hard truth. No matter how awful it was. Our son was gone forever. Our marriage fell apart afterward. We just couldn't go on. We were both constant reminders to each other. Constant reminders of what we'd lost. I loved that woman. That beautiful, incredible woman. But I didn't want to cause her any more pain. And she didn't want to cause me any more pain. This all happened five years ago. For five years I've been alone. Hiding away from everything. Hiding away from all the memories and the pain. But today, I did something I thought I'd never do. I faced them both. The memories and the pain. And I finally stepped into my son's room after so long. And I managed to smile. I pick the book back up and put it on top of my son's bed. And then I walk to the door and shut off the light.


I wanted something different; but this, this is an opportunity that is equal to a coin flip. It’s hard to make out anything clearly here. I couldn't tell you the color of a single particle here. Light gray and darker grays, that’s it. I wouldn't touch anything closest to black, that I've learned from a quite difficult situation. So to not be interacted with, is to not interact. An introvert’s wonderland, that would be the easiest way to describe this atmosphere. I've seen dark oceans reflecting an iron sky. Trees wickedly branched out, like roots underground. Almost as if they were planted upside down. Rodents, if you want to put a name on these shadowy figures, are all shapes and sizes. But, the hostility here is a different aspect. It's almost as if everything is blinded by the darker shades. Almost if the lighter figures purposely avoid the darker ones. Like pricks with their nose in the air. It’s a world with suppressed sounds. Meaning that not a single thing can hear you, nor you them. Scream as a shadowed figure passes inches in front of you. It’ll stroll on by like it was never bothered. Now if you cross a brighter lightened figure's path or if it connects with another, it's like watching a dog fight in the first person, but on mute. And from what I've seen the darker figures win these battles. No one can survive here. Not forever anyways. This place I gotta leave, but I'm stuck because of my curiosity. Watching and observing I'm stunned and intrigued by what is to come. What would interact with me? What could possibly see me in this dark world? Have I chosen to stay for a bit too long? How would I even leave? Am I completely alone here? What shade am I to the others? As I remain still I can watch the world around me crumble but advance at the same time. When I build the courage to go forward, I try to take leaps into this unknown world. Only to realize it's a small step after all my effort to advance. Being and staying aware, I've noticed I've been in the crossfire of somethings heading straight at me. As the blackness comes I calmly imagine myself erasing. So I clench my fists and start bracing myself for a fight. Like ive seen happen between everything else before me, I stood my ground. Battled for my position to remain here. Destroyed what I thought was going to change me and for what? To own a world of a pencil drawing? Or is it my curiosity letting me remain awake? All to witness a rebirth. Waiting for this sketch to become a great high definition movie. Darkness comes and swears it’ll comfort us. Holding us close with strong protective arms. So within it, we can only look up to the open skies or be deeply suffocated. What if the secret to surviving this cricket’s lullaby is to be willing to shine a light within my own darkness, make it submit to my inner light. Will I then be reborn as a hero? Or will my created darkness become a protective layer that I've fallen in love with? Bound so close to fight the light that this darkness becomes the softest velvet illumination. An imitation of what I thought would be a heavenly door to my own light. Only to fall deeper into a realm of darker shades consuming all that brilliantly illustrates a means to escape. Staying here for the time i have, the idea of time becomes a thing that is malleable. So over the process, distance and speed become immaterial as well. As I move forward or sit still, I watch as others meddle and amuse themselves in callous ways. I watch as the darkness is put down, even from myself. Yet when one is fully in the creative force, they learn. They learn from all energies to become one team instead of one being. I get it now, years in the darkness and I just now get it. I am here to help. I always was. I’m part of an interface. An interface of reality, a bridge of sorts, if you will. A messenger. It is because of the black space, that these lights it carries, allow us to see the guiding stars. So as certain lights remain static and stable, look at those lights as broken and warped fantasies of folks who’ve never been asked to lead something so complex. The darkness isn't emptiness as space, it's a quarantine, a “lockdown”. Until you learn how to have basic self and planetary care, you can't move forward. We’re taught our “fears” were a mere needed principle. With desire to take the power and to invade others, imprinted on us to act out as a barbarian. Those folks seeking power and fear alone are fortunate the awakened ones take an interest in providing assistance from afar. Instead of handpicking each and every light that is dim and dull, step away. Far, far, far away. See that darkness isn't as random as it seems. If you take every perspective and back all the way up. You’ll see it's linear. A simple goal we all have in common. To become a light we recognize for ourselves. The darkest of lights may think we’re contained, but the secret of the infinite is that it is an ever expanding series of the finite. We will cross each other only to retain power of freedom, or limitation, as a guideline until someone has constructed a new and fabricated idea for change. Someone to lead the pack. Everything has an offspring that will always seek opposition. So in the end, standing here at the edge of my darkness, I watch as lights blur out and others take over. An endless vessel of nonaligned and yet translucent shades of gray all on the same plane of existence. This is seeing it from my brightest, yet darkest, horizon.


We quivered slightly as we sensed the Emperor looming above us. We had always known that this day would come, of course, but we weren’t sure we were ready. Would we ever be ready? Likely not. No matter how long we remained in our incubator to mutate and grow, we were always the weakest of the noroviruses. Perhaps we were even the weakest of all viromorphs. Yet there we were, resting beneath the strongest. We knew what was coming, what their next words would be. *It’s time, GMXXVII.55138,* We sensed their signal to us. *We believe that we have found you a perfect planet to take over.* We felt an overwhelming sense of anticipatory anxiety as we heard this. Our planet is nigh empty beyond what the viromorphs made for themselves, and now, we were ready to discover a planet plentiful with life. A planet prime for our overtaking, like we were created to do. The Emperor continued, *This planet is known to its inhabitants as Earth. It’s extremely diverse, with many different types of creatures to infect. The most intelligent species are known as humans. They’re middle ground compared to all the beings we have seen in our life, so you should be just fine. Except, we have one warning.* *Warning?* We signaled. *Our Emperor, what is it?* *Unfortunately, humans can detect the existence of new viruses quickly. Their medicine to deal with these viruses is limited, but there are no promises that this will be the case forever. Their technology is rapidly evolving by the moment on all fronts, including medical. You must be cautious if you wish to take over Earth. Have we made ourselves understood?* *Yes, of course, our Emperor.* *Good. It’s time for you to mutate, then. Brace yourself.* We sensed them signaling us the instructions for our new mutation, which we happily began to use. We began rearranging, with our viruses shifting to feign skin, organs, and other cells. The first thought we had was our new identity: a person by the name of Sam Norwalk, living in Washington, D.C., in the United States of America. Not long after came the strange human senses. Sight was the first and primary one that severely bothered us. The bright light of the rocks below us nearly blinded us immediately, so we squeezed our eyes shut. Next was the uncomfortable feeling of the jagged rocks poking into our now-soft skin, causing us to shift. The noise of my shifting almost startled us, and so, we stopped moving. *Take your time to adjust to your new self. Let us know once you are ready.* It felt like it took forever to get used to, but eventually, the light, feeling, and noise no longer bothered us. We looked over to the Emperor, who we could never find any words to describe even if we wanted to. We signaled, *We believe we are ready now*. *Good. Best of luck, then, GMXXVII.55138.* Everything went dark for just a few moments, before becoming unbearably bright again. We squinted our eyes, and we seemed to be in a strange room with many other people. In addition, the room was moving. A strange sack rested on my lap, with metal pieces to seal it. We’ll admit that it took us much longer than we’d like to realize we were on a metro train, and we had a backpack in our lap with all of our important documents that the Emperor had gotten us. This part of our past is not important, though. For now, let’s focus on our present.


