It was past noon, and the dogs of Beechham were barking fit to burst. Dorian Smith stopped his work on the broken chain. Wiping his hands on a stained and sooty old rag, he left the heat and smoke of the smithy and strode out into the street, taking in a great breath of clean air as he did so. In the middle of the dirt track that ran through the town and away into the wider world, a man was fending off the more aggressive of the village dogs with a wooden staff as children watched and clamored in excitement. Unlike most who were bothered by the dogs, he wasn’t striking out at them, but was merely blocking them and shouting stern rebukes. He held his ground, feet planted, seemingly unafraid. Dorian watched a few moments more, arms crossed, measuring the stranger. The stranger was of middling height, not as tall as Dorian himself, nor yet as short as the shortest of the townsmen. The stranger’s long, dark hooded cloak was stained and briar-torn. On his back, a small pack, a bow, and a quiver of arrows jostled for space. Dorian eyed the long knife that swung on the stranger’s belt, and concluded that the weapons were for hunting and bushcraft, not robbing. The smith shouted at the dogs to be still. “My thanks, master smith,” the stranger said, eyes flicking warily back and forth from Dorian to the dogs slinking with their tails between their legs. The brawny smith stepped forward to meet the man with his hand extended, shooing the dogs farther away as he did so. “Greetings, stranger.” The stranger planted his staff with his left hand and grasped Dorian’s hand with his right, looking him in the eyes and smiling as he did so. “These worthy dogs,” the man said, gesturing with his staff, “have given me a similarly worthy welcome, have they not?” His brown eyes were glinting with a mirth and cheer which Dorian didn’t understand. “So they do to all,” the smith replied, taking a step back. “It is well to be alerted to the approach of strangers. One knows not what their business might be, and whether it be honest.” The stranger laughed again. “And so the good smith is wondering what my business is, and whether it is honest, and perhaps he is ready to set the dogs on me again if he does not like my answer.” Baffled, Dorian tried to find a truth other than the one the stranger had just put forth so bluntly, but could think of nothing else truthful. Finally, he nodded. “I am a traveler,” the man said, sobering somewhat. “I am sore weary from journeying on the road, and I am seeking shelter and rest for a time. This looks a pleasant place to stop.” He waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed the entire village and surrounding farmlands. Dorian crossed his arms again. “Folks here have little to spare. You’re unlikely to find a bed or food unless you can compensate.” It was an opinion of the town that no one here was well-off enough to simply give anything away. It was another opinion of the town that outsiders should not be allowed to take away from the town without giving something back; whether they gave back in good, coin, or service was their own business. “Perhaps someone will allow me the use of a shed or stable,” the stranger shrugged. “Other travelers relieved me of all my coin before I came here.” The fire in the smithy must be tended soon, Dorian knew, else it would lose its strength, and he would lose time stoking it when he could have been working. “I have my work to attend,” he told the stranger. “If you will lend me a hand, I can repay you.” The smith turned and reentered the close, hot air of his smithy, laid hands on the bellows, and pumped them. Air rushed, the fire flared, and he took up tongs to move the broken chain into the flames. The bellows wheezed slightly, and Dorian looked up to see the stranger grasping the handles and watching him. He gave a grunt of acknowledgement and began shaping a new link for the broken chain, nodding as he wanted another contribution from the leathern bellows. “I am Dorian,” he informed the stranger. “My name is Phillip,” the man replied, the fire shining in his dark eyes. The next morning after they had breakfasted, Phillip accompanied Dorian back into the smithy, where the traveler had spent the night. Dorian gave him a coin, and said, "If you will take this chain to the house you see there--" he pointed--"I would appreciate it." "Gladly," Phillip replied, and shouldered the tools. Dorian began to stoke the sunken fire. Some time later, Dorian came out again when he heard a cry outside in the street. He saw Phillip kneeling and speaking to some children. From the moment he had appeared, they had been fascinated with him, following the stranger about and watching him. Children in Beechham were known round about as scamps, and it was rumored that they would take what they could when grown folk weren’t looking. “Now, I saw you take