A long, long, time ago, in a flourishing seaside kingdom ruled by a benevolent King, there was a humble Fisherman. One day he cast his net out and caught the most brilliantly green sunfish. So beautiful was the fish that the Fisherman thought it a pity to for it to be served as dinner, thus he let it go. In gratitude, the fish spoke and asked the man. “You seem a kind, and honest soul with a deep love. Tell me, how can I reward you for sparing my life?” The Fisherman, surprised at the talking fish, was at a loss for words, gaping at the creature, before he replied, “Well, I live in a small, peaceful village. Everything is great except for my shack by the sea, it's cold and uncomfortable in the winter. It would be nice if it could be a better house.” “It is done. When you return home, you’ll have a new house.” The fish declared. When the Fisherman returned home, he found his wife excited in a new abode with a pretty yard, wonderfully furnished. “What happened? I was sitting in our hut one moment, then the next, our shack became beautiful!” The Fisherman explained the story, and the wife became ponderous. “You’ve met with a magical fish and all you asked for is a house?” She queried, “Why didn't you ask for land and a farm? That way, we can have wealth beyond this hut.” The Fisherman thought for a moment and he came to agree. Taking his wife's advice, he went back to the sea, to the same place as the fish and he asked, “Sunfish sunfish, bless me with your magic. I have a request.” To sunfish rose from the sea and listened to the Fisherman as he requested for a farm. “...So we can be self-sustaining you see.” The man explained nervously. “I quite admire that,” the Fish said. “It is good to labor over long yielding fruits. When you return, you will have a farm. Just remember that abundance doesn’t compare to quality. Sometimes a single sweet berry one cultivates could taste sweeter than a thousand others.” The Fisherman returned home and he and his wife were happy for days, but then one night, his wife sighed. “Husband, I am tired of working the fields and tending to the animals. Go ask the fish if we can have a manor instead, where we can rule over the others like lords.” The man’s heart grew weary. “The farm is grand, our gardens are filled with fruit and food, our stocks are plump with creatures, we will never go hungry. Why would you want to be a lord?” “Like cattle, we labor and give money to the lord. Why not be lords ourselves?” The wife chided, “The fish can do it, if its magic can do this much. Just go.” The man hesitantly approached the sea, sailing to the same spot again in his small craft. “Sunfish, sunfish, bless me with your magic. I have a request. It is at the behest of my wife.” The sea churned, and from the blue ocean waves rose the fish. “Very well. What does she want?” “My wife wishes to live in a manor and become a lord.” He said. “And your wish?” “The same.” He lied. “Very well, go home. You both will have the title and manor.” The fish said, its eyes flashing, noting the change in the Fisherman. When the man returned home, he was confronted with a stone manor, with a grand entry and servants running about the home. Food and the best wine overflowed the oak tables, and he indulged with his wife until they nearly collapsed. “Now,” said the wife, “Isn’t this nice?” “Oh yes, I am very satisfied.” The man said. "Hmmm,” said the woman, “Let us sleep on this for now.” The next few mornings the couple passed contently with their servants and control over their lands. Though dealing with the many complaints of the farmers and peasants wore on the man, and he found himself curt and often unnecessarily cruel when he needed to dole out punishment, work he did not enjoy. Then one day his wife suggested, “Husband, I’ve been thinking, what if we become king and queen over all the land?” “Why would we want to be rulers?” He asked, “I’m already doing too much as lord, and there’s so many households to care for.” “But as King you would have people to take care of that for you, for us!” the wife advised. “Ask the fish to make you King.” “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Then ask to make me Queen. I want a crown.” The woman insisted. Begrudgingly, the husband went back to the ocean. “Sunfish, sunfish, bless me with your magic. My wife has a request.” He said to the sea surrounding his boat, and soon it churned turbulent purple. The sunfish rose out from the water and asked, “What does your wife want?” “She wishes to be Queen...” The man frowned. “And what do you want?” The fish asked. The man sighed. “I have noticed that I’ve been more unlike myself and I don’t know...” “I do not have the power to make her Queen on my own.” The fish interrupted, shaking off two brilliant green scales and gave them to the man. “She will need to exchange life for magic if she wants to rule. You both may borrow my magic infused in these scales. Passing willing life force into these will transfer magic to me, and give you power over others. Know this - you can convince others to give years off their lives.” The man took both scales and thought it a solution to his woes. He gave one to his wife while he secretly kept the other out of caution, fashioning it into a ring upon his hand. She fashioned it to a pendant, and within the week; she visited the crown. At the end of the month, she summoned the Fisherman to the palace. Visiting the capital, he traversed the winding road to the gilded stone palace, then passed obedient rows of gentry walking across the echoing hall at the kingdom’s center. Till, at last, he found his wife on the throne. “Look darling, I’m Queen!” she greeted, seated high with a crown too big for her head, and he trembled. “Aren’t you glad to see it?” “Yes dear, of course, I’m so happy for you,” He lied, eyes unable to leave the marbled floor, then added, “What happened to the King?” She didn’t answer, but he knew. He felt the power glowing from the necklace on her chest. Afraid, he made up an excuse: he preferred the quiet life compared to the lavishment of the palace, and left to return to his house by the sea. Days passed, then weeks. The humble Fisherman began hearing of missing people, the gathering of armies, consulting with dark wizards. Even in the remote sea-side village, there were rumors of how the Queen’s desire to conquer neighboring kingdoms pushed the nation on the brink of war. Soon, strange figures intruded into the small town, and while the Queen's ambition spread, his deep love he felt for her waned. With a heavy heart, the Fisherman returned to the sea in his tiny boat, “Sunfish, sunfish, bless me with your magic. I have a request.” The sea toiled in dark black water, and the fish rose from the ocean. “What do you want?” The fish asked. And before the man answered, boats he hadn’t noticed rushed to surround his vessel, capturing the man and the fish. “Let us go!” The man demanded, but the soldiers didn’t listen. He tried to push his life into the green scale on his ring to gain control of their captors, but the fish stopped him. “She is stronger than you. She had fed on many willing lives.” The Fish advised. “Let us see what her wish is.” The man nodded, resigned to his fate, and the two were brought to the Palace, bound in chains of steel and a meager bowl of water. They were led through golden doors and tapestries threaded with silver, but the ornate furnishings no longer caught the Fisherman's eyes, and instead he gasped in horror. “Sunfish, sunfish, bless me with your magic.” The Queen declared on her throne, a bloody sword in one hand. Around her were bodies, lifeless eyes stared up to the ceiling. “I’m about to go to war, but I needn’t have to if the scale you gave me worked properly. The neighboring prince was immune to me even after I sacrificed a dozen people!” She gestured with the blade, scattering blood drops across the ground. The Fisherman recoiled at the sight. “My Queen, please, isn’t this enough? Why must you demand more?” The Queen scoffed, “Silence, peasant, I wasn’t speaking to you.” And in his chains, the Fisherman’s fist gripped tight, scowling at the pool of blood staining the hall, letting regret seep into his veins. “There are men who will be incompatible with the magic I have leant you, and for those, you can not control them as you can others.” The Fish replied cooly. “Your husband, for example, is immune to such magics.” The Queen sneered, “I want more than kingdoms. I want to control the very fabric of reality across the realm, like you.” “Across the realm? I’m afraid I don’t have that much power,” the Fish said. “Oh, but you could,” the Queen insisted. “Lives sacrificed in war are the same, are they not?” “Yes, some, but--” “But what? You grow stronger too, every time a life passes in sacrifice.” the Queen rose from her throne, her blade aimed at the Fish and the Fisherman, “And I know your secret Fish. The King, before he died, told me he rid the land of demons, beings that corrupted and consumed souls, before he came into the throne. But he did not speak of ridding the ocean. So a demon is what you are, is it not?” She took a bold step away from her seat at the front of the room, kicking away the rotting body of some noble, long dead. “The wizards too repeat the same, that the scale you gave me is not of this world but of another, higher magic. Shouldn’t you want me to succeed? So that we can bend the world to our will and feed your power?” “Is...is what she said true?” The Fisherman looked at the Fish. The creature whipped its tail. “She’s obviously mad. I have done nothing but help you and given you what you’ve asked for. Now, her thirst for power threatens to destroy us.” “My thirst?” The Queen declared, cackling, “I am only claiming what is right, to set the world right--” “By killing?” the Fisherman interrupted, disgust strewn across his face. “By sacrifice.” The Queen corrected, pressing the sword to Fisherman’s chest. He cliched his fist and wished and wished for it to be as it was before the gifts, before he met the Fish, when he had been kind and honest, before his love for his wife was ruined. Yet he knew reversing time was beyond his power, so as his ring gleamed--blinding green, he settled for another wish. For it all to end. And the Fish smiled, savoring the single fruit that it labored over while the hall and the lands bathed in a green glow. In the aftermath of the mad Queen, those under her control woke from her spell as if from a nightmare, but the damage was already done, and the kingdom tore itself asunder, before the neighboring empires picked apart its bones. A benign version of the tale was passed down generations, though the ending was changed: When the Fish tired of the escalating requests, the Fish simply returned the Fisherman and his wife to their humble home. Through tales, the Fisherman’s last wish came true.