You might be wondering why Morac, the Mother of Realms and All Creation, is coming to you of all places for advice. That’s because I am at my wit's end with my adopted daughter, Daisy. You see, when I adopted her about 98 years ago, I didn’t know her full lineage. She was abandoned, and the only paperwork related to her was the name Daisy. I mean babies between the mystical races of the realms often get left behind, turned over to Nowhere. But I had heard her cry and when I saw herthose big black eyes filled with the gleams of nebulas yet bornI couldn’t help but be moved. So yes, I, Mother of Realms and All Creation, adopted her without knowing the full extent of her parentage. For decades, that was fine. I taught her about conjuring magic and realm exploration. Showed her all the millions of worlds that I designed. She even took to designing a few herself! Then, about her sixtieth, the kidnappings started. She was princess of the Nether where we lived, a place with portals to all the realms I birthed, so naturally, unscrupulous sentience were tempted to kidnap her. There’d been dragons, orcs, robots, demons, and angels, to name a few that succeeded. I was running out of bodyguards for her as soon as I made them. Not to mention the few bodyguards that also decided she needed to be whisked away from my Keep of Eternal Passage in the Nether. I mean, once was reasonable. Four times in a decade is a lot, but they kept coming. More and more of them each passing year. So I went to God (with a G) the middle management of realms who ran Nowhere, to sort out this whole kidnapping surge. They were devastating, to say the least. I feel like that’s a common theme when meeting God. I go, “You’ve got to help me understand why she’s getting kidnapped left, right, and even in non-euclidean axises.” They go, “You adopted Daisy right?” I go, “Yes” They go, “Well of course sentience will go after her. Her father was Asmodeus, she’s irresistible.” I go, “Her father was Asmodeus? The Incubus, and Supreme demon of lust!? Why in the realms didn’t you tell me?” I might have been shouting when I said that, shaking more than a few singularities into a bang. They go, “I did, we gave you her name - D.A.I.S.Y. - Daughter of Asmodeus and Ignoble Seraphim of Youth.” That, unfortunately tracked because the girl didn’t age. She looked perpetually like a 21 year old, but I was outranged, “Those are her parents?!” They go, “Don’t blame me for your misunderstanding." It should be noted that while I’ve birthed hundreds of realms, it was all done asexually. I never needed another entity for more than companionship and friendship, which is probably why I never noticed little Daisy unconsciously sending out all those magical luring desires across the multiverse. My fierce asexuality made me blind to how she’s come into deity-hood pulsing with the yearning of a thousand lifetimes. This wasn’t her fault, it never was, but I have no idea how to help her. Her power will only grow in the next two years before her centennial. Once that hits, she’ll come into her full powers and threaten to send the multiverse into a convulsing, delicious sexual frenzy. I really can’t let that happen, so as soon as I got home I locked her in her room and I do not know what I’m going to do when she turns one hundred. Should I keep her locked up forever? Or at least until she learns to control her powers? What do I do with all those kidnappers that keep popping in? I could seal the Nether, but then entire worlds might die from the lack of magic. This is so frustrating! Asmodeus is not answering my DMs, and the Seraphim is off on holiday, whatever that means. I swear the avatar of youth has no concept of responsibility. **TL;DR Locked up my adopted daughter before her centennial to prevent her from saturating the world with her magic. It's not her fault. I’m just not sure what to do about the fact she got her bio parents' powers.** \ I’m a new aspiring mix-genre-romance author. Please give me a follow (u/SevWagoner) and join my subreddit (r/SevWagoner) for updates. <3 Looking for advice on how to improve as well as my writing niche.


It’s May 5th, 1987 on a drizzly Saturday night in Houston, Texas. Cars drive by on a busy city street. On the narrow sidewalk, Lance, a thin 30 year old man with long brown scraggly hair, walks at a hurried pace. His life isn’t filled with much. Mostly he just likes to sit in his apartment and drink malt liquor. But today is big, today he gets to see Eraserhead on the silver screen, and he is rushing as fast as he can to the River Oaks Theater on West Gray, worried he’s going to be late. Lance is what many would call a cinephile. He devours movies in his spare time, and spare time is pretty much all he’s got. He lives in a squalid little studio apartment in a not so great part of Texas City. There he watches old horror movies and reruns of The Love Boat on a tiny black and white TV, often into the wee hours of the morning. He goes to bed, usually wasted, on a twin sized sheet-less mattress. He pays the bills by delivering pizzas. He makes more money than he thought he could doing such an easy job but he knows he’s going nowhere. He’s stuck in what feels like a black hole, not aiming to get any better. Just existing and filling his needs. His needs for booze and his needs for cinema. But today’s special. Today’s an escape from the drudgery of the day to day. Lance gets to go to the city and see one of his favorite films in a cinematic church. On a big screen, in a dark room surrounded by strangers, all brought together to see something beautiful. He finally arrives at the River Oaks theater. The theater is very old and was built in the 1930s, but is full of history. It’s a beautiful Art Deco movie palace, but recently the balcony was converted into 2 micro theaters. A lot of things have been changing at this theater, they’ve installed new projectors, and more first run films are being show as opposed to repertory programming, mostly because the new and rising popularity of VHS has been keeping people at home to watch older movies. Regardless though, the River Oaks, at least in Lance’s opinion, is still his favorite place to see classic films and cult oddities. The first time he ever went to River Oaks was in 1982 to see Salo. A film he heard was full of torture and literal shit eating. His mind was blown that a movie like this could actually be shown in a theater, and while he was kind of terrified to see it he drove his beat up 1973 Pinto into town, and had an experience he wouldn’t soon forget. The movie was shocking and disgusting, but also quite boring. Much to his shock though, at the end of the film, police raided the theater and arrested the manager for promoting obscenity. He couldn’t believe what he had walked into, and decided he had to give his business to a cinema who regularly risked it all, as much as possible. Eraserhead starts at midnight and it’s 10:53pm. Lance is terrified of being late to movies and often arrives way too early. So he goes into a back alley, sits on the ground and breaks out a flask of dark spiced rum, he starts to chug it. An old man walking his German Shepherd passes by and sees Lance. “What tha fuck ARE you doin’?” the old man stammers out. Lance nervously glances over not wanting to deal with this... “Mind your own fuckin’ business!” The old man gasps in shock. “This is a nice goddamn neighborhood! Stop with that degenerate shit, and get out of that alley!” The dog sternly and loudly barks, almost as if in agreeance. The old man walks away and Lance is happy to see him go so he can get back to his drinking. Lance stumbles into the theater with more than a heavy buzz and sees Howard, the manager who got arrested for showing Salo back in ’82. Lance and Howard have formed a weird friendship over the past 5 years that Lance has been coming to the theater. Lance begged him for a job soon after he discovered the theater and for a while Lance was an apprentice to the River Oaks projectionist... for about a year. He would lug film cans up and down the stairs, clean the equipment. But eventually he was laid off and while he could've pursued this path further at another theater for some reason he didn’t. He became content working in restaurants, and enjoying the theater purely as a customer and not an employee. He certainly didn’t blame Howard for the lay off, the theater was struggling at the time, and they remained friendly. Mainly because both loved booze, and Howard would often take him into his back office to enjoy moonshine with Lance that he regularly bought from his alcoholic mad scientist cousin. Of course this night was no different and Howard and Lance snuck off to the back to drink and shoot the shit. “You were a good fucking worker man!” Howard blurts out as the two lounge in his office. “I wish I could bring you back on, but you know we can’t afford a second guy up there anymore and Dale’s not gonna leave until he’s fucking dead... this job is everything to him. But why don’t you just go somewhere else, pursue being a projectionist, I really think you could be great at that!” Lance teeters back in forth in his old wooden chair not knowing quite what to say. “I don’t know man... I mean all of the theaters near me are these shitty little corporate places where movies don’t mean shit and it’s all about slinging popcorn between Coke commercials and showings of Three Amigos and Crocodile Dundee. I just don’t like the vibe. I mean I liked being here and if that’s not in the cards then I’m fine where I am.” “Ah Lance...” Howard sighs dejected. “You know I would always have you working at concessions or whatever, but I know it’s not worth it for you to come all the way up for that.” “No I totally understand, but everything’s cool! I’m fine where I’m at! I’m having fun, living life, and I get to come out here and see awesome fucking movies with you guys!” At this point Lance is well past buzzed and into drunk and it’s 10 minutes before showtime. He stumbles out into the lobby and sees Jane at Concessions... she’s beautiful and has fiery red hair and is covered in freckles. Every time Lance sees her he makes weird small talk and the two awkwardly laugh together, but he really just wants to ask her on a date. He wants to take her out to the Pizza Hut buffet and bring her home and watch The Love Boat with her. Today’s going to be different. Today’s going to be special. He’s really going to woo her this time. “Hey!” Lance blurts out. “Hey.” Jane says meekly “Can I help you?” “You know... I come here a lot, and I always see you! And you’re... and you’re... so freakin’ cute.” The air is sucked out of the room. “You know... you’re just beautiful. And... don’t you remember me?” “Yeah... I’ve seen you around.” Jane says through a pained smile. “We always talk about the white chocolate and the milk chocolate and you hate white but I love it!” Lance belts out laughing. “Anyways... I just wanted to say what I really want to say. And that’s would you like to go out with me sometime soon? You know we could go anywhere we could eat, we could go to a park, whatever I’m down with anything!” Jane sits in silence for a painfully long time... until she finally speaks. “You know... I’m really just trying to work. And there’s people behind you.” Everybody looks disgusted at what is happening here. “Can I get you anything?” Lance’s smile disappears. “Uh no... I’m just going to go in.” The moment has arrived. Eraserhead is playing on the screen in all its glory. Only Lance isn't enjoying it because he has an aching pit in his stomach. He thinks about why he can’t keep a decent job, he thinks about why he puts himself into embarrassing situations. Jack Nance’s face floats back and forth across the screen throughout space. The rocky planet like object. The billowing industrial smoke. The images wash over Lance but he can’t take them in. All of the sudden a German Shepherd starts barking. Lance’s attention snaps over immediately. It’s the old man. He’s sitting in the theater with his German Shepherd sitting in the chair next to him, barking. Lance leaps up. “YOU! What the fuck are you doing here?!” Everybody in the audience is in shock as Lance runs towards the old man. The old man starts cackling. “I wouldn’t get any closer boy Eva doesn’t really like you!” Eva the German Shepherd growls. As the film flickers across him and the soundtrack drones Lance continues to scream. “Goddamnit DAD! Why the FUCK do you have to ruin everything! I just wanted to enjoy this FUCKING movie!” Eva attacks Lance. She tackles him to the ground and viciously rips at his arm. Blood flies as Lance screams horrifically. The Old Man laughs hysterically.