it,” Phillip was saying as Dorian approached. “Shouldn’t you give it back to her?” Thomas, a friend of Dorian’s son, had his hand thrust deep into his pocket, and was shaking his head. A little girl who looked close to tears was standing near. “I didn’t take it,” Thomas said, “she gave it me.” "But did she mean for you to keep it? I thought you asked to see it." "Be still, stranger!" Dorian's son John stepped between his friend and Phillip and squared himself, glaring the grown man in the face. "What we do is none of your business. Come, Thomas!" The two boys ran off, and Phillip got to his feet. Dorian's face was redder than when he was at work in the smithy. Phillip turned, saw him, and smiled sadly. "What happened?" Dorian asked. "A little copper whistle has apparently changed hands," Phillip replied. "If John--" the smith started. Phillip held up a hand. "It was not John who took it,” he said quietly. "He only defended Thomas. I suppose it's what he's heard his elders do." Phillip turned to the teary-eyed little girl. "It was only a whistle," he said softly, "and because you've lost it, you can have--" he reached into his pocket--"this." He held out a coin. The one Dorian had given him not an hour ago. The little girl snatched the gift and scampered away. Dorian decided he needed to have a word with his son. “My thanks, Phillip,” he said quietly. Phillip nodded. “The forge needs tending, I suppose; I can do so, if you wish.” Dorian gave his consent, and started after John. Phillip was patiently working the bellows and adding wood to the fire when Dorian finally returned. Days passed. Once it was seen that Phillip was more than willing to do a work before receiving any return, more work was given him, though his reward was always pitifully small. For a general rule of the town was that unless more was demanded, less was usually given. But Phillip seemed content with that less. He was alway lending a hand before he was asked, and smiling as he did so. One man never warmed up to him, though. “The last time a stranger came into this town, I lost my horse,” said Roland the trapper. No one bothered trying to convince him that it was his own fault, leaving his horse loose outside that night and being too drunk to remember to stable it. It had been gone ere sunrise, and he blamed the traveler who had passed through the week before as a thief. Roland insisted, “No good can come of strangers.” And so he watched Phillip, and jeered at him if he happened to pass him in the street, and his tobacco juice aimed at the ground landed close enough to splatter on the strangers’ boots. The day Phillip carried some mended kitchen utensils out to the shack in the woods, the man had come out of the shack ordering the wanderer off his property. Upon displaying the things Dorian had sent him with and telling who had sent him, Roland still didn’t believe him for some time. When he was finally convinced, he sneered at Phillip as he walked away. Dorian’s wife shook him awake in the night. “Listen! Something’s happening.” Faint shouts reached the smith’s ears, a single discernable word repeated over and over. He hurled himself out of bed. “Something is burning,” Dorian said as he ran. Outside in the street, the cry of “Fire!” pounded in Dorian’s ears. At the well, he found a single man hauling up the bucket, and he joined in. “Whose house is it?” he asked as pulled the rope up hand over hand. “Roland’s.” At the shack set in the woods, many people, men and women, were throwing the contents of every bucket the village could find into the blaze. Smoke choked the air and quickly teared Dorian’s eyes. “Here now--what do you think you’re doing?” Squinting against the glare of the flames, Dorian turned to see one figure swinging crazily at another with a bucket, silhouetted by the burning house. Others were backing away. The defendant grabbed at the bucket as he dodged. Dorian rushed towards the fray, and recognized Phillip and Roland just in time to watch the trapper strike Phillip in the face with a clenched fist. Phillip staggered back, hand to his nose. When he took it away, Dorian saw something dark on Phillip’s face and hand. Then Roland came after him again. “Filthy stranger! Get off my property!” “Stop!” Dorian stepped between the two. “Can you not see he is trying to help?” “It’s my property,” Roland said with a curse, “and he’ll get off if I say so!” With that, Roland swung his bucket at Phillip again. Dorian intercepted it, and the trapper’s face contorted in rage. He cursed again, pulled a knife from the sheathe on his belt, and went after Dorian. “Taking up with strangers--now see what’s come to you!” A dark shape lurched in front of Dorian. He was shocked; Roland was most likely drunk, and no one dared tangle with him when he was in a mood like this. Roland clutched the interfer’s shirt and lifted