As I tie up the trash bag in the can next to the TV table I count six empty Guinness bottles and an empty half-pint of Captain Morgan rum. Whoever stayed in this room last night must feel fantastic this morning. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) I am not surprised to find a wide brown liquor stain in the dead center of the white and green bedspread. Oh well, it's not the worst kind of stain I've ever found on the bedding in the three weeks I've worked here. I strip off the bedspread as well as the sheets and pillowcases. Distracted by a sudden flash of lightning, I walk over to the window to glance outside. The rain is coming down in relentless torrents and the water-heavy branches of the trees are whipping back and forth in the insane wind. After drawing the curtains closed across the rain lashed window I gather up the bundle of dirty bedding and step out of the room to throw it on the bottom of my cart. I grab the clean towels and toiletries from my cart before returning to the room. Based on the contents of the trash can, I am less than enthusiastic about entering the bathroom. To my slight surprise and immense relief, however, it is clean and in good order. I leave the door to the room open as I push my cart down the hallway toward the elevator. This is my least favorite part of the job, going down to the laundry room to retrieve fresh bedding. It's not the laundry room itself that I dislike, but due to severe claustrophobia I don't enjoy sharing the limited elevator space with my cleaning cart. "Hey Chrissy," Claudia greets me, popping her head out of one of the rooms as I trundle past with my cart. "This's some storm, isn't it?" "It's crazy," I agree. We both glance up at the lighting fixtures as they all flicker at once, down the entire length of the hallway ceiling. "You don't think the power's going to go out, do you?" Claudia shrugs her shoulders. "It might. It happens sometimes in bad storms." She disappears back into the room she's cleaning with a little wave. The lights flicker again just as I reach the elevator, this time staying off for a full count of three seconds before coming back on. If I was on the second or third floor I would be tempted to forego the elevator and wrestle my cart down the stairway. I am, however, on the seventh floor so that's not going to happen. I push the 'call' button and wait for the whine of the approaching elevator. When the doors slide open I push my cart in and wedge myself into the corner closest to the door, reminding myself to breathe. I realize, of course, that I'm only going to be in this box for a minute or so but claustrophobia is a real affliction. I let out an involuntary little shriek when the elevator shudders to a complete standstill and the light goes off, plunging me into utter darkness. Once I am able to force myself to breathe again I reach out with one hand and feel around for the panel of buttons, pushing several of them at random. None of them light up. The elevator's dead. The hotel must have lost power after all. I pound on either the door or the wall (it's hard to tell which without any light) with my fist. "Help!" My voice cracks and breaks. I clear my throat and try again, "Help! Please, I'm stuck in here! Can anybody hear me? Please help!" When I press my ear against the cold steel silence is all I hear. No one moving around or talking in the hallway outside (if there even is a hallway outside. For all I know I could be stuck between floors.) No one responding to my frantic pleas. Fuck. I'm going to die in here. I am well aware that panicking will only make it worse, but that knowledge is not enough to help me to calm down. My heart is thudding, there is a sharp pain in my chest, and my breath is tearing in and out of my lungs in ragged little gasps. I bang on the steel and call out again, still with no result. I sit down and concentrate on trying to breathe. Since my cleaning cart is taking up most of the elevator I am not able to extend my legs all the way, so I hug my knees to my chest. The tears slide unbidden down my cheeks despite the fact that crying is not only useless and unhelpful, but is also liable to trigger a bout of hyperventilation, which I'm already dangerously close to. "There's no need to cry, Missus," a child's voice whispers close to my ear. My head snaps up from my knees as I gaze around in panic. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness by now and I can make out the dim bulk of my cart, but nothing more than that. There's no one in the elevator with me, which I had already known. "H...hello?" Is all I can think to say. Am I going crazy now? I thought it would take longer for that to happen. "You don't need to be frightened, Missus." There is a gentle stirring of the air near my face and I can feel something like a feather brushing against my cheek. I cringe away from it without intending to. "Don't be frightened," the voice admonishes me again. "Who...who are you?" "My name is Marybeth." "Why can't I see you?" "Not everyone can see me, Missus. A few people can, but not most. Even those that can't see me often know I'm around. Have you ever felt like you were being watched when there's no one there?" "That...that's you?" I whisper. I have indeed felt that very sensation of being watched on several occasions while cleaning rooms, although it has never made me feel unduly frightened or uncomfortable. I always just assumed it was my imagination. "Yes, Missus. I like to watch people. But I've never harmed anyone. I wouldn't ever." "So are you...were you a guest here? Did you..." I can't quite bring myself to ask the question did you die at the hotel? I don't even believe in ghosts. "Oh no, Missus," Marybeth answers my unasked question. "I've been around here long before the hotel was built. I worked at the textile mill that used to be here." I was aware that the hotel has only been on this site for six years or so, and before that there was a poorly-managed nightclub that was only here for a few months before the owner went bankrupt. I don't remember what was here before that. A barber shop or hair salon, I think. I don't remember ever hearing that there had been a textile mill built here at any point, but that doesn't mean there hadn't been one. Her voice, however, sounds like that of a child far too young to have worked anywhere. "Did you say you worked at the textile mill?" I ask her. "Yes, Missus." "But you...how old are you?" "Eleven, Missus. The textile mill used me and the others from the orphanage for cheap labor." I don't know whether this makes me more sad or angry. "There was a fire at the mill one day," she tells me, her voice flat and emotionless. "I'm still not sure how it stared. I never made it out. Most of us didn't." Maybe it's a good thing that I can't see her. Does she look blackened and disfigured, with charred bones poking through seared flesh? I don't think that's something I should ask her. "So are the others still here too?" I question instead, curious. The irony is not lost on me that I feel far less panicked trapped in a dark elevator with a dead little girl than trapped in a dark elevator by myself. Maybe that's why she came to me, she knew I needed a distraction. "No, Missus," she responds, "They all crossed over. At least, I think they did. I haven't seen any of them since the fire." "Crossed over? Like white light and harps and halos?" "Well, I don't know anything about harps and halos. But there was a bright white light." "Why didn't you cross over?" "I was afraid to, Missus. I didn't know what was on the other side and I was not ready to leave. I wanted to go on living life here, even if I'm not alive. And I'm glad I stayed. I've seen so much more than I ever would have seen in my lifetime." "So you just...what...hang around and watch people at the hotel?" "Yes, Missus. Sometimes I talk to them like I'm talking to you. Sometimes there's someone who can see me, usually children younger than me, and I play games with them." I have never received any complaints from the guests that the hotel is haunted, and to my knowledge neither have the rest of the staff. Maybe that's because it's quite obvious that Marybeth's presence is in no way malevolent. I suppose guests don't mind sleeping in a haunted hotel as long as the spirit is friendly. The sudden hum of the elevator mechanism accompanied by the light flickering back on brings me back to my feet. Oh, thank God. I still have the sensation that someone is watching my every move with the curiosity of a child. "Marybeth?" I whisper into the empty elevator as I push the button for the laundry room. "Yes, Missus?" Her voice replies. "Thank you. You helped calm me down." "You're welcome, Missus." When the elevator doors open at last I pull my cart out into the laundry room. "Oh, Chrissy," Darla greets me with a smile on her wrinkled face. She is the senior of the housekeeping staff, a pleasant litte old lady whom the rest of us refer to as 'Grandma', but not in her presence of course. "It's good to see someone else!" "Were you stuck down here?" I ask her. "Yes." "I was stuck in the elevator." "Oh, you poor thing. Are you all right?" Her concern is genuine. Everyone on the staff is aware of my claustrophobia, due to the incident on my first day of employment. One of the housekeepers had thought it would be funny to lock me in the broom closet as some sort of 'initiation prank'. He was fired immediately afterward. "Yeah, I'm okay. It was pretty rough at first." I toss the dirty bedding on my cart into the huge half-empty hamper, then walk over to grab some fresh sheets from another hamper. "Darla, can I ask you something?" "Of course. Anything," she answers. "Have you...have you ever seen or experienced anything...anything weird here?" "Oh, you've met Marybeth, haven't you?" The corners of Darla's blue eyes crinkle up in a smile. "Isn't she the sweetest little thing?"