The sun hung low in the sky as Sarah Mitchell pulled up to the heavily guarded entrance of the BioTech Research Facility. As a seasoned investigative journalist, she had covered her fair share of groundbreaking stories, but this one promised to be her most significant yet. The rumors surrounding the research conducted within those walls were enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. Today, Sarah had been granted unprecedented access to the lab, a chance to uncover the truth behind the top-secret work carried out there. Stepping out of her car, Sarah adjusted her notepad and checked her camera equipment. She was prepared to document every detail, determined to expose any wrongdoing that may be lurking behind the lab's fortified walls. A security guard approached her, scrutinizing her identification before finally granting her access. Inside the facility, Sarah was guided through a maze-like corridor, taking note of the reinforced doors and surveillance cameras at every turn. The atmosphere was tense, with scientists in white lab coats scurrying about, engrossed in their work. The air carried a distinct smell of chemicals, hinting at the complex experiments being conducted. Her guide led her into a spacious laboratory filled with state-of-the-art equipment. Sarah's eyes widened as she observed the rows of high-tech machinery, each with its own purpose and intricate design. She struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what was being developed here. Dr. Rachel Lawson, the lead researcher, greeted Sarah with a warm smile. "Welcome, Sarah. We're delighted to have you here today. I hope you're ready to witness something truly groundbreaking." Sarah reciprocated the smile, her curiosity piqued. "Thank you, Dr. Lawson. I've heard so much about the work conducted here. I'm eager to know more." "Follow me," Dr. Lawson said, leading Sarah toward a sealed chamber at the far end of the laboratory. The security measures surrounding it were seemingly impenetrable, indicating the significance of whatever lay within. As they reached the chamber, Dr. Lawson scanned her identification card, and the heavy doors hissed open, revealing a sight that left Sarah speechless. Inside the room was a massive enclosure containing a lush, verdant landscape. Towering trees, vibrant flowers, and a winding river coexisted within the glass walls, creating an ethereal oasis in the midst of the sterile lab environment. Sarah's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is...? How is this possible?" Dr. Lawson beamed with pride. "Welcome to our Biosphere Project, Sarah. We have developed a revolutionary system that replicates entire ecosystems within a controlled environment. It's a breakthrough in sustainable agriculture and biodiversity conservation." Sarah's mind raced, realizing the potential impact of this discovery. "This could change everything! The possibilities for food production and environmental conservation are immense. Why hasn't this been made public?" Dr. Lawson's expression turned somber. "The project was classified due to the potential misuse of such technology. We wanted to ensure its safety and ethical use before revealing it to the world." Sarah's journalistic instincts kicked in. "But what kind of misuse are we talking about? Are there any risks associated with this project?" Dr. Lawson sighed, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and responsibility. "There are several potential misuses we have considered. One of the key concerns is the possibility of using the Biosphere Project to create controlled environments for the development of dangerous biological weapons. The ability to sustain life within enclosed ecosystems could be exploited to cultivate and engineer deadly pathogens, posing a grave threat to global security." Sarah's mind raced, realizing the magnitude of the situation. "So, the secrecy surrounding the project was to prevent such misuse?" "Yes," Dr. Lawson confirmed. "In the wrong hands, the Biosphere Project could unleash unimaginable devastation. We had to ensure that the technology was fully developed, with safeguards in place, before considering its release to the public." Sarah's journalistic instincts kicked into high gear. "Dr. Lawson, the world deserves to know about this project. Its potential benefits are immense, but the risks must be brought to light as well. We need transparency to prevent any clandestine misuse." Dr. Lawson nodded in agreement. "You're right, Sarah. We have been deliberating on the best way to strike a balance between sharing the breakthrough and addressing the risks. We understand the importance of public awareness, but we must also proceed with caution." Sarah contemplated the situation, realizing the weight of responsibility that rested on her shoulders. She knew she had the power to expose the truth, but she also had to be mindful of the potential consequences. After a moment of reflection, she made up her mind. "Dr. Lawson, I would like to collaborate with you on this. Let us work together to devise a plan that ensures the responsible disclosure of the Biosphere Project. We must inform the public about its potential benefits and the risks it carries. By doing so, we can foster a global dialogue and ensure that this groundbreaking technology is used for the betterment of humanity." Dr. Lawson's eyes shimmered with gratitude. "Thank you, Sarah. Your willingness to approach this with caution and responsibility reassures me. Together, we can make a difference and shape the future of this remarkable project." Over the following weeks, Sarah and Dr. Lawson collaborated closely, carefully crafting a strategy to share the story of the Biosphere Project with the world. They engaged in extensive discussions, consulting with experts in various fields, assessing the potential risks and benefits, and establishing frameworks to ensure the technology's responsible use. Finally, the day arrived when Sarah's exposé on the Biosphere Project was published. The article detailed the groundbreaking technology, its potential benefits for sustainable agriculture and biodiversity, and the risks associated with its misuse. It ignited a global conversation, prompting governments, scientific communities, and environmental organizations to come together and establish regulations and oversight mechanisms to safeguard the technology's ethical use. The public's response was overwhelming. Many were captivated by the possibilities the Biosphere Project presented, while others expressed concerns about its potential risks. Yet, the conversation fostered by Sarah's article allowed for a balanced and informed dialogue, leading to a collective commitment to responsible innovation. As time progressed, the Biosphere Project was gradually integrated into society, with stringent regulations in place to ensure its ethical use. It revolutionized agriculture, enabling sustainable food production in regions affected by droughts, extreme temperatures, or limited arable land. It played a crucial role in conserving endangered ecosystems, allowing scientists to study and protect fragile species within controlled environments. Sarah's collaboration with Dr. Lawson continued beyond the publication of her groundbreaking article. The two worked tirelessly to address the concerns raised by the public and to refine the regulations governing the Biosphere Project. They became advocates for responsible innovation, traveling the world to speak at conferences and engaging with policymakers, scientists, and environmentalists. Their efforts led to the establishment of an international committee dedicated to monitoring and regulating the use of biosphere technology. This committee consisted of experts from various fields who worked together to ensure that the Biosphere Project was used solely for peaceful and beneficial purposes. Under the committee's oversight, the Biosphere Project flourished. It continued to enhance food production and conservation efforts, transforming arid regions into thriving agricultural centers and contributing to the preservation of endangered species and habitats. Sarah and Dr. Lawson's collaboration also sparked interest from other scientific communities and research institutions. They began to share their knowledge and expertise, collaborating on similar projects around the world. This global collaboration further advanced the field of biosphere technology, expanding its applications and ensuring that the benefits reached far beyond the walls of the original research facility. As the years passed, the Biosphere Project became a symbol of responsible innovation and the power of transparency. The public's trust in the technology grew, and the regulations and oversight mechanisms put in place served as a model for other groundbreaking scientific advancements. Sarah and Dr. Lawson's efforts were recognized with numerous awards and accolades. They were hailed as pioneers who had not only uncovered a remarkable breakthrough but had also navigated the delicate balance between progress and caution. Sarah's experience with the Biosphere Project had a profound impact on her as a journalist. She realized the importance of responsible reporting, understanding the potential consequences of revealing groundbreaking technologies without careful consideration of their risks. She became an advocate for responsible journalism and used her platform to raise awareness about the ethical implications of scientific advancements. Dr. Lawson's dedication to the Biosphere Project never wavered. She continued to lead research and development efforts, ensuring that the technology evolved responsibly and with the utmost regard for the environment and humanity's well-being. The legacy of the Biosphere Project lived on, not only in its contributions to sustainable agriculture and conservation but also in the lessons it taught about responsible innovation. It served as a reminder that groundbreaking discoveries could shape the world positively, but their potential risks must be addressed proactively. Sarah Mitchell and Dr. Rachel Lawson's collaboration became a symbol of the power of partnership and the importance of ethical decision-making in the face of groundbreaking scientific advancements. Their story inspired countless others to approach innovation with responsibility, shaping a future where progress and humanity's welfare walked hand in hand.