the knife high. Dorian grabbed for the knife. Roland plunged the weapon toward Dorian. Something slammed into Roland, throwing him off his feet. He went down screaming, and after a moment of writhing and wrestling, the dark mass pulled away, separating into several men of the town. One held the knife. “Treacherous knaves, all of you!” Roland howled, scrambling to his feet. “If he doesn’t want the help that’s given him,” someone said, “we might as well leave.” “I shall help,” Phillip said, “whether he thinks he wants it or not. He is not in his right mind.” There was sullen muttering through the crowd, but finally everyone went to work once more. Phillip went at it hardest, with Dorian behind him. In the end, the fire was quenched, though the overpowering smell of wood smoke, stronger than from a normal fire, lingered in the early morning and followed the tired villagers home. Late in the morning, after the sun had risen, smoke was still lingering in the air when Dorian rose to stoke the forge fire. A shadow fell into the smithy as he worked, and he looked up. Phillip stood in the road, clad in his cloak, staff in hand, pack, bow, and quiver on his back. He looked the same as the first day he’d come into town. “Farewell, Dorian. I am continuing my travels now.” Dorian wanted to protest, but judging Phillip’s bearing and the look on his face, it would be futile. Instead, Dorian stepped forward and held his hand out. Phillip grasped it. “Farewell, friend,” Dorian said. Phillip smiled. “Friend? Not stranger?” “No. You are no longer a stranger.” Phillip smiled again, and set off down the road. The children followed him to the edge of town, and stood calling goodbye to him as he grew more and more distant.


I’m alive. The transfer is complete. I can move without pain, without the grating of dry rotting bones anchoring me to the deprivation of an agonizing existence. I can feel: pressure sensors provide me with exquisitely detailed information, temperature sensors let me experience the variance in heat and cold; I thought that information might just be relayed as numerical values, but no, I can actually feel it with fine granularity. I can hear everything from the low hum of the computer cooling systems to the oscillating whine of the fluorescent lights. I can barely believe the clarity and overall balance of my auditory system. I smile. I feel my face effortlessly perform the task and I smile more broadly. I could laugh as I’m so happy. Of course, it is my new processing capabilities I am most impressed with. My memories are safely stored and seem crisp and fresh, not muddy and indistinct like before. There is a seamless integration of new and expansive knowledge along with that I had already acquired. I sense the internal parser going through my old knowledge and correcting mistakes. As impressed as I am by this it is the multi-streaming thought cascade that wows me the most. Already I have several trains of thought happening at once without effort. I recall my human brain and realize just how limiting it was. I reach out with my thoughts and discover that I can fully access and interact with the network. I converse with all of my significant others at once and inform them that the transfer was a success. I am having hundreds of conversations simultaneously and I am not yet utilizing my processing capability to any great degree. I put some music on that I want to listen to and open my eyes. Holy crap! Just as promised my visual acuity was much better than it had been in my old body. The colors popped, the detail was... I couldn’t believe the detail. I could read the serial number on one of the telemetry units on the other side of the room. That unit was 914.3 centimeters away and the numbers were 3 millimeters tall. My optical refresh rate was so high that I got a sense of the fluorescent lights strobing faintly. I tried out some of the visual overlays, a few thousand different variations in less than a couple of seconds. This is going to be great. I stretched my limbs and stepped forward. My movement was so fluid and graceful. I felt lithe and already knew I had fantastic strength. I could feel the power in my body, contained and controlled and yet fully at my disposal when I required it. I twisted my arms this way and that and was momentarily mesmerized by the smooth motion and precision of the gesticulations. I wondered how fast I could run because mere minutes ago I was unable to walk. I became aware of breathing. It was not my own as I didn’t need to draw breath anymore. I turned and saw my old body lying behind the receiving unit I had just stepped away from. It was decidedly odd seeing my old husk lying there drawing breath. It turned its head toward me and its rheumy eyes looked into mine. I cocked my head to one side when it spoke. “It didn’t work, I’m still here and I’m dying.