Disclaimer: This story has topics of euthanization. PLease be advised. It looks like water, but it is not coming from what I usually drink out of, and I have drunk out of some real doozies let me tell you. Have you ever been so thirsty for water that you will drink it out of anything, well, almost anything. I am not sure I should drink it from where its coming from now. I am not sure it is really safe. Although, it is the third time I have seen water flow like this. Let me tell you about the first time it happened. I was in the backseat of this shiny black car, and I looked in the mirror and I could see it. It was like magic. It just showed up. Maybe it has something to do with the car, it looks new, the screen has all kinds of weird buttons, and this backseat is very slippery. In fact, if my butt stopped sliding all over this backseat, I would climb up front and get a drink, but somehow, I think that would not be appropriate. I can wait. I am sure there will be some water whenever I stop. ...Ok, hold on, just telling this story is making me thirsty. I got to take a drink of water and then I will tell you about the second time. Plus, and I know this is going to sound weird, but I like the fact that I can just have a drink whenever I want. Yeah, I know that was weird, but seriously, anytime I want. Anytime... All right, the second time I had just left this hotel, if you could even call it that, but that’s a different story. This time, I was the thirstiest I had ever been in my life. It felt like I had not had water in days, but I was also extremely hungry so that tends to skew up my timeline. So, I jumped in the backseat of this car that looks just like the model I was in the first time, so you know I was already gripping my nails in the seat to keep from sliding everywhere. Then I remembered that the driver was able to get water so maybe this one had the same features. As if by some weird mindreading skill there is water. I could not believe it. Here I was, so extremely thirsty I could feel my body twitch as I was about to, literally, leap over the seats, face first and dive in. I almost didn’t care what this person would think, but the thought of having to share this action choice with my therapist did bring a bit of embarrassment to my rationale. So, I looked at the driver in the mirror and smiled. Oddly, this driver looks a lot like the other driver that picked me up the first time this happened. Oh my gosh, even smells like the other driver, or is that because it’s the same model of car? ...SKIIIIIIIRRRRRPPPPP.... Hold Up.... Time OUT.... This is definitely time for another water break. If you need one as well, and I am thinking you do, go take one and I will meet you back here in five...Cool? It really is so amazing to me that I can just stop whatever I am doing and get a drink of water. Knowing that I have to trust that there will be more the next time I want a drink is a concept I am working on. Well, the whole trust thing is a concept I am working on, but I am sure you have had to work on that trust thing as well, so you understand. So, from my calculations I have told you about the first and second time I saw water show up from this place. That means this is the third time and I am deciding whether or not to take a drink. Same kind of car, same slippery backseat, and since I have decided that it is the same driver as before I feel more secure in my moving to the front to explore this phenomenon. I have decided the slow and casual move is better than engaging my athletic skills because it allows me some time to retreat should the driver become angry at my crossing the social boundary. Well, here I am in the front seat, just looking out the window waiting for a moment to sneak in for a closer look at the driver. I stretch my neck and lazily lay my head down as I search for the beginning of where this water comes from. Wait, there it is, right above that beautiful smile the driver just gave me when I laid my head down. The water is coming from her face, more precisely, her eyes. WOW!!!! That is amazing. I never realized humans could produce water straight from their eyes. Fascinating. I wonder what happens to them to do this. Let’s recap. The first time I saw it, I was leaving this cramped 2-bedroom apartment and heard the next day I was going to be put down, which was weird because I was already laying down. This driver shows up, puts me in their car and takes me to a new home where I really didn’t fit in or so they said. Second time, that scary packed hotel I was dropped off at and had to sleep with one eye open. Luckily, I got picked up by this driver before they gave me something that would close both my eyes for good. I heard the lady at the front desk say it was called sedation or something like that. Third time is now, in this car in this garage it is happening again. This time though there is a smile on their face as the water flows. They grab my leash and lead me out of the car and into a warm home. I hear them say, “Baby, we are home.” Before I can really let those words sink in, I spy a shiny silver bowl in the corner that has the words Nela’s Water Bowl written above it. Wait, is that what I think it is? A large clean bowl of water just for me? I look up at the driver as they take off my leash and tell me that is my water bowl. This time I cannot help it; my athleticism takes on a life of its own and I bounce right over to the water. Right before I take my first drink, I look up in time to see the other human, “Baby”, come into the room. I see they are both looking at me and producing water from their eyes. It is at that moment I decide. I think I will drink from my water bowl instead.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Weakness! This week, we’re going to explore the theme of ‘Weakness’. We all have them, whether it's a person, a thing, a feeling, or something else entirely. Weaknesses remind us that we are human, or at the very least, vulnerable. They can take on any shape or form. Maybe the weakness is more literal, due to sickness, or physical exertion. How do your characters experience weaknesses in their daily lives? What type of things make them vulnerable? Who--or what--do they lean on for support and guidance? If you’re writing in a magical world, maybe your characters’ magic is weak to a specific spell or element. How does this endanger them? What happens when an enemy or foe learns of these vulnerabilities? Maybe a new face has to step in the hero's shoes. These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - July 3 - Weakness (this week) - July 10 - Yearning - July 17 - Alliance   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. *Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title.* If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . 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“I was molested.” “What?!” It was a Thursday evening; but when your friend had had a fight with his secret boyfriend, you now had an excuse to declare it a long weekend. First , ask your seatmates to cover for you in classes you can’t fuck, and just fuck the rest. But because you’re a roguish student and a good seatmate , they probably got your back in everything until graduation. Second , drop by your apartment to change because someone from school might see you buying booze with your nun-like uniform: white, long sleeve blouse and black, below the knee skirt. You’re not a good student, but you’re not stupid either--you can’t fuck up college, especially when it’s already your last year. Third , let him chose the drink. It’s his night. Buy from small liquor stores to support small businesses. Buy cheaper ones because the goal is to gulp and get drunk; not to sip, smell and whirl it in your father’s fancy tumbler that you stole four years ago because you wanted to punish him for making you go to a sectarian business school in a town you’ve never been. And make sure to buy enough to last you ‘til 5 AM because in a place like this, everyone’s asleep after ten o’clock. Fourth , drink your sorrows away! “Molested?!” I stood up abruptly and towered in front of him, brows furrowed and mouth agape. The neck of my bottle warm in my right hand. We were drinking cheap cut brandy straight from the bottle while sprawled on the wooden floor in the upstairs living room of his house. It was an old Spanish colonial house that had been owned by his family for generations. The huge house was practically empty except for the antique jars and vases of different sizes placed in every corner: foyer, receiving area, dining, even on pillars of staircases. He shared the house with a housekeeper and his two cousins: one who also went to our school, and the older one worked as I-didn’t-know-what somewhere in this town. While the rest of his family were back in the city with a lot of irons in the fire managing their steel factory. Pun intended. “Shh... I think my cousin’s still up working,” he whispered as he twisted his body to look if there was someone else around; his almost empty bottle toppled but was still safely nestled in his crossed legs. When we started playing twenty-one questions, it was fun. We laughed and giggled at our stupid questions and silly answers until I asked the question, “How did you become bisexual?” as a joke. “What do you mean molested?!” I scream-whispered. He only sighed, propped his elbows on his bent knees and buried his face in his palms. My head spun, maybe from the sudden movement. So I sat back down beside him, legs stretched, still holding the bottle. I heard him breathe deeply, and then myself. “Who did it?” “My uncle...” he said quietly, face still buried in his hands. “What?” I gasped. “...and my cousin,” ...and a family friend.” His voice quivered. He sniffed and moved his left hand to wipe away his tears that I didn’t see, but knew was there. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Yes, it happens a lot in this country especially to those poor children living in the slums, but to him? He’s from a rich, respected family for Christ's sake! “How? When? Your parents, do they know?... Why not?!” He only kept crying and sniffing and shaking his head while I rapidly blurted out those questions. "Why didn't you tell them?" I pressed on. "I don't want to be the cause of some sort of dispute in the family." "Seriously?!" He didn't answer. “Wait, which cousin?” He jerked his head to the left where there was a hallway lined with bedroom doors, but there was only one occupied room in that part of the house, “Friendly?!” We had been friends since freshman year, and I had been in this house countless of times for the past four years. The people of this house knew me. I’d even assigned nicknames for them, but only used it when talking to my friend. The housekeeper was Mrs. Lovely because she was sweet and kind, one cousin was Friendly because he was warm and welcoming, and the other was Shabby not that he was untidy but because he was either shy or snobby. He only nodded. “Is he still doing it?” “No, it only happened when I was a kid. When I still wasn’t strong enough to fight them off.” “What about Shabby? Did he also...?” “No, we’re the same age. It was only my uncle and--“ “Friendly. Because they’re much older and stronger.” He sobbed, bent his back much lower to hug his knees and bury his face. “Animals!” I muttered. When you see those innocent girls on the news with their young faces blurred--victims--some are dead, others alive (but are they really?); or the high rate of reported child abuse and trafficking from a research article you were reading for Psychology class, you clenched your teeth while clicking on that down button harder and harder as you read more and more about these bastards! But there was nothing you could do. A door creaked open then closed. My friend stopped crying, but he was still hiding his face, sniffing. His cousin padded down the hallway. I looked up when he passed by us, and he met my gaze. “Love life?” he chuckled, pointing at my crying friend. I nodded once. “Where are you going?” I asked. “Kitchen,” he never stopped walking, “midnight snack.” Animal! I thought. Once he descended the stairs, I stood up. “I need to pee,” I told my friend and walked calmly towards the stairs; bottle of brandy still in hand. When I reached the wooden rail near the staircase, I placed both of my forearms on top of it and let the half full bottle of cheap brandy dangle from my fingers. I turned to my right and stared at the antique vase placed heavily on top of the pillar. No, too hard. On impulse, I changed my hold of the bottle. I now held it horizontally with the neck in my left hand and bottom in my right. The amber liquor inside took another shape. I leveled the bottle, breathed, and waited. And then, it all happened so quickly: a shatter, Friendly bawled in pain, my friend’s footsteps, then I ran downstairs. When I got to Friendly, there were shards of glass on the floor and he was clutching his head still screaming in pain. “What happened!” my friend exclaimed behind me. “I dropped the bottle and it hit him!” I replied rather honestly. Mrs. Lovely emerged from a dark corridor, confused. When she saw Friendly, she went straight to him and led him to the couch in the middle of the room before hurrying for the first aid cabinet. Once Friendly was seated, in pain, and still clutching his head, a beautiful red blood dripped and stained his sordid face. I sat beside him on the couch, “Oh my god! I’m so drunk. I didn’t mean to...” And then I gently put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m so sorry!”


It’s a typical warm summer evening in Glendale. The summers are short, hot, arid, and clear, but winters are lengthy, cold, rainy, and partly cloudy. A city known not only for its offbeat galleries and museums but also for its beautiful scenic mountains. When the sun sets, one will discover live music and a variety of food options all across the city. In this lively town filled with interesting activities for anyone and everyone, a very curious turn was about to take place in the lives of two people namely, Lizzie and Paul. At about 2 pm, as Lizzie sat in her chair, reading the book of her favorite author, Abigail Maiers, described as an epitome of success by the avid readers in the world of mysteries. It was at this time the Universe had decided to chime in with a small Bzztt. It was Lizzie's phone.She looked at it. It's from Paul. She opens it and gasps a little. The text read Hey Lizz, if you don't have any plans tomorrow,I was wondering if you would like to go out with me? Lizz goes completely silent for a moment. She's been waiting for Paul to ask her out for 6-7 months and now that the moment is here she can't contain the excitement. They have been talking for quite a while now and though they haven't really hung out together even once Lizz gets a vibe from him that she hasn't felt with anyone. Her friends were of the opinion that it's all probably because they are both hiding behind a screen. "Hanging out and talking is a lot different than some hi hello on the street," Lizzie still remembers Ann remarks. She's probably right. But some or the other thing kept pushing this meeting until today afternoon at 2 pm. The only thing standing between the wait and the meet are three letters YES. Lizzie's smile widens with every letter. It's finally happening. Over at Paul's place ,things are equally interesting. He awaits the response with his fingers crossed. As he waits,his mind seems to be a few steps ahead already,which is quite normal considering his romanticized nature.Ironically he's usually ‘that one’ in a group,you know the one who appears all shy and quiet,till you get to know the person and then they are oops,still quiet. Unless it's something they know and love,then they just won't shut up about it. Paul knows this about himself and wonders “is it why my mind can't shut up about Lizz?” Paul shakes his head and says to himself, "No ,paul. That's impossible. I mean you need to get your head right.You have never met her and what's more she's not even said yes. " (He's unaware of how strongly Lizz feels for him,too.) It's strange though,he never thought or looked at Lizz in that way. He smiles a little, wondering how he fell for someone without ever even flirting with her. She is the only girl he never tried to impress, he never ‘tried to talk to’, someone with whom he could just be himself. Paul's thoughts are distracted by the ring on his phone. "Oh damn" Paul almost yells and hurriedly picks the phone. "Ah man! It's just another sales call from some telemarketers.Why would you pull such a prank on me,eh God?" He sighs in dismay and is about to put the phone back when his phone beeps with two words that will be one of the moments that Paul remembers forever. The words were 'Lizzie' and under that a big 'YES!' Paul can’t stop smiling, it’s actually going to happen. I am going on a date with Lizz.He becomes a bit teary eyed. "Okay ,Paul that settles it. You're in love. For real this time!" He wipes off the tear and picks up his phone and calls her. Lizz picks up the phone. "Hey,Paul. Oh gosh. I can't believe it took you so long to ask me out. I can't wait for tomorrow." "Haha. I know. sorry about that. I'm a bit of a slow poke,ain't I? Let me start by making it up to you." "And how do you plan on doing that,Mr.Slow poke?", says Lizzie in a mocking tone. "Um how about you meet me after your classes outside the station ,we go to your favorite cafe from there and umm..well we'll keep the rest of it a suspense." "Ahem ahem. You have done your research,eh? So, tomorrow 10 am it is!" ,says Lizz with a giggle. "Yes! I'll see you soon, Lizz!" *** The next day arrives. Paul gets up early. The classes of Lizz are in LA about 20 minutes away. Paul decides to board the 9:30 train,so that even if there is a delay due to some reason Lizz wouldn't have to wait. He gets up early,finishes his chores and gets ready. He leaves home all dressed and as he starts walking to the station a little feeling of nervousness begins to dwell on him. It’s been a long time since he last went on a date. He reaches the station and tries to calm himself down. Luckily the train seems to be on time. He boards it and takes a deep breath, “It’s ok you got this. Just be yourself,buddy!” It's about 9:25 when he reaches the decided spot, his heart racing. Five minutes seem like a lot. He’s busy with pep talking to himself when there is tap on his shoulder. He turns, it’s Lizz. All of a sudden,surprisingly, all of the nervousness seems to have disappeared. Instead there is a silence within him. Paul can’t understand what just happened. Never had he felt such a feeling of silence from within. After they exchange pleasantries, they head over to board a cab to Lizz’s favorite cafe. He asks her about her classes, she shares a funny story that happened with her BFF, Katie and they have a good laugh. They reach the cafe and everything is going very smoothly for a first date,nay if someone was asked it would be hard to figure out for a person these two were on a first date. Paul orders the food and drinks and while they wait for their orders to come he asks Lizz, “Hey, didn’t you just go on that trip to Paris with your family. You said you’ll tell me all about it when we meet. Well here we are.Tell me about it!” As Lizz begins to describe her trip, how it was decided, her favorite spots, some fun facts about Paris, their hotel, the must visit spots, Paul becomes completely engrossed in it. With every little laugh, the way she describes things, her little quirky and cute expression, he seems to be falling for her. They talk and laugh, Lizz seems to like Paul’s sense of humor a lot, though his dimples might be the ones helping him more than his puns. “You know, it’s so weird that I can be completely weird with you” says Paul with a little chuckle. Lizz starts laughing and says, “I know right. It’s like two weirdos in a pot. Haha!” They go on to a small dessert shop nearby after their brunch. After sharing it and having a cute-clichey moment, where a person pretends to feed the other and then takes the bite at the last second , they return to the station, waiting for the train to head back home. Lizz checks her clock and is shocked. It’s been more than 4 hours. She says to herself,smiling a little within, “Man! How did time fly by so fast? Are you in love,Lizz?” He asks her what had happened,seeing her smile. She says nothing with a smile and grabs his hand. He smiles. Their train arrives and after a little chit chat Lizz rests her head on Paul’s shoulder, hugging him a little. Paul holds her hand and as he sees her, that feeling of silence, a calm within once again makes him think. He smiles a little, you see it was at this moment, he knows. He knows she’s the one and that he is in love. “And that my dear little angels is the tale of the one where Lizz and Paul go on their first date!”, says a jolly looking,teary eyed,a little bald and now a 42 yr old Paul. “WOW! That was so cooooool!”,yells little 9-yr old Ben. Claire chimes in,too “ Aww! Pa, that was really one of the sweetest stories I have heard till now.Mommy and you are truly goals,aren’t they Ben?” Ben,who’s not that old to understand such slang terms like goals and all just nods along in excitement. “Kidssss, dinner’s ready!” Lizz calls them from the kitchen. “Coming,Mommyyyyy”, they all yell, laughing and giggling their way to the kitchen. “Mommy, mommy guess which story dad just told us?” asks Claire. “It was the first date of Lizz and Paul!” Ben breaks the suspense and gets a friendly tap on his shoulder. “Gosh,what part of guess, do you not understand, B!” Claire frowns a little. “Haha. Now,now. Don’t you fight. How about mommy tells you something as interesting as your dad’s story?” They seem to like the idea and look up to her with curiosity. Lizz says, "Well,you know how your dad is always in awe of the food I make and keeps asking me about my secret ingredient?" "Yessss, hehe, we want to know it as well,mother. What is it? Oh,please do tell us!" "Woah! I want in on this,too!",says a shocked Paul. " How about I give you a hint,the story you just heard ,the answer's hidden in it only." Both Ben and Claire look at each other, gossip something in each other’s ears and Claire yells out, “LOVEEEEE!” Lizzie holds Paul's hand,looks in his eyes and says, “That is correct,dear,that is correct!”