THEY WERE TWO The two stood in the darkness. The two were as such; if you saw one without the other you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference for they had the same face. They were twins. As the life of twins would have it, the two agreed upon almost everything. Except that, that ‘everything’ of which they agreed, the world, at most, would not agree. For certain they even disagreed to the very law of human birth; that one should be born alone. They were two. Today though, the twins disagreed greatly. And the solution to that thing on which they disagreed was that they should spend a night in St. Nicholas graveyard and to sleep in the open air until the morning of the Saturday of the 31 st of October. It was hallows eve (obviously). What was the disagreement you ask? Well, let’s just say, the first of the twins whose name we shall call Ian (and the younger we shall name Ryan), was adamant that Ghosts and such other things of horror, did in fact exist. “ In fact , you say?” said Ryan, “But yet a fact you have not, let alone two of any kind. Show me that thing of a fact and I will believe you. Show me that thing that is undeniable brother and I shall from this night wear my shame everywhere I go, and give up that pride that I call science!” “Tonight you shall see it,” replied Ian, “I warn you brother, I WARN YOU!” Ian dramatically pocked at his brothers chest, “What you are to see today, brother, will be the utmost ghastly thing you will ever see.” THICK DARKNESS They set camp. As night approached it’s mid, the darkness begun to thicken. It was for every second that past towards Halloween, the darkness just knew to make it even darker and darker. It was so dark that you would wade into it, in fact if you forgot your weight, the darkness was thick enough to make you float. The wind too begun to be more stubborn and made settling in for the brothers a tough thing. In that wind, was carried some familiar sounds as that of an owl hooting, as that of wolves howling. But one sound was not so familiar, that is only because it was far into the night to have a man whistling. But it was not a whistle as one would often do; after some common jingle, nay it was a whistle long and spiked and so tense that it raised the ends of the brother’s hairs. Ian turned on his flash light having come out of his tent. He went to his brother’s tent who evidently took pleasure in that implicit fear that drew on Ian’s face. That whistle that sounded as if to call a dog, seemed in fact to call a dog. For out of the wind, all the sounds silenced except begun a bark so loud and low that it made the very earth tremble. This tremble had a thing about it that was magical. It made it difficult for the dead to sleep. The dead begun to rise. Ian had never been scared in his life, “Th...This... can’t be happening!” Seemed to enjoy this so much that among all this he found the indecency to laugh even as to roll on his belly like a child. THE RISING The dead where 20. Maybe 200. Maybe 2000. It was impossible to tell as it was too dark and that they began to move. Not towards the entrance, where the brothers had camped but rather towards the center where, if it wasn’t so darn dark, you would see a perfectly centered area that had a sort of alter. Because it was almost impossible to see, the two brothers did not realize that a man as large as two men and certainly as large as one small house was standing behind them. That large man, if one could even call him a man, say that giant, took the two at their feet and hauled them in a sack. The two screamed like little babes and even more Ian was screaming like a little girl. “Let us down, I demand it” said Ian, “Do you know who I am, and do you know my father?” Ryan seemed to run out of words, he was tucked in his belly and mumbling something under his breath. “Though ...valley.....death....fear no.....” that was all that could be heard of his mumbles. “This is not a matter of prayer.” Argued his brother. “Only God can save us now” cried Ryan and continued in his prayers as tears begun to drop from his eyes. Ian himself was so filled with fear that his voice quivered and his eyes begun to form. Suddenly the two were dropped without etiquette, shaking them out of the bag as one would shake out fleas. They landed straight on that alter and then came a light. Another light. And another. 20 or hundreds more lights were lit- cascading. The view was that of those dead men, women and children watching blankly at the brothers with their hallow eyes and some still rotting and others only bone. A small handsome man came from behind the crowds and to him all of them bowed. The Giant pushed the brothers to do the same. They did. “Are you Ian and Ryan?” asked the man. There was no answer for the brothers were traumatized. “Rise and answer lower life forms!” cried the man and upon that he struck his stuff (yes he had a stuff) on the ground and that seemed connected to the dead for they growled and so did that dog whose position was unknown. At this the brothers both rose from their bow and nodded frantically. “You!” said the man pointing at Ryan. “Are you Ryan Benjamin son of the great Lord Thomas Benjamin?” “Ye...Yes.” Whimpered Ryan. “And you!” he pushed his stuff into Ian’s chest. “Yes.” There was a pretentious confidence in Ian’s voice but in his pants was sure to be found a little pee. “Bind them!” ordered the handsome man. “We shall sacrifice to the gods’ one of them and the other shall be our ruler. One for the living and one for the dead.” The dead groaned and growled and unseen wolves howled. The huge man bound the twins and made them to kneel. The handsome man drew to them and raised his stuff. “Choose your sacrifice!” he shouted looking into the empty sky. And he dropped the stuff to the ground. It rolled and stopped, pointing toward Ian. “Today you die, Ian son of Benjamin.” The huge not-man man took Ian and shoved him on the alter. “No!” cried the twins in unison. Tears were running down their faces. There was a shiver in their bodies and each begun to run through their memories. Not once have they ever been separate. Now one was to live without the other. The crowd of the dead chanted, “One for the living and one for the dead!” “One for the living and one for the dead!” I BELIEVE Laying on that alter, Ian begun to pray for the first time in his life. He recited psalms 23 like he was always a Christian. Only God could save him now. The handsome man drew out his stuff a long sword and raised it aimed at Ian’s neck. When Ian was done reciting the psalm of David, he turned sideways and stared into his brothers eyes. “Brother,” he said with tears in his eyes but calmness in his soul. He was ready to die. “I believe.” The sword begun to drop. At this the clock stroke 12 and went a Shouting among the dead. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” There were not dead. Stage lights drew out of nowhere and too balloons and ribbons were floated. Huge Fireworks lit the night. Ryan was on is belly laughing. Nothing was real. Not even the sword.