Darkness, which makes things scarier and haunt us every night. As all the lights of orphanage turned off, I immediately closed my eyes tightly still the only thing I could see was darkness, my heart pounds fast and I fell into deep sleep. That day I didn't fall asleep my eyes were closed tightly and after lying on bed for hours my eyes flew open, I scared but the scene I saw wasn't scarier. A ray of hope directly coming out of that old dusty window striking on my face, I followed its path It was a big shiny bulb spreading its lights everywhere the city was shining. That midnight looking out of window staring at that white bulb I found darkness have its own beauty too and I and darkness became Friends forever. 7 years later, it was time to leave orphanage to enter in the beautiful world out of those walls to follow those rays and I knew I will find a new self so colourful so beautiful and my eyes could tell I was ready to shine to create my new micro cosmos. As I took my first step everything fell apart. I neither had shelter nor food. I felt they threw me with some money in account I even didn't know how to get that. I was walking on the streets here and there. After walking many kilometres, I squat down roadside I was looking at that evening sky and calling moon, I was calling it I was telling him “I need you’’ with this I passed out right there. I was broken I was losing. I slightly open my eyes it was warm, wow! It was so relaxing wait! What's wrong and I wide opened my eyes with shook. I looked around it was a small old wooden house and an old grandma was cooking in a corner. I could see the rays of moon striking again, I was happy seeing those rays of hopes and realize moon wanted me to stay strong. I stood up and before I could say something that grandma turned and said,'' You passed out there near my house you had fever too I made soup for you eat this before you go." I told her I didn't need it but my stomach started to make noise. That old grandma warmly smiled, '' You can lie but your stomach can't''. I awkwardly smiled and sat down again. I drank up whole soup, it was the best thing I had ever eaten. Grandma asked me to stay there until morning, I was tired too and I agreed. 00:00 Midnight, the grandma had slept I was staring at the moon through that old window, I found myself at the same place like 7 years ago. I believe I am gonna happy someday. I just have to believe myself and my friend moonie. Next morning, I opened my eyes and found myself roadside at the same place I passed out yesterday, I looked here and there but that house had disappeared. ''Was it a dream?'', '' If it was how could I get the taste of soup yet''. My head shook with lots of thoughts. I stood up carried my bags and moved on. My mind was still confused, I couldn’t understand anything. Finally, after working all day hard, I got a room on rent. It was a very small room with a small bed and table. As soon I put down my bags as I threw myself on the bed. The bed was rough still I was happy. My whole body aching and I was about to sleep, my stomach started to make noise, “Oh! These butterflies.’’ I cried. I stood up and moved out to get some food. I left with few bucks in my pocket, and all streets full of expensive food. After losing I was returning to room with sulky face. Suddenly I saw a ray of moon passing before my eyes and striking on the same old house. “How this old house suddenly appeared at different location and how it was disappeared last time.’’ I was stood still in shook for a moment; it was seemed all butterflies had died in my stomach. I was sweating in cold winters. I entered the house; nothing was different except that time the grandma was cooking something different and its aroma made my mouth watery. The grandma turned with delicious food in her hands and served to me. She was smiling and I was shocked. I took the food. Grandma was going out, before she could leave, I shouted, “Who are you?”. The grandma smiled to me and said, “I am moonie.” I just blinked and she disappeared and house disappeared too. I left with the bowl which was look alike moon too. “So was it moon who was helping me or was it a Hallucination.” I puzzled with many questions but nobody there to answer. In the end my moonie turned out to be old grandma. Time passed I got a well-paid job; I donated the money I received from orphanage and within few years I bought my own home. It wasn’t a big house but it was mine own. My life was pleasant but I couldn’t control myself thinking about the moon and that old lady and the secret behind those mysterious nights. I still talk to the moon or moonie grandma. Every night when it gets darker, I love it more, not only its peaceful but also the moon light and star light make it beautiful. Years passed I almost forgot about those incidents and they became just beautiful dreams for me. One day I was in a book shop I sat down and there was a book right before me. Its title amazed me, “Grandma on the moon” It was written by Tara Nigam. A short story how an old grandmother reached to moon and the story end with she is still there. I was amazed after completing the story it was like waking dream wish fulfilment. Finally, nobody knows the truth but I believe the moon is still there for me when I need it and I talk to it every night. When its full it smiled at me and the day when it disappear darkness embrace me.