The barely legal tinted Challenger made everyone in the vicinity anxious. Not-so-subtle glances and obvious peeks were shot in the car’s direction from miscellaneous windows and partially open doors. Despite all this, Asura walked confidentially to the car. His smile glistened through his hairy and unkempt face as he entered the car. Not a single smile was present on the faces of the officers, all of whom were strongly against Asura’s release. He had been locked up for 2 years on some petty theft charges. With each confined day, Asura taunted the other inmates and even cops about the day that he would be free. He chanted. He sang. He yelled. Anyway he could remind people he was only here temporarily, he did. Word about his release became a nation-wide controversy and many people thought it was dangerous and stupid to give Asura a second chance to living among normal civilians. “Deranged” is what they called him. “Monster” “Inhumane.” He had thought patterns not even seen in psych wards. He seemed to only act on intrusive thoughts. He was respected out of fear. Fear of the lengths of his very-real delusion. The driver revved the engine disturbingly loud and sped off joining the road at an illegal speed. Releasing someone like Asura may as well been the same as releasing Joker into the city. But they had no Bat-Man. “Where we goin?” Asura asked ignoring the car’s seatbelt beep, beep, beep, beep . “Where would you like to go?” Amon asked as he looked back on the road. “Let’s get sumna eat?” “Food?” Amon asked humorously. “You think they were chefin’ it up for me and my felon friends every night?” Amon didn’t appreciate Asura’s sarcasm. “You didn’t have friends in there.” He replied to scratch the petty-itch . “But I know you well, so I know exactly where to take you.” “Better not be McDonalds or some crap?” Asura grunted with an attitude. Asura straightened in his chair. He liked to carry himself like he was better than everyone else. He liked to dress meticulously. To pick up Asura, he wore tan joggers that matched perfectly with his Balenciaga’s. A crisp, white shirt with Japanese-style art. The fresh length of his braids hung out of the edges of his white durag. “Is it at a bar? I could really use a drink.” Asura suggested. “Not tonight. Every bar in the city is going to be waiting for you to walk in. News of your release has reached every TV.” Amon explained. “Tonight, we’ll be going somewhere no one is going to touch me, spill a drink on me, or poke at my temper. However, if someone does force me to the extent, I will shoot them in the left eye.” A smile creeped on Asura’s furry face. Asura was out of the car quickly. He leaned hard, stretching his abdomen before approaching the diner. One by one, heads began to turn. Amon swaggered in. He picked a booth he liked in the middle of the restaurant and slid into his seat. All eyes shifted to the waitress who walked out from the back to approach the lovely new guests. Her legs quaked and lips quivered as she slowly attempted to make her way to the table. Amon read her nametag as she got closer. “Evening, Dorothy.” He greeted her. “It’s my friend’s first time here.” “What’s y’all’s best options?” Asura interrupted. Dorothy was frozen. “Well, our breakfast is most popular.” She said still with a dry throat. “That includes our four-stack waffles or pancakes, three strips of bacon, two sausage links, and scrambled eggs.” Her voice was shaking and cracking. “I’ll take that.” Amon said eagerly. Dorothy struggled but found her voice again. “Wh--which one?” She asked. “Oh, those were all separate?” Asura asked with a laugh. “I’ll take all of them, baby. If it’s the most popular, I gotta see for myself, don’t I?” Dorothy turned quickly. “Such a sweetheart.” “And gorgeous too.” Dorothy pushed the doors open and almost stumbled into the kitchen. She stayed back there until the food was ready. Then after getting herself as mentally prepared as her worries would let her, she brought all three plates out to the drooling man. “Anything else I can get you?” “Did I say a strawberry shake too?” Asura asked her. “I don’t remember. You?” Dorothy’s gut screamed. “I--I’ll get it for you right away.” She turned and darted. “You’re so kind, thank.” He called after her. She came out quickly with a large strawberry shake and sat it and the top of the table. Asura was starting his second plate. “Your service has been more than great; you have a good night.” Amon told her. Lightheaded, she turned around and headed to the back. “So, I was thinking.” Amon whispered to Amon. “Did we make the best decisions when we did what we did?’ Asura stuffed a bacon strip in his mouth and picked up his last waffle, folding it in half. He dipped it in his shake and took a big chomp. His eyes rolled back in satisfaction. “Huh?” He said and chugged what was left of his waffle-crumb filled shake. Asura wiped the corners of his mouth, stood up, and headed for the door. One of the chefs pushed past Dorothy peeking through the kitchen door. “Excuse me, you can’t leave un--” He had only taken one step out before he stopped talking. The ringing in everyone’s ears stopped, their eyes turned to the front doors. Amon had done a one-eighty and stood there, arm up with his gun in hand. The chef laid in a puddle of his own blood with his left eye missing. Dorothy was in shock. She stared at the empty middle table and slowly made her way over to it. Not only were the plates stacked neatly, but under it were two small stacks of money. She picked up first stack and realized it was the exact charge for the food. Then she picked up the second stack and it was the exact change for a twenty percent tip. “Any plans for tomorrow?” Amon asked Asura. “Why the hell would I have plans? I don’t even know what day tomorrow--” “Our birthday.” Amon interrupted. “Oh.” There was a brief pause. “Oh!” Asura continued. “In that case, we should visit our friend, James.” “James?” Amon repeated with disgust. “I’m sure he knows I just got out. We should surprise him. Ya know, in memory of our being , or whatever.” Amon could smell the violence Asura was suggesting. And he was up for it. “OK, we’ll visit him in the morning.” He replied. “Let’s get a motel for some sleep though.” Captain had personally driven to the diner to witness the atrocity that happened directly because of a decision that was made just three hours prior. His phone and radio had been going off nonstop and he had been in contact with almost everyone in his call log within minutes. He breathed deeply over and over and over again. He was able to create a small calm space in his mind to think clearly. He dialed a number from memory. It rang twice. “Captain Barry? It’s too early for--“ “Mary, you still in the hospital?” Captain interrupted. “I’m grabbing my stuff to go home now. Why?” “I need a favor. Can you get me some information before you leave?” “There’s an open investigation, you have clearance to come in and get most of that information yourself.” “I’m too far and have no time to make it there tonight. I just need you to check some records for me. Can you help me? Please?” There was a pause followed by a deep sigh. “Thank you.” He said. “ What do you need?” She said seconds later. “I need information on the man that released just hours ago, you know which one.” “ OK .” Minutes passed and Captain spent anxious seconds pacing and biting on the nail on his thumb. He held the phone pinched in between his ear and shoulder, listening to the typing of keys, and ruffling of papers. “ That’s weird.” Mary said under her breath. “What is it?” A couple seconds of typing and clicking. “ Tomorrow, July twenty-third, is his birthday. Captain was stunned. “That’s strange. Why would they let him out a day before his birthday ?” Mary complained. “That just doesn’t feel right.” “OK, Mary listen. I need an immediate update on his last psych examination. I need to know when the last time his brain was examined.” The typing speed doubled and fought audibly back and forth with the violent clicking. Then it all stopped. Mary was reading. She was making Captain jittery. “Oh, this is bad. It has been stated that Asura, for sure, has developed a fully functioning personality he now acknowledges in his own reality. He physically sees and interacts with this new personality.” Captain grabbed his phone and held it against his ear with his hand. “He was found referencing an Amon when speaking to himself and tried hard to hide it from others.” Captain was already running back to his car. “Does it quote anything he said? Any examples of the things he used to say to Amon ?” His phone was pinched in between his ear and shoulder again and the car’s engine roared to life. “Unfortunately, he did a good enough job keeping his conversation quiet. A name was the only thing a few of the guards were able to get.” “He wasn’t talking . He was planning! He knows exactly what he’s doing next. And whatever it is, I don’t think we’ll find out in time to stop him. We just have to be ready to chase whatever trail he leaves.” “So, I wasn’t supposed to do this.” Mary started. “But I read some of the older records not pertaining to the case, and I found out something creepy.” “What?” Captain asked, speeding left and right through the other vehicles on the road. “Asura was supposed to be a twin, but his brother died in the womb. Only one was born successfully.” She stuttered. “ He killed the other one just weeks before birth . Only Asura was ever born. I need to throw up.” Captain immediately hung up and dialed another number from memory. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No one picked up. “Requesting immediate backup.” He said into his radio. The motel room was as spotless as when Amon had checked into the night before. He exited the room and entered the driver’s seat of the car. “Ready to visit James?” He asked. The first rays of the sun had just began to touch the sky. “Finally, some action.” Asura replied. When Amon pulled into the neighborhood an hour and a half later, he stopped at the house with the Benz and Tahoe in front. Asura picked the lock on the front door while Amon made sure to keep an eye out. Passed the kitchen on the right and living room on the left. At the end of a short hall, Asura slammed his palm on the door, pushing the frame off the hinges and dropping to a loud wham! “James!” He shouted too excitedly. James jolted, and as soon as his eyes adjusted, he sprung reached for his nightstand. A fist reached his face first, breaking of bones in his nose and knocking out a couple teeth. “Did you tell someone, James?” Asura asked with blood on the knuckles of his hands. The woman in his bed screamed and fell off the bed with a loud thud! Then she proceeded to run out of the room. James denied all accusations and pleaded for his life. “People are talking , James. Amon knows . And Amon is always right.” “Asura! Please! I was your therapist! I’m legally not allowed to--” Asura stopped listening sent a hard backhand. /There was a distant crashing sound followed by rushed, loud footsteps. A few cops flew into the opened room. The fist cop was immediately snatched and, in that same second, placed on the floor with a broken neck. A bullet entered the next cop’s right ear and perfectly out the left. There was another single gunshot, but the last man heard two bodies hitting the floor behind him. The last man was Captain. And everything happened so fast, by the time he looked back at James, the man was kicking violently in the bed with a sheet tied around his neck with the ends of the sheet around the bed posts. He took one step forward and the cold barrel of a gun kissed his temple. “Drop the gun.” Asura ordered him. He stared as the body in front of him flipped and flopped. James hands had been zip-tied behind his back, making an escape impossible. “Drop the gun.” Asura repeated. Captain took notice that he held the gun up with his right hand and placed his left hand was behind his back. But he knew Asura couldn’t be hiding another weapon. He knew he was being held at gunpoint by Amon. Captain lowered his gun to the floor slowly, dropping it beside one of his dead officers and standing back up even slower. “Listen, Amon, we can help you.” He suggested. Amon froze. “Captain, do you need backup?” His walkie shouted. His eyes met Amon’s. Slowly Captain moved his hand up to his walkie. “Cap, we’re coming in--” “Stand down.” He commanded. “Wait for my order.” Amon lowered his gun and stood right in front of Captain. He studied his face for a second. Thick mustache with a terrible attempt at a beard. He looked weak. Weak, but desperate to show his importance. His value , if he even had any. Amon looked at the ceiling and let out a dramatic and judgmental chuckle. He lowered his sight back to Captain and stopped smiling. “How are you here?” Asura barked. “My friend James told you, huh?” “Asura. Introduce me to Amon.” Captain was sweating. Yet cold. The blood in his nose had begun to pool but he knew better. He desperately attempted reasoning with Asura in hopes to at least stall long enough for backup to arrive. He could already hear the beautiful ring of sirens in the far, far distance. “I wanna meet Amon.” He repeated. “I’ve heard so much about him.” “I don’t care what you’ve heard about me.” Amon replied. “Your opinion has no importance.” Before Captain could offer a reply, Asura began to speak. “You here to arrest me again?” He questioned. His eyes pierced through to Captain’s. From Captain’s perspective, Asura’s eyes were dark. So dark, they seemed hollow and deep with emptiness. Like something else had fully taken over. Asura was not gone, but he wasn’t there either. Like a body stripped of its soul. He could no longer tell who he was talking to. Staring at. But whichever one it was lifted the gun and swung it, slamming it against his temple. He felt like his eyeballs shattered. And for that split second before his vision faded to black, through the slits of his almost-closed eyelids, he could’ve sworn he could see two separate people standing in front of him. Captain’s eyes opened and he gasped and grasped along the bedsheets wrapped around his body. Multiple hands grabbed him forcing him back down. He struggled and struggled and let out a bone chilling scream. “No, no Captain. Relax, you’re fine. Open your eyes.” Captain recognized the voice. He stopped struggling and his eyes opened slowly. He squinted and blinked as his eyes got used to the light. When his pupils adjusted, he realized that he was in a hospital. On a hospital bed. Beside him were two officers and his wife. He was confused and felt distant. He felt like he was the only one lost in the room. “Baby.” He whispered weakly to his wife. “Why are we here in the hospital? Are you OK?” She stared at him and cried. She bawled her eyes out until she could finally speak. “You were in a coma.” She replied between disrupted beaths. “Coma?” He repeated, shocked. “What? For how long?” She didn’t answer. She just cried and cried more. Captain looked at the officers. “A couple months.” One said. “ Four months.” The other one added. “Four! Months?” Captain asked. “Asura? Did we catch him? Tell me we had the whole house and neighborhood surrounded. There’s no way they got away. Not from so close.” Neither cop was eager to respond. “What happened?” He asked finally. Another hesitant second. “Since his release, he hasn’t slowed down. People are beginning to despise local police. They want him caught on some real charges this time.” Captain closed his eyes hard. “Besides the witnessed and surveillance footage of the diner murder, a couple other things have happened since then too. The problem is just finding him .” Captain felt a chill fly up his spine. Something strangely felt familiar. The air seemed heavy and almost-tense. He recognized the feeling. And it was growing. Getting closer and closer. He struggled to breathe properly and felt the heaviest layer of fear he had ever felt in his life. It was a strong feeling of evil as he had once felt months before. “Baby?” His wife stated. “Baby, what’s wrong? Someone get the nurse now .” One officer rushed out of the room and returned seconds later with a nurse following behind. The nurse closed the door behind him and turned around, facing Captain. “Hello Captain Barry.” Captain had heard that voice before. It belonged to the same person that put him into a four-month coma. He looked at the nurse and immediately was completely submerged under the heaviness he felt. Still, he was unable to tell which one of was standing in front of him, but he was certain he was staring at the face of Death.