A stranger comes up to me on the subway. “Hey, your watch is pretty sick, do you mind if I ask you a quick question? “ Yeah, sure I don’t mind.”, I said. “ Should I go to my office Christmas party? Well, for years I’ve worked at M&M publishers. My coworkers are nice and I get along with them, but it’s never been like how it was at my old office. I used to work at a different publishing company, Ross Publishers, but they didn’t make enough to pay bills and work efficiently, so I got laid off. It was the best there, I loved everyone, and I knew them from when I went to school. We're like a big family, or I should be saying, we were like a big family. One of my friends suggested that I send my resume to this new company that was supposed to be promising, So I did, and here we are. Trust me, I'm glad I got the job, but it’s just not the same. It’s about that time again, the holiday season. I normally don’t like this time of the year because the whole office, no, the whole building goes all out. I hate it, not because I don’t like Christmas because trust me, I love Christmas, the games, food, and gifts. I love it all. It’s just, we did that at my old job and I already think about it and miss it on a regular basis, so seeing all of the Christmas cheer and spirit, it just makes me miss it even more. I never go to parties or participate in Secret Santa or White Elephant or whatever they do. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Usually I go home, pop some delicious popcorn, and put on Home Alone or something. But the problem is I always find myself going on Instagram and seeing all the pictures and fun my coworkers are having at the party, and it makes me feel alone a lot of the time. I would like to go but I don’t want to accidentally forget my old company and the fun we had. I’d feel like I would be betraying them. It’s almost December first and I'm dreading the decorations and activities because it’ll be November 30th and the next day it’ll look like the north pole exploded all over the place. It’s November 28th and I’m going home from work and all of the traffic that’s coming back from Thanksgiving is brutal. It’s bumper to bumper out here. The road rage is scary and the language is even worse. I'm just minding my own business because frankly I don't want to be involved in the mess. Finally red turns to green and I let out a sigh of relief because I'm almost home. I start to go and I hear a sound, it sounds like screeching. I look over and a car rams into my car. Suddenly my life flashes before my eyes, I know it sounds corny and like every book or movie you’ve ever seen. But it really did happen to me. The crazy thing is though, I didn’t see much. All I saw was me sort of dreading getting up and going to work every morning, and going to the job that isn’t the same as my old one. After my flashback I heard sirens and saw my airbags went off. I mostly forgot what happened and I saw someone coming to my window. Turns out the guy who hit me didn’t do anything wrong, somehow, someway, both lights turned green at the same time. Those sort of things never happen, but it did. I had to stay the night at the hospital because they wanted to check on me, but I was fine. A couple days later I went back to work and I overheard my coworkers talking about the Christmas party. I kind of feel a little left out because I know I'm not going to go. Weeks pass and it's December 20th, the night of the party. They’re talking about the party and what they're going to wear and gifts and all. It’s getting sort of annoying since it's all they ever talk about. I get off work and the party starts at 8 but like I said I'm not going so it doesn't matter. Once I get home I put on Home Alone, I have to start early so I can also watch Home Alone 2 before I fall asleep like every year when I watch the movie. It’s like 7:00pm or maybe 7:30pm and I hear a knock on my door. I open it and I see that it's Grace, my office partner. We live in the same apartment complex. She starts to ask me if I’m going to the party. Obviously I’m not, and I tell her that, but she's one of those “ I don’t take no for an answer” kind of people. She said “ yes you are, because you have to.” “ What?”, I said. “ I never go, and I’m not going this year either.” “ I already told them we were coming together”, she said. “ Well that’s too bad, looks like you’re going alone.” “That’s it, I’m done, I’m doing this anymore, this sad depressing act needs to stop.” “ I’m sorry, what did you say?” “ No, you heard me, if you don’t put yourself out there again, you will never get through the past.” I want to argue with her so badly, say she’s completely wrong, but I can’t, she’s right. “ Who made you the boss of my life?” “ Oh stop it, we both know this needs to end, just put some festive clothing on and meet me back here.” Honestly she’s scary when she means business so I do what she tells me to do. Mostly because I thought of my crash and how it left me feeling worthless, maybe this stupid party might be my saving grace. I found this sweater with reindeer on it and it says, “ Don’t give two bucks!”, and blurred out paws like he was giving the finger, well two I guess. “ Does this work?”, I said. “ Sure, that works, now let's go, we don’t want to be late.” When we went there, I felt like a kid on the first day of school. You could tell on my face that I didn’t want to be there. We walk in and everyone just stops what they’re doing and just looks at me. I hate it when people do that. I swear you could hear a pin drop. The silence got too much that Grace said something to break the awkward silence. “ I brought drinks!” I didn’t know how to feel but it didn’t matter because everyone started to cheer and went back to what they were doing. When I think of a party I think of everyone doing their thing and then me just by myself on the couch or something. But within seconds of me getting there, five people called my name to come join them in hangman, drinking, and cornhole. At the moment cornhole sounds like a lot of fun, so I went with Riley, James, and Rachel at cornhole. We talked about all kinds of stuff and really got to know each other. Like James, he has 3 kids and 2 dogs, and then Riley, he likes to ski and play basketball in his free time. Lastly Rachel likes puzzles and singing. She even won awards for it! It was really nice and James and I ended up winning which was relieving because it was like a conversation starter. “ Hey guys, how are you doing, good, that's good. How am I? Well I just won cornhole so I’m doing great!” It was perfect. I ended up getting some drinks and playing a couple more games and I asked someone what time it was and they said “10:30pm”. “ 10:30pm! Wow I guess time does fly by when you're having a good time!” I got like ten compliments on my sweater and get this, my smile too. Yeah, people said they’ve never seen it before and it was really charming. I’ve never felt so good before. To end out the night we did some Secret Santa, I didn’t participate because they picked names a week ago, but it was fun watching. We were getting ready to leave then my coworker Charline comes up to me and gives me something, it was a watch, I guess her Secret Santa was someone who thought a watch would be a great gift. She said to look closer, it had engraved inside, “ you are so loved”. She said she wanted to give it to me, I said, “ why? Isn’t it your gift?” “ Yeah but I want you to have it because you are so loved, because we love you!” I never cry, I mean never, but let me tell you, December 20th, 11:48pm, I cried. Maybe from being overwhelmed with emotion, or maybe from the onions in the dinner we had but either way, I cried. Grace gave me a ride home, since my car was still messed up from the crash, but before she walked to her apartment, I gave her a hug. I simply said, “ thank you, you really were my saving grace.” She said, “ no, thank you, you made so many people happy tonight!” I went to bed that night so good and relieved and I finally felt the click. The same click I had at my old job, the click that tells me I finally belong. I felt whole again, and it's been awhile. “ So does that answer your question?”, I said. “ Um, actually I think it did.”, he said. “Yes, I think you should go to your Christmas Party, it changed my life in so many different ways, for the better.” I said “ Thanks man, I was really unsure about going but with your story, and your help, I’ve made my decision, I’m going to go.” “ It’s kind of funny because I’m going to my party for the 7th year in a row. Every year it’s as fun seven years ago, wow I’ve changed. If it wasn't for the party, or Grace, Charline, or even cornhole with James, I definitely wouldn’t be here, the man that I am today.


Midsummer, and we’ve left the longest day behind, the dreaded solstice interminable, but still we must contend with day after day of the warmth. Twilight, the heat lingers well past the setting of the sun, radiating leisurely back to the ether from those objects, from the very land itself, that sat baked in light in the hours from dawn ‘til dusk. Even the clouds, when present, cannot completely repel the illumination and thermal rise of the daytime. On this evening, not a puff of a breeze as the daylight succumbs, the air stagnant, providing no assistance to expedite the cooling process, as we wait. Ah, but on this night, there are other reprieves. Those beings that tend to bask in the horrid heat, rather than hide from its destructive forces, they would call this night that of a new moon, new implying rebirth, and a fresh beginning. We who shun the light, abhor the heat, have dubbed this monthly miracle as the great lunar demise, choosing to celebrate its utter extinguishment to blessed black, if only for this single night before the cycle begins anew with the appearance of a crescent crack of illumination on the morrow’s eve. Past twilight now to true and complete nightfall, the darkness permeated only by the tiny, far-flung pinpricks in the evening skies, a billion siblings to the mighty daytime furnace that roasts this world, but too far and too faint to be of consequence to us, the allies of darkness. We grow impatient, if it be possible for such as us, for our reintroduction back to the world, to begin our amalgamation back to being. We can feel a kindling growing in opposition to the falling temperature. No word exists to truly describe this transformation, our reformation. What one might call awakening, if we had been but asleep; or mistakenly cast as a resurrection, but that would imply a return to life. Ah, life, a shunned, four-letter word, rarely expressed of in polite company among us, and never ever to be contemplated or reminisced upon by those of our kind. Which brings us to tonight’s other exceptional event; the possibility to grow our numbers, increase the multitude, to lead another and another away from the peaceful yet inexplicable draw of the grave, away to join in the delights of the evenings. Two are balanced to leave this earthly realm that is the only existence they have ever known. Even now, the empty husks which are the bodies reside comfortably below their mounds of earth, each interred in separate ceremonies this day, but already the spirits are being lured by the inevitable longing for rest. We who have left that former incarnation behind, yet reject passing on, call to them on their first night of entombment, before the solace of the grave has them firmly in its cold, yet seductive grasp. The newly deceased are always our priority, so we deny to ourselves the imminent release of the boundless darkness and make our plea to them to join. We have but one opportunity, for one night is all that remains to them before they must decide, and so we call. Do not go gentle into that dark, dark earth, but linger awhile, and taste the fruits of this good night. For a day, a year, a millennium, exchange one type of the dark, be it comforting yet