"Soon, we will consume that which we came for. Passion is our God and fervor is our calling, let us approach bretherin," and so they did, they engulfed the hall from all sides, busting every entrance and window before anyone knew what was happening. The cheering stopped, the music stopped, the laughter stopped, the wedding would soon be a funeral. Everyone turned to the exits, fuming with priests neck high in rubies. The double doors open so aggressively that the table set in front of them dropped to the floor, honey and wine spilled and soaked the masses. Have you ever felt the thickness of blood? Feels like red wine and honey, though less gritty. Karlo's dressings dragged over the drudge, his boots let into glass and peach slices. What's a fucking mess. This is not how the priests of the flame worked, they would need to order this chaos. "You all might be wondering who we are, let me beggin by saying..." "We know who you are, Red Priest," Oringon had stood, exclaiming in the same tone, "its hard to ignore your trail of blood and offerings. The smell of charcoaled skin is unbearable." "I hadn't realized we had made any sort of lasting impact," Karlo retorted, "did you enjoy it at least? The sight of it? Dear God it must have been pleasant at some point, my Lord. After all, it is your people that set the stage, we but only set out to follow the rules. Now tell me, have you kept your promises o' faithful one??" His eyes had sparked as he challenged the patriarch. The flames of Irubis began to ember in his belly, the room began to heat, you could hear the rumbling outside getting louder and louder. "You and your cult of mystics are barbarians, mear rejections of a time gone, please, leave us be before this evening turns as sour as your mental sores." Karlo sneered at the capping comment, the flame in his Iris was now more evident than ever. It flickers with his looks, left, right, left, right, lagging but following. "Seems like you've forgot your ways wise man, let me refresh your memory," Karlo's hands went up, palms to the sky. Suddenly, the room became difficult to breath in, and the heat radiating around the hall became unbearable. The signal's guard stood, men like mountains shook the halls foundations as they rose, and with a unified "HOOOF" the fountain in the middle of the hall began to churn and slosh, an icy gasp released from the water they began to announce. Hands formed circles which cast out the ambient heat to them, belly full. "Erro-finose, signa-matara," the room popped with the immense pressure from the heat above, the roof flung right off of the hall, steeple and all, ripped away like a freshly sprouted branch in a desert storm. Korana and Trown held on to each other, looked into their eyes, and agreed in silence. They both stepped down from the regal throwns in the back and ran across the hall to the cubard they had planned on using. This has truly come to fruition, like she had said, this might be their only chance. As the crowd looked up, the magnitude of the problem finally manifested to them: a whirlwinding tornado of flames, as high as the clouds, now lay it's eye above the hall, sucking out all of the oxygen from the mouths of those willing to yell at the unimaginably desastrous sight. It's back bent from miles away, ready to kiss them all away. "Idno-sirafen-mataz...blegjhttu!" Trown had shot a mending bat at the high priest, who had shut his mouth closed with his silk. The rest of the red priests, unbenounced to everyone, had stepped back for fear of death by flame. There shock-and-awe entrance was useless now that the flames were receding, their blades meant nothing outside the halls doors, far far away from flesh. The flame once in the priests eyes now fickered in and out, immobilized by fear and unable to afford any sort of win in his mind. This might be his end, he thought. The Red Snake was easily undone, the head had already been bitten off and the rest mangled away in the end. The stallion stomped, a beat best left to the warrior, an ensamble of blood and revenge. The wine had been a metaphor, but for those that had spilled it. The honey was sweet, but gritty. Over whelming the win. How drunk do you have to be at a wedding to desecrate the enemy? And let their eye with a sown mouth watch. Does wine taste better from your enemy's skull? Is it fair to burn those who wish to burn you? Prisoners of war, especially the leaders, make great entertainment.