There he sat, if you could call it sitting. Legs propped up on the console, arms crossed, eyes slowly closing. He had sunk so far down in his chair that his chin was pressed up against his chest. Kellek had only a day's worth of scanning left. His job was one of patience, or boredom, depending on how you look at it. The conglomerate would scan deep space for promising asteroid belts and when they found one, they would send him, all alone, to scan the asteroids for valuable minerals. The process was mostly automated. He would tag an asteroid with a small beacon, get into position and begin bombarding the asteroid with varying types and combinations of radiation. It took hours to scan a single asteroid. The cockpit of his small industrial frigate was mostly silent but for the humming of the scanner. His equipment had gone to sleep before he could. A few critical systems remained at attention but the rest powered down to conserve energy. His eyes finally closed and his mind transported him back home, alone still. He had spent most of his life alone, no family and few friends. You *had* to comfortable alone to do this job. Suddenly, he was jolted back to deep space by his ship; The nav system had emitted a short, loud screech. Kellek sprung up in his chair, swinging his legs off the console. This was a sound he did not hear often; Contact Alarm. He was expecting nobody. As far as he knew, the conglomerate were tight lipped about what they found, hoping to be the only ones to profit from it. 3 ships had been detected uncomfortably close. "Someone else must have found this belt.." he thought to himself. Although unlikely this far out, it's possible another corporation had stumbled upon the same asteroid belt as his employer had. The 3 vessels remained at a distance, not moving. They were just far enough away to prevent any kind of scan or IFF. The comm crackled to life. He had been so concentrated on the radar that he didn't even think to try to communicate with the vessels. "Industrial Frigate, power down and prepare to be boarded" That was all he needed to understand what was happening. These weren't other miners, these were pirates. They wanted his data for themselves so they could claim the site and start mining right away. By the time the conglomerate could get another ship out here, the asteroids would have been mined to the core. He also knew that they had no intention of taking prisoners, and they couldn't let him go free; If he could make it to the nearest come relay, he could inform his employer and that would allow the pirates less time to mine the belt. His only chance was to run, and he knew it. Kellek tapped furiously on the touchscreen in front of him, instructing the vessel to power engines and cease scanning. The cockpit slowly came back to life, screens lighting up, the sound of fans spinning. He reached for the long range comms. At this distance, and without a comm relay nearby, he wouldn't be able to talk to anyone but he could at least send out an SOS. Hopefully someone would pick it up.... A few key presses and the screen on the instrument read "SOS AWAY". At that same moment, the 3 vessels began accelerating towards him. "They picked up the SOS!" he said aloud with nobody to hear him. His heart was racing now, they knew he intended to run and their only chance of getting the data was to destroy his vessel and recover the computer core. He slammed the throttle as far as it would go and furiously grabbed the control stick. His ship was an older industrial model, not suitable for any kind of maneuvering let alone running from pirates. He knew his only chance would be to lose the pirates among the asteroids. If he could find a hole in one of them, he might be able to hide until someone answered his SOS. CRAAAAAACK! They shot at him! The ship momentarily lurched to the left as the RCS fought to keep it's bearing. "PORT RCS FAILURE". An error message appeared in red on the main console. They were firing on him; They had hit him. He was close to the belt now, a few more seconds and he would be among the asteroids. His assailants hot in his tail, and gaining, had no intention of letting him slip away. As he approached the nearest rock, ordinance could be seen exploding on it's surface. They were still firing at him. Kellek's hands were sweating and his grip on the controls was such that his knuckles were as white as his face. He yanked the control stick backwards swinging his ship around the back of the asteroid he was scanning. He was safe for a few minutes; He had put a rock between him and the pirates. His eyes darted around the asteroid frantically as he looked for a hole or crevice where he could park and power down. Absolutely nothing. The asteroid was as featureless as the prairies where he grew up. The pirates would easily spot his ship without any cover. He was about to re-emerge in view of the pirates. He had to make a decision; Should he try to make it to another asteroid, or should he surrender and hope the pirates were feeling generous. As he came out of the cover of the asteroid, the pirates came back into view, much closer than before. Without much thought, Kellek quickly flipped a switch labelled "BRDCST". "If you come any closer i'll purge the computer core and you'll get nothing!" he barked into the mic. The pirates slowed to match his peed. "If you do that, your dead anyways..." said one of them after a few moments of silence. He was right, if he purged the core, he would lose all of his navigational data. If they didn't destroy him out of anger, he would be stranded out here until he died of hunger. "Don't be a hero. Power down or be destroyed. No matter what you do, you are *not* getting out of this alive". Kellek was beginning to think the same. His ship was pointed at another asteroid, hurdling through space as fast as it's small engines could push it. He was a few minutes out from the next rock. "Have it your way." said the pirate. Kellek froze. Was this it? Was he going to die all alone in the middle of nowhere? The ship was screaming at him now; Alarms blaring. The pirates had accelerated again and were closing fast. He glanced at the radar and his heart sank when he saw that two small dots had left the pirates and were headed straight for him. Missiles. His hands fell away from the controls and he sank back in his chair. Hardly a minute left before the missiles reached him, Kellek had given up. He gazed through the window in front of him, rapidly trying to decide if he regretted anything. The missiles were only 10 seconds out now. At least it would be fast. The same alarm that had signaled the start of his demise rang out from the nav computer once more. "CONTACT: CRUISER CLASS - IFF: FRIENDLY" Almost as soon as the alarm sounded, the two missiles disappeared of the radar. Kellek whipped his head around in the direction of the contact. A conglomerate vessel! But how did they make it out here so fast? "Industrial frigate this is EV Xerxes. Set an intercept course to this vessel, docking bay 4 is all yours". It didn't matter how they got here. A few taps on the nav and his ship swung around to face the cruiser. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The pirates fired on him again! They weren't giving up. "PROPULSION FAILURE - RCS FAILURE" His ship began spinning slowly, unable to maintain it's bearing. The pirates had hit his engines, killing them. The starboard RCS thrusters were firing wildly. He was still a few minutes out from the cruiser, and the pirates would reach him before his would-be saviors could. "I can eject!" Kellek exclaimed, again with nobody to hear him. If he ejected now, the cruiser might be able to locate him before his life support ran out and the pirates would be more interested in fighting off the cruiser than taking him out. He swung his arms over his head, reaching for the helmet attached to the back of his seat. He jammed the it over his head and into the locking mechanism on his suit. A green light appeared in the top of his visor indicating that his suit was vacuum-ready. He reached for the two eject handles, one on either side of his seat but paused just before yanking them. Kellek quickly leaned forward and started tapping furiously at the console. He navigated to the reactor control screen and set the power 300%. The computer refused, informing him that anything above 130% would cause the reactor to overload. This is precisely what he wanted! After typing his override codes and dismissing a plethora of warning messages and confirmation dialogues, the ship reluctantly cooperated, setting the reactor to 300% power generation. "Industrial frigate, EV Xerxes. It doesn't look like we are going to make it to you in time... Can you eject?" Kellek was already sitting straight as an arrow in his seat with both hands on the ejection handles. SWOOOOSH! The now unattached canopy of the cockpit separated from the ship with explosive force as the atmosphere inside pushed it away. The cockpit chair unlatched from the floor and a small thruster underneath shot Kellek away from his ship with amazing force. His vision narrowed as he accelerated away from his vessel, the G force was tremendous. Kellek focused on breathing, not wanting to lose consciousness. He turned his head towards his ship and grinned at what he saw; One of the pirates had begun docking with it, undoubtedly to retrieve the computer core. He looked for the others. They had continued on to fend off the cruiser. In a spectacular flash of light, both his ship and the boarding pirate were gone. The reactor had given up and exploded just as the computer had foreseen! Seconds later, the other two pirates had broken off from the cruiser, one heavily damaged but still able to maneuver. They headed for the belt. It was their turn to try to hide. Kellek flipped open a small control pad on his armrest and activated a beacon hoping the cruiser would be looking for it. "We've got you! Hang on, we're going to grab you with the cargo scoop". The voice played loudly through his helmet. The cruiser was coming straight for him now, the cargo scoop on it's underside was wide open and as it got closer he could make out two men floating at the mouth of the scoop, ready to grab him as the cruiser swallowed him whole. "You are one lucky son of a bitch" said a young man with two chevrons on either shoulder as he unlatched Kellek from his chair. The cargo scoop had closed and had re-pressurized. It felt wonderful to take his helmet off. "How the hell did you guys find me?" Asked Kellek "That's.. erm... classified" Said the Corporal, avoiding Kellek's eyes. "Fine, I'm just grateful." "We can bring you to the nearest comm relay and set you up with a ride back home, but we need to get back to our assignment ASAP" said the young man. Kellek nodded with a look of immense gratitude, though he couldn't help feeling something wasn't quite right. How had they gotten to him so quickly? Why was the corporal acting so secretive? It didn't matter. He was safe, and he was going home. A voice came over the ship's intercom: "Contacts are leaving the belt, set condition 3 throughout the ship" "If you'll follow me to the medbay we can get you checked out." Said the corporal. The end.