confining, for another form, this one expansive and athrill. We call to them, though we can no longer speak as we once did, and they listen, sometimes, even though they have already lost all capacity to hear as a living being would. We communicate. though we do not understand or care to determine how. This eve, we call to Thomas, a farmer’s son, a boy barely on the edge of manhood before tragedy appeared in his world. An accident, yes, but though death comes in many guises, the result is always the same. Pain and suffering came for Thomas, robbing him of the years that should have remained to him. That pain is yet fresh and raw within what remains of him, as it is with all the recently departed. It is escape from the pain and anguish of the time spent as a breathing man that so often fuels the desire for solace and peace. Tonight, we also call to Madeline, a woman of means until today, singer and entertainer extraordinaire, her death took a different course. She died from disease, which variety no more a concern to her now than the assets she leaves asunder, her last days spent in relative comfort at hospital. She lived more than double the span of years that Thomas dwelt upon this land, yet many still call it a tragedy for one so talented to be called away from their perceived prime, her magnificent voice now silenced. Madeline and Thomas, strangers abiding in the same countryside, he was aware of her through her fame, but only from a distance. Jump ahead to the present, to this moment in time, their final abodes being opposite ends of the same small, grassy hillside. Death came for them the same day, just minutes apart. Did Death perhaps only perceive Madeline in her weakened state when it was called boldly to these shores by the tragedy of Thomas, who can say? Death’s machinations are its own, not for the living or us, the no-longer-so, to overcome, mayhap to dissuade a bit, but ultimately only to respond in its wake as each are able. The still living bury, burn, mummify, then mourn, seeking comfort in tradition and ceremony. Those afforded such glorious sendoffs, or those who expire in humbler surroundings, can only pass on or stay and play in the coolness of the night. We have but one night to make our plea, so we must be quick, and we must be forthright, if not also a little enticing. And just what do we offer, why stay rather than drift out of this realm to the great and unknowing void? If one stays, an experience unlike any other awaits, an existence of sensations henceforth unknown. We cannot speak, we cannot hear, but oh, we can see. Farther and better than any raptor who plies the skies. In the darkness that we love, we perceive better than the slyest predator that stalks the forest floors. But our true enrapturing sense is that of touch, enhanced beyond imagination. We cannot directly interact with the material world, could not disturb so much as a speck of dust with what substance is afforded to us, but we feel ... everything! And so it comes to that which we hold most dear, the luxuriating that is our cause for existence. We creatures of sight and sensitivity revel in the coolness of the dark, writhing and cavorting to milk each experience to its utmost that it has to offer. The sky, the ground, flora in the fields and woods, stone and rock of the mountainsides, the very oceans of the world all transform to our playground with the coming of the night, with the dissipation of the heat. We can wallow in a cold mountain brook, as it passes through and around us, becoming one until us and it are indistinguishable. We ride the breezes, however faint, or careen madly within the tumult which is a hurricane, equally at home in either, feeling each molecule that surrounds and rushes around us in our explorations driven by these forces of nature. We can soar into the upper reaches of the stratosphere, where the currents are colder still, and the life sustaining elements that we no longer require are thin, or surf atop wave after breaking wave as they traverse the globe. Or, if it is our want, we may simply relish the simplicity of sitting upon a branch in a secluded wood and allow the material world to move around and through us, stimulating as it goes. The possibilities are endless, as is time to explore them, for each night presents the same choices, yet each night can be abundantly new and wonderous. Where we come from and where we go is a mystery even to us. Nightly, we are created afresh. With great effort, in moans and shrieks, we spring from the emptiness. In homes and glades, from ships and battlefields, from those places lost yet familiar, we evolve. We are not bound to them, yet we return nearly exclusively each time we dispel, for there is comfort in these structures, these hollows, those creations of ours when we were bound by gravity and walked upon the land, be they tangible or only sites full of memories. The living mistake our pains of awakening, believe them to be directed at them, but what appeal would terrifying the living satisfy in us? The living may have a preternatural interest, some even an obsession with our kind, but we do not reciprocate. The living simply cohabitate the night with us, the majority asleep and oblivious. Is our daylight demise a violent act, does the heat sear us with its intensity until we vanish with not even a tinge of vapor? Are we allergic to the light, to the heat it brings forth, for either will dispatch us more readily than any virus detrimental to those who still breathe? Call it allergy, or call it sensual overload, the heat and light stimulate us beyond comprehension so that we must escape to oblivion, such that we may once again arise when the darkness and the accompanying cool returns. But what of our new compatriots, of Madeline and Thomas, advised of their options by us, the keepers of the secret realm? Thomas has moved on, as most undoubtedly will, following his mother in her choice as so many before him and so many yet to come. They yearn for loved ones gone ahead, and often not finding them within our ranks, chose to stay in the grave and await their next journey, hoping for reunion with those previously lost. We do not hold any grievance against their decision, nor lament our loss, for the choice is given freely and without ramification. Those of us who choose to stay may rescind that decision at any time, though the same cannot be said for the alternative. What lies on the other side of that veil, who can tell. Be it heaven, hell, a reincarnation or just nothingness, none have ever returned to expound. But Madeline, she of the silenced soprano, has chosen the alternative path, our path. To become, for as long as she desires, a disciple of the darkness. We welcome her to our spirit realm with open arms. Former peasants and pharaohs, slaves and queens, the life you leave behind has no meaning or value here. With no powers to subjugate and no limits to measure and rate one against the other, are all equal and as one, here in the inviting darkness.


My soul has been cold for some time now. My parents, fiancee,and I were in a fatal two car accident 15 years ago. I was the only survivor; six other people died. I lost it after that. Nothing else mattered at all. I spent a few years trying to drink and drug myself to death. It didn't work. I had a cold empty chill in my body that would not leave. I began stealing, grafting, and hustling people just for something evil to do. I had no conscience left. No matter what I did, there was no feeling of remorse. While hanging out in an Irish pub on the south side of Boston one afternoon, I was approached by a fellow drinking about doing a hit. At first, I thought he was kidding or the booze was talking. However, he told me he had heard about my con rackets around the neighborhood and that the Irish mobsters weren't too happy about it. I needed to do this hit to make peace. I thought, "What the fuck." That's how I became a hit-man. I'll fast forward ten years. I had become the primary hit-man for the Irish mob in the greater Boston area. My severe lack of any soul or conscience made me a perfectly built killing machine. In fact, I even got off on it in a way. It seemed to help fill the empty hole in my life. I know that may seem contradictory, but the loss of my loved ones changed me deeply. It made me a monster. Before I started killing for a living, I would stay awake for days dwelling on the reason why I survived the crash. I could not come to terms with it. Being a hit-man allowed me to sleep. It removed me from my depression. I had no remorse for the people I killed and I could care less if I got caught. My life, nor anyone else's, had any meaning to me. I was perfect. Yesterday, I met "One Thumb" McShane at Paddy's Pub. He gave me the address and the last name of a guy I was to take care of. The guy ran a deli in a mob controlled neighborhood. He had stopped paying protection money and was rallying other shop owners to follow suit. This could not continue. "One Thumb" gave me $1500 up front and told me take care of it right away. I nodded and ordered a double Bushmills. I waited for darkness to set in and set out for the mark's house. The mark lived near the neighborhood I grew up in. I rolled up in front of the old brownstone and I saw him through the dining room window. He was a single guy. I didn't have to worry about family members. I cased the spot for an hour. The scene looked ripe. I grabbed my gun, stuck in my shoulder holster, and walked across the street. He opened the door for me and had a look of surprise. I asked, "Are you Mr. Brennan?" He swallowed hard and said, "Yeah, what do you want." I stared coldly at him for a moment. I finally said, "Some folks are telling me you're not paying them some owed money. They aren't too happy. They want something done." He wobbled a bit and braced himself against the kitchen table. His nervousness gave me a rush. He knew why I was there. I asked, "What are we going to do about this Mr. Brennan?" He cried, "Look man, my parents opened this deli 40 years ago. If I pay the protection money, I can't afford to stay open. FUCK! I don't want to lose my family deli." A memory came over me. I softly said, "Brennan's Deli? You're the Charlie Brennan from Perkin's Elementary?" You grew up in this neighborhood?" He looked up, stared at me for a minute, and asked, "Holy shit! Roman?" I nodded and a wave of something I hadn't felt in a long time rushed over me. I had some feelings come back. They were raw and piercing. I had buried them for so long. Charlie had been a friend. When were in 5th grade, Charlie and I were walking home one evening. Charlie was walking backwards so he could face me. A car came screeching down the road and Charlie saw it swerving at us. He yelled for me to get out of the way. I slipped in some gravel and fell. The car was speeding closer. Charlie grabbed the hood of my jacket and pulled me between two parked cars; just as the car nicked my shoe. I would have been killed that night if it weren't for Charlie. I hadn't thought about that for a long time. That was the first time I realized my own mortality. When I was in the accident with my parents and fiancee, my mortality left me. Seeing Charlie made me get a little of that back. Had Charlie saved my life again? I couldn't do what I had intended; not to Charlie. I told him some of what had happened to me. I told what he had given me back. We talked for awhile. The memories filled my head and dizzied me. After another hour of talking, I got up to leave. Charlie was walking in front of me to get the door. I took out my garrote and wrapped it tightly around Charlie's neck. I drew him close to me. I whispered in his ear, "You should have let me die that night Charlie. I would never have had to live with the obscene emotional pain of that car accident. I was supposed to die that night you bastard." The life escaped his body and his legs fell limp. The emptiness returned to my body.