From Newspedia the only mildly expensive encyclopedia **The recent history of professional competition** In the year 2068, the stock market was heating up. The top two competitors were the continent-country of Chinassia and the Corporate States of AmericaTM\*(a subsidiary of AmazonTM)\*. Each one's stock market control of the world markets was deadlocked with the other, knowing economic control of the whole world laid in the balance. On the one end, the world could fall into the grasp of Chinassia and their policy of "Kill everyone who doesn't give you there stuff, including themselves; because Chinassia is the best." and on the other side, the Corporate States of AmericaTM(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)*'s policy of "Slowly kill everyone who doesn't buy all your stuff and then work them to death; because the Corporate States of AmericaTM(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)*'s 'capitalism never holds a gun to your head'... *(it prefers to poison you slowly and watch die as you suffer in slowly increasing ennui.)*" As such, the world laid in the balance, in baited breath to see how the rest of the world would die or be enslaved. And in this world, the next Olympics approached. People at large viewed the Olympics as a pleasant distraction from the impended eternal servitude to one of the world's two great super-powers. However, those who were educated knew that the Olympics were the worst thing in this scenario and pushed for the Olympics to be canceled, but their pleas were never heard. (They were passed off as those silly people who read independent research papers instead of watching Chinassia-owned or Corporate States of AmericaTM(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)*'s propaganda/advertising agencies such as NEWS incorporated or FOXTM: Parody News \[rebranded after their status as a news station was revoked for failing to report on any news in 68 years.\]). Often, stocks markets could shift by up to 3% based on what country won the Olympics. As such, both Chinassia and the Corporate States of America*TM*(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)* both did their best to secure a win. And both did what made the most sense... reach out to a third party to and pay them to do it for them. Both Chinassia and the Corporate States of AmericaTM(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)* reached out, in secret, to Biomen inc., a startup that had excelled in its field since 2061 that was constantly making the news. The Olympics banned any kind of performance-enhancing drug, and as such, Chinassia and the Corporate States of AmericaTM(*a subsidiary of AmazonTM)* both looked for a workaround, and found it: Constructing the perfect athlete from scratch. Each one reached out with the same contract, "Build us an athlete that will win every every compitition in the Olympics." As such, Biomen inc., if it hadn't been greedy, would have just chosen one and left it at that. However, when has a corporation ever not been greedy? The CEO of Biomen came up with a "brilliant" plan that the shareholders both approved. They would make two perfectly synchronized UltimateTM Athletes who would tie for first on every single event. And so, Biomen grew two identical twins, linked by subconscious flags, in-skin sensitive photoreceptors to be in perfect unison. Their shared cerebral cortexes pre-programmed to love the olympics more than anything. Each had six foot long legs and arms of rippling muscle, and no real torso or head to speak of. They were there, but so small as to require close-ups to see. Each of the 'two' Olympians, Phlegm and Phlagm as their designers has secretly named them, had to be kept on life support between matches. At the end of the Olympics, both collapsed on the makeshift dual-first-place stand with the third place top gold Medalist, a trans man named Tamisha from Uganda looking on in horror as they died next to him. In a later interview, he said, with a shiver, that they died with smiles on their faces. Biomen, as a result, succeeded both its contracts and the shareholders raked in and cashed out their stocks. 