Instant Theatre-Just Add Coffee I looked at the ad three times. Each time I looked at it put the newspaper down, but something kept drawing me back to it: Westchester theatre seeks actors, directors, and playwrights for a 24-hour Marathon . I always wanted to write a play. While I’d seen these marathons promoted in Off-Off-Broadway theatres, I always told myself this wasn’t for me. And it was too much of a hassle to get downtown. Now, this would be in Westchester, where I live. What was I afraid of? Only that: a) I would never be able to write a play, overnight. b) I would have my worst fear, that I have no talent, confirmed. c) I would suffer abject humiliation, and as a result... d) ...I would never be able to leave my house in the light of day again And yet I still want to move forward and try and write a play, so I leaped into action. Not really. I procrastinated. When my wife told me that the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets did not need to be changed, again I was out of excuses. I pulled up the theatre’s online application form, answered a few brief questions, and I was done. Although I don’t see how answering “Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter?” tells anybody anything. Not having read the books or seen any of the movies, I googled Harry Potter. I picked Prof. Severus Snape, only because he was played by Alan Rickman. I still didn’t know who the character was and prayed to God that no one would ask me about it. Still, there was a very good chance that I wouldn’t be accepted which meant I wouldn’t have to face my fear of failure. But, alas, three days later, while girding myself for rejection, I received an e-mail instructing me to show up at the theatre on the following Friday at 7:00. While part of me was excited, most of me felt the way I did when I received the notice from my draft board telling me to report for my army physical. At least, I told myself, I wouldn’t be nearly naked this time-it would just feel that way. The way the Marathon works is that people apply as either a playwright, actor, or director. They meet at the theatre at 7 pm on a Friday evening. No one knows each other. The organizer randomly puts people in small groups consisting of a playwright, a director, and actors. After an hour-long “getting to know you” period, the playwright goes off and writes. They have until 7:00 the next morning to complete a 10-minute play. The director and actors show up the next morning and are given the scripts to work on until showtime-7 pm that night. If I can’t produce anything, the people on my team will be screwed, and my fear of failure will be realized. No pressure. I’ve always been intrigued by these projects. They appeal to my sense of needing a deadline in order to write anything, my lack of commitment to any long-term project, and my abject boredom with anything I’ve ever created seconds after its completion. That Friday, I expected a large turnout of experienced theatre-makers and was prepared to be intimidated, which I hoped would fuel my resolve, and jump-start my creativity. Instead, I walked into the cavernous theatre to find fourteen other people representing various levels of experience, age, and ethnicity. The theatre’s Education Coordinator was a young energetic woman named Tracey. Tracey had the personality of a governor’s press secretary who believed in all of her boss’ bullshit as she waxed rhapsodic about her theatre. She engaged us all in exercises to help us get to know each other, so we could all get an idea about everyone’s personality, and how people expressed themselves. During the exercises I found myself making mental notes like, “She would be interesting,” “I like his accent,” and, “If you stick me with her, I’ll kill myself.” But I did get an idea of the talent in the group. When the pairings were announced, I was partnered with a director, Eloise, who had never directed before but is a playwright -- so there was a real possibility that my play would be rewritten and badly directed. The actors were two young women from Brooklyn, Lisa, and Paula, in their early 30s. The four of us repaired to a quiet spot to talk. As for the two actors, I soon learned that English was not their first language (French and Portuguese). They’d been in the states for less than two years, but their English was just fine, and the women seemed to have a rapport with one another. We all shared a bit about our experiences in the theatre and how we work, and then we all left the theatre; the actors and director to sleep, and me to write. By the time I got home and had a quick dinner, it was 10 pm. I had nine hours to write the play and send it on to the director. There was a time in my life when being up all night was no big deal. (There was also a time in my life when I did cocaine every weekend but that wasn’t happening tonight. Also, I believe my dealer is now the social director for a cruise line, so I wouldn’t know where to score). But now, it’s a big deal. I didn’t dare fall asleep as there was no guarantee I’d get up in time to write the play. So fueled with caffeine, I proceeded. 11:00 Panic had already set in, and I made an aborted attempt to retrofit a play I tried to write years ago that had been languishing in a folder. 12:00 I realized why it was still in the folder-it was terrible. 1:00 AM Rejected the idea of a zombie psychotherapist and vampire patient. 2:00 AM I actually get a good idea for a ten-minute play. Thinking about the rapport between Lisa and Paula I stumbled onto a premise: A woman asks a close friend to seduce her husband. (Trust me it’s funny, and it has a twist). 4:00 AM I pushed “Send.” Truth be told, I wasn’t sure the play was ready, but my fatigue had rendered any further revision pointless. As Lorne Michaels once said about Saturday Night Live, “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.” The next day I made it to the theatre an hour before the show. Eloise rushed up to me to ask if she could change a particular word. I don’t remember which word -- but the meaning was the same and, for some reason, it was easier for the actor to say, so I agreed. Truth be told, at that point I would have agreed to a request that they perform the play speaking Aramaic. Eloise also explained that there were some cultural references she had to translate for the actors. I didn’t stop to ask whether it’s because the references were quintessentially American, or because they were born out of pop culture from thirty years ago. One thing I learned from this was when writing for younger actors don’t assume they’ll know anything about Hill Street Blues . Did I really need a reminder of how much older I was than any of these folks? I guess I did. The plays went on at 7 pm as promised and as with most projects like this, to varying degrees of success. I felt sorry for some of the “actors” (intentional quotes) who, from their expressions, looked as if they had just landed on the stage from Neptune; or the ones who, even with scripts in their hands were incapable of saying their lines. The actors in my play (because let’s face it, that’s what I was really interested in) did a really good job, as did the director. Much to my surprise, as I watched, I realized I might have a viable, ten-minute play. Would I do this again? Maybe. Or maybe I should sit down and without any outside deadline to move me, try to write another play. But first I think the bathtub needs grouting.


(Should've been marked \[HM\] Humor - whoops!) # My Favorite Things My favorite place to be is between two thighs. I can’t fully explain why. It’s warm. I feel secure. The sound is dampened from the outside world making my anxiety shakes not so bad. I moan every time I’m down there because it’s so comfortable, and anytime someone tries to move me, I moan even louder. I moan for comfort and discomfort alike! My favorite activity is peeing. Well, maybe it’s a tie for first, between peeing and chewing. Do you ever have something you’re gnawing on and there is something inside you that won’t let you stop? It’s almost like a special voice that only I can hear - “don’t you stop chewing damnit!” And so I listen and follow orders. I love to follow orders. Sit down. Stand up. Come here. Pretend you are dead. It doesn’t matter what it is, I just love it! And don’t even get me started on peeing. In the corner. On the grass. On the carpets. On the pee pad. In my crate. All those places are so fun to pee on. Sometimes mom yells loudly at me when I pee - especially when I pee in the corner. She’s always so encouraging. Sometimes I pee when she isn’t looking so she can come later and be surprised! I love surprises. Sometimes dad surprises me by making my ball disappear. He will throw the ball for me and it vanishes! Nowhere to be found; and then, out of thin air, he brings it back! He’s so impressive with his magical surprises. My favorite beverage is water! I usually have a little bowl that mom fills up for me, but sometimes I know she is busy so I go ahead and use the big bowl. The big bowl is where mom and dad go to sit and think. Sometimes they will be on there for 5 or 10 minutes looking at their glowy toys they hold. When they are not in there, sometimes I will go and try and figure out what they were doing in there for so long. I can never figure it out so I just take some water from the throne where they sat so that maybe I can figure out how they are so wise. Recently my favorite pastime has been finding the cloth mom and dad have for me to chew. Sometimes they try to play games with me and hide them. In a drawer. In the hamper. In a zipped up gym bag. But sometimes they are nice and just leave it out for me on the ground. It doesn't take long for me to chew and swallow all the cloth. So fun! One time after I chewed an entire thin lace cloth mommy left out for me, and because I did such a good job she took me to see our very good friend who lives in the small building and always wears a white coat. Sometimes I am nervous and shake when we go there, but our very dear friend is always so nice to me and asks me lots of questions. Okay. I hear mom coming home. I must go for now because I want to surprise her with a poop before she comes in the room.