Once, I knew a girl. This was a long time ago, back when our summers were golden, when we spent hours on the lake or riding our bikes or staying up a little too late. I have never met someone quite like her, and I often wonder what she’s up to now. She was almost always listening to music, some said she liked to have a soundtrack to her life. She was not quite “city pretty,” but she had a face that would turn a few heads. There was something about her that I couldn’t quite understand at the time; she had an air to her that I wouldn’t realize until many years later was the rarest thing I’d so foolishly let go. I like to think she was connected to nature a little more deeply than the rest of us. When she wasn’t hiking or swimming or watching the stars, she was trying to show me how beautiful these things were. That girl loved like no other. She had the purest of hearts, and it would come to betray her. When you’re as young as we were, loving like she did is dangerous. She poured her heart into my dreams; she gave me the world I always wanted. I did not deserve the love she gave me. She led me down roads that terrified me, she showed me the most vulnerable parts of herself and brought out the same in me. She had so many “things” that made her what she was, and each one had a story. I’d give everything to be sitting with her again listening to her tell those stories to me, while all I could do was look at her eyes sparkling with excitement. She reminded me of a piece of art I saw as a child. She was a canvas that, over the years, so many people had left their mark on. The love she gave to everyone is what defined her, and what destroyed her. I’d come to find later that she kept a notebook that she’d write me letters in. During our time, I’d been with so many girls. I put her through hell. I told her “I love you, and I’ll always be here” and then I’d find a new girl, pretty as the last one, who’d be around for a few months. Even still, she’d say, “goodnight darling, I always, always love you, sleep well,” and she’d stand by me no matter what girl I was with. She was never jealous. She was never angry, and she was always happy for me. I didn’t realize what I was doing to her. Every day I broke her a little more, and every night that she was on my mind I left her to write in her notebook. Only was it as I read those pages that I realized that this girl was in so much pain. I think that is the strongest love she gave me. She let me break her perfect glass heart, and when the pieces fell, she showed me how beautiful the little rainbows they made when the light hit them were. I was so ignorant. How could I not have seen that, despite the wild child in her, I was more than lucky to have her. I wish I knew then how strong she was. I wish I had been able to give her what she truly deserved. But in truth, I don’t know if anyone could have given her as much love as she deserved. Maybe that’s why she left. To where I couldn’t tell you. I always knew there was a part of her that needed more than her little town could give her, more than I could give her. I wonder if I had told her I loved her more, or if I had given up the silly girlfriends and gone with her maybe she’d still be around. A love like hers doesn’t die, she’s the type to love someone completely and neverendingly. I know, somewhere, she’s still got love for me, but she doesn’t need me like she thought she did then. She never needed me, really, but she wanted me. For so many years she waited, and when she couldn’t wait anymore, she was gone. The moment I went to her house and she had packed up and gone, I realized what I’d done. She had always said she wanted to see life. Truthfully, I know I give myself too much credit. I couldn’t have kept a soul like hers in one place. She needed freedom, but she wanted freedom with me, and I was too stupid to see it. I gave her up and I know I lost the greatest love I’ll ever experience. I know, now, she’s getting the life she really deserves, and I am not a part of it. Ironic, I find it, how the roles are reversed. She kept herself in a place she wanted so desperately to escape to show me love that I didn’t deserve, writing pages and pages about how she wished she were enough. Now I think about everything that I should’ve done to be good enough for her, and how she’s living, somewhere, without me. She made the right decision. I wish I could’ve then.


(I'm sorry, I accidentally submitted this story to the wrong prompt- supposed to be in 'Write a story set in the hottest day of the year.' But can't change it now! Sorry again! Please consider it for the intended prompt!) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Simon listened to the radio as he washed the dishes. The young weather girl with the soothing voice told him today would be the hottest day of the year, 'tropical', she said, and told him to stay hydrated, and not to stay in the sun for too long. She reeled off some mumbo jumbo about warm air trapped in the atmosphere, plus a bunch of meteorological numbers Simon didn't understand. He didn't much care for numbers. Data, statistics. He was decidedly an arts guy, and today he was especially happy with himself for finishing Crime and Punishment, a book he'd long wanted to read but never had the time. Now that Isabel had left him, he could indulge in those longer, more intellectual novels. Just one of many positives, he was sure. Not wanting to squander the sunny spell, he decided he'd go to the bookshop and pick out a new book, and spend the afternoon on the lounger, reading and sun tanning his back... If, of course, Daisy would make do of the heat in the back garden, and stop being such a nuisance and shitting all the time. Simon stood the last plate on the draining board and marveled at the sudsy phalanx he'd created. A job well done. He put on his sunglasses and bundled Daisy into the back seat of his little fire red Mini Cooper. Daisy whined and fidgeted on the hot sticky leather. 'Oh, shush,' he said. 'We'll be back before you can say Dostoevsky.' *** The air conditioning at Milly's Bookshop hit him in the face like a snowball. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his eyes, and hooked his sunglasses on the collar of his green tank top. Almost a decade he'd been coming here. It was a snug little building tucked between a bakery and a second hand jewellery shop. For its size it had a splendid repertoire, displayed in rows upon rows of bookshelves on every wall, top to bottom. In the back corner furthest from the till, under a large aquarium that twinkled with Guppies and Cherry Barbs, sat a little rosewood table and two armchairs in Cambridge blue sheepskin, set there for patrons who wished to sit and read a chapter before making their purchase. The till was unattended. They were probably out back enjoying the sun, thought Simon, and proceeded to browse the center aisle. He ran his fingers across the shiny book spines, inhaling the earthy fragrance of the paper. Any book. He could now read any book he chose to. He drew one from the end of the middle shelf. 'Ugh. The Handmaid's Tale.' It was Isabel's favourite book. Simon had read the first few chapters in college, Isabel had nagged him for years to finish it. She nagged him about a lot of things. After the kid was born, she lost interest in books altogether, so he never finished The Handmaid's Tale. He would have, eventually. If she'd stuck around. If she hadn't been so weak. He put the book back and continued to browse till he found a three-inch thick, important looking tome entitled Swann's Way. He held it at arm's length and jounced it on his palm: it was as heavy as Crime and Punishment. Perhaps not quite. But heavy. 'Cracking the flags out there, ay!' came a voice from behind him. He turned to see a little blonde girl in a white crop top leaning over the till. He didn't recognise her. She must be new. 'Aye, you could cook a steak on that tarmac,' he said and walked over. 'I'll take this one, please.' He handed her the book. As she checked the sleeve and drummed the buttons on the till, he tried hard not to stare. She was chewing gum with her pink mouth wide open. Her shoulders were burnt and sequined with peeling skin that glistened under her sweat like pearl. He could smell her body odour scratching at her perfume; a sweet and obliquely vaginal scent, one that would follow him in the decades to come. 'Do you want this gift-wrapped?' she said. 'No. Thank you, it's for me.' Simon swiped his credit card and scurried out of the shop. The sun dropped its burning heel on him, pinning him to the pavement. He hung his head and clasped his hands behind his neck. How old was that girl? Eighteen? Seventeen? He was about to walk to his car, but glancing into the shop window he saw something he hadn't noticed on the way in: a book he'd recently heard about, propped center-front of the dressing. He turned around and marched back into Milly's. 'Hello, it's me again.' 'Hi! What can I do for you?' said the girl. 'Can you get Milly for me, please?' 'Milly? I think you mean the old owner. She hasn't been here for almost a year, I'm afraid. Me and my Grandad run the shop now.' Simon shook his head reprovingly. Black circles of sweat were budding on his tank top, on his shorts. 'Sir? Are you all right?' 'That book in the window,' he said. 'I saw that book on Youtube. Why are you selling it?' 'I... I don't know.' 'Do you know what that book is about? That book is a step-by-step guide on how to clean out a man in a divorce! A step-by-step guide . Ten years I've been coming here, I tell my friends to come here, I even told my wife about this place! And you throw that shit in my face?' 'Mister,' said the girl, crossing her hands over her chest. 'I'm really sorry. I don't have a say in what goes in the window. I haven't even read it myself.' 