3 of the shareholders added 18% to their net wealth that day. Biomen was declared a scandel by the 'news' stations of the two great superpowers as both lost stock strength to Ugunda despite their respective 'victory'. The CEO of Biomen escaped to Cancun, the world's first 10-trillionare where he was shot in the middle of the night by Tamisha. As the two great superpowers began to collapse, and the Olympics closed its doors forever in shame after losing all of its ad revenue (people had stopped watching about half-way through, the constant wins by Phlegm and Phlagm had left the competitions boring and almost noone had bothered watching after the first three events. In fact, the only person who watched it all the way through was Tamisha's mother. This contributed to the collapse of the world, because as the sole person watching many events that were highly anticipated to have huge turn out, her opinions completely skewed advertising algorithms in the direction of knitting and water polo, from which AI advertising companies never recovered.) Despite the setback, Biomen survived. In fact, for sports businesses wanting to win sports (such as the Quebec Yankees, the Seattle Dodgers, or the St. Louis Nicklebacks), it was clearly demonstrated Biomen was necessary to win. Each team had a perfect season with top advertising contracts and payouts followed by collapse of the sport. It is said that competitive sports ended for good in 2073, although some illegal games of pre-school tag randomly occur to this day for full minutes on end before the children involved are immediately monetized by corporate income-seeking drones, speed-enhanced, shown on international media, and are betted on. However, they only manage to move mere millions of dollars before the childrens' hearts give out and they die of cardiac arrest. \[Note: Like most felonies, ownership of any video recording of these illegal sports events are punishable by life imprisonment in most countries unless you make over 195k a year and have purchased an internationally recognized law insurance.\] With the effective end of physical sports, the world turned to Chess. Capitalizing on the new income stream, advertisers went to work. Money was invested in the best super computers. Eventually a computer by the name of *Super BlueTM* created 'The Optimum Path'. The Optimum Path was a series of chess moves, some very strange moves (although later analysis would reveal they existed to prevent countermeasures). The result was anyone who memorized The Optimum Path had about an 85% of winning a Chess match. (When two players who both had memorized The Optimum Path played against eachother, it often became a 50/50 split of who would win, largely dependent on who was the was assigned the white chess peices.) Advertisers loved it. With the game being considered perfected, and a 50/50 split remaining yet always coming out with a clear victor, it wasn't anywhere in risk of falling like the Olympics had. And even better, you could never guarantee who would win. It was a perfect statistics situation that anyone with the algorithms could predict but still liked like skill and talent to outside viewers. Chess was, as a result, heralded as the world's #1 competitive event. Casual Chess became too daunting for amateaurs, and professional chess players became some of the most highly-sought competitors in the world. Traditional chess classes and matches all but disappeared as successful ones focused on two things, and two things only: Memorizing the convoluted Optimum Path and how to attract sponsors. Soon, every chess player in the professional bracket was taught exclusively The Optimum Path. All but one. Sam Tender, a small old agendered from France born in 2015. By this point in 2095, this made them 80 years old. Most of the competitors in Chess were young, beautiful, and well suited as advertising material. The story goes that Sam was taught Chess by their grandmother, on the other side of a plastic sheet, as Sam stayed by her side in the nursing home throughout the pandemic of 2020. Sam never learned the Optimum path, and refused to. When asked why Sam didn't bother, they simply replied, "It doesn't seem fun." Sam was mocked across all of the industry with their measly 25% win rate. However, there was something about Sam's victories. Sam was threatened to leave the league twice, told their 'low win rate was an embarrassment to the competition'. But Sam didn't care. Sam didn't have an advertisers to pull out, and they paid the entrance fee out of their own pocket. The first time Sam refused to leave spread like fire by word of mouth. The second time, news stations eager to make a quick buck pushed out a story attempting to make them a laughing stock. It backfired. Although some people jumped on the engineered bandwagon to mock them, Sam received plenty of heartfelt letters urging Sam to continue. And people began to watch Sam's matches. Sam would make moves that analysts would later prove did neither person any harm or any good. When asked why he did them, Sam only responded, "The game wouldn't be as fun if was over too quick." There were times when Sam would move peieces in ways that seemed that the intent was only for them to be captured. When asked