'Of course you haven't. Why would you? What are you? Eighteen? Seventeen? You don't know what a divorce is like! You don't know what parenthood is like! Shit, you don't even know what life is like, do you! But you'll prance around in your short skirts with your breasts spilling out of your bra like you can't wait to find out, won't you! I can't even be me in my bookshop any more, can I!' The girl took a step away from the till and wriggled a hand into her skirt pocket. 'I'm calling the police.' 'Well, you don't have to find out, girly, because I'm gonna tell you right now. I'm gonna teach you a life lesson- right now. Do you have a dog?' 'What?' 'Do you have a-- Put that fucking phone back in your pocket, damn you!' The girl screamed and tossed the phone in the air. She backed up and slid down the wall and hid behind her knees. 'Do you have a dog!' 'Yes,' she sobbed. 'What's her name?' 'W, Willow... He's a he.' Simon mounted the till counter and crossed his legs. He looked down at her. Her tears were spilling over her knees and streaking the fake tan on her legs in little white scars, like an infection spreading. 'Let me paint a picture for you,' Simon said. 'You come home one night after working a straight twelve hours hard graft. This won't be a familiar picture to your kind, I'm sure, but do your best to imagine it.' 'Please! Please don't hurt me...' 'You walk in and nobody's around. Hello? Hello? The house is a mess. Dirty dishes left in the sink. There's no dinner for you in the oven or in the fridge. What has happened here? Willow? Here, boy! You go upstairs to your bedroom. And this is where it clicks, baby. This is where it all starts to make sense.' Simon jumped off the till counter and knelt in front of her. He slid his nose in-between her shins and pressed his brow on her knees, on her cool tears. She squealed but didn't move. 'You won't even know how you did it,' he whispered. 'But this is where you find the box, this, thisss ... is where you lift the lid off and you see, not like Pandora, but like Plato. The big reality. Do you know what you find? Huh? When you pull back the blanket? You know what you find underneath?' The girl was shuddering violently. Terror screeched up and down her bones like an axe on a whetstone. Simon stood up and rolled back his shoulders and shook the sweat from his hair. 'A big, black, imprint where your family used to be. Combusted. Like a firecracker, burnt into the mattress. And on your side of the bed is Willow: he's scorched the deepest and the blackest into the fabric; his figure is a gaping black hole that you can't take your eyes off. Then the truth hits you and hits you so damn hard, like... like an ant under a magnifying glass in tropical sun. The truth is, they're just shadows, lying together, having the same dream... Nothing more. They've floated right past you, under you, in the tunnels, the brightly lit tunnels that you built .' Simon put his hand on the girl's shoulder. 'Hey... I'm not going to hurt you, whatever your name is.' The girl had stopped sobbing. She lifted her head tentatively and looked up at him. 'But I'm not weak. There's no room in the shadows for men like me, because we aren't ashamed to be men. We don't dream, so that you can dream. Dream of whatever it takes to forget about us. Do you understand that? Tell me you understand that... Tell me, damn you!' Kshhhhk! The aquarium in the corner shattered, water gushed and fish tumbled out and flapped around on the table and in the sheepskin chairs. Simon turned around to see an old man pointing a pistol at him. He looked down his tank top where a black circle was expanding a couple of inches above his hip. *** Simon survived the gunshot. After he was taken away in an ambulance, the policeman that first arrived on the scene, Officer Bruley, discovered Simon's Mini Cooper. He broke the window with his baton and lifted Daisy from the back seat as fast and gently as he could. But she had died from heatstroke a while ago. Isabel was notified, she identified her baby daughter's body later that day. That night in bed, Officer Bruley said to his wife, 'This bloody heat, will it ever end?' 'Oh, stop it and go to sleep,' said Mrs. Bruley. 'Did you let the dog out?' 'Yes I did.' 'Don't be stealing my side of the mattress again, will you?' 'Me?' protested Officer Bruley. 'What about you!' He sat up and switched on the television. By the time he had to get dressed and go to the station, he hadn't slept a wink. There was so much more work to do than he'd planned on. He loved his wife and his children very much.


One night while I groggily layed in bed a man came to me, from the corner of the room he watched, it seemed as though he thought I was sleep. The element of surprise seemed to be on my side and in any other situation I would have pounced like a lioness protecting her cubs, but this man was different. Despite his tattered, black cloak and the fact that he magically appeared in my room, his body language was not that of any intruder or a man that wished to do harm...he just observed. For what seemed like hours we watched each other, both barely more mobile than a corpse. The longer I watched the more I realized how odd this “man” was. His skin was abnormally pale, nearly transparent, but his body had a golden glow to it. A sparkly, golden glow. It appeared to come from the inside of him. Now mind you, this light did not fill the room, it just merely tinted the white walls, making them appear slightly yellow. That wasn’t the only oddity. His eyes had no pupil, no iris. They were simply glossed over with white, identical to his skin, there was a darker gold, sparkly glow bursting through. It illuminated the room about the same as a flip phone. To both of our surprise, there was a scratch at my bedroom door, likely my dog, we both immediately darted our eyes in the direction of the disturbance and right as my head turned I realized how big of a mistake that was. I snapped my head back in his direction...but he was gone. Poof. This filled me with a weird sense of disappointment and relief. I brushed my hands over my eyes, partly trying to wake myself up. The other part was trying to trick myself into believing what I saw was a lie. The moment I felt free of all the bedtime crusty eyes, I removed my hand from my vision. He was there! Millimeters from my face, if he had a nose, we would have been nose-to-nose. My lips parted for a scream but my body went completely tight, like I had been tased. Now in this moment of absolute terror things became clear. For ten seconds, I was filled with pure observational clarity. Listen to me. Imagine a cluster of beautiful, bright stars glued together by a magnificent golden glow; now wrap that in a nearly transparent, tan saran wrap...that is what stood before me. This mummified entity had taken the shape of man and he stood, staring me down with what I could only assume was an intense anger. The thump of my heart slowed as I completely submitted to the inevitable, gruesome fate... “Can you see me?” Shock washed over my body as the rhythmic monotone fell upon my ears. My eyes shot open, shock turned to wonder... Did he expect a reply? “You can.” His eyes briefly brightened the room before dimming back their normal illumination. “This is a...problem.” I sat there gawking at this creature, waiting for my brain to tap back on and give me permission to speak. What could only have been a couple of minutes felt like an eternity, a lifetime of the two of us staring each other down. “W-wh-Why is it a problem?” my voice squeaked out barely audible to even myself. His head gradually tilted to the side, seemingly studying my face. “Should be invisible to you.” He leaned in closer, like he was looking for something, his eyes occasionally brightening as he stared me down with laser focus. My body stiffened like a wooden board as I pressed my luck once more. “Who are you?” I clenched my jaw and frightfully narrowed my eyes, bracing myself for some sort of violent reaction. Thankfully, it never came actually he leaned away from me, hopefully this meant he learned the value of personal space. The lights in his eyes went dark and honestly that was more scary than him being a disco ball, he seemed to have just shut off, low battery maybe, I contemplated running but my curiosity had been triggered so I just waited. Moments later his eyes flickered back to life. “Nirṇetṛ.” his eyes brightened as he resumed his visual probing. “What just happened?” My eyebrow slightly raised as I stared back at him, my body loosening as our interaction lengthened. “Had to search throughout human history to find the last time we were referenced...2000 BC.” A slight smile crept across my face, Nirṇetṛ spoke so casually. He had to have realized the weight of the words he just said to me but all he did was stare. Definitely more interested in observing me regardless of the question asked.”Your time is running low.” Nirṇetṛ extended his arm, gently touching his fingers to my forehead. “What do you mean?” My face reverted back to panic as I shied away from his touch. “Hm. Your soul has been corrupted, darkened. Course altered. You were a soul meant to power paradise. Free will poisoned you.” He bluntly explained the situation obviously omitting the finer details. Giving me the summary of the summary, which can be more confusing than enlightening. My face scrunched up as I adjusted to the second big shock of the night. “So you’re an angel?” “Only a guide. Keep balance between paradise and purgatory. Correct altered courses.” Nirṇetṛ’s attention drifted while he spoke, there was definitely something more pressing at the moment. “Is it going to hurt?” I breathed deeply, prepping my mind for the obvious fate... If he replied, I didn’t hear it. My thoughts were elsewhere, and that was a million miles away. I clenched my eyes and leaned back towards his hand, delicately placing my forehead. “Your soul will be brightened and then filtered through the dark...embrace the journey, young one.” A golden light flashed, piercing my eyelids. Embrace the Journey. (Trying to get over a fear of sharing my work, so really tear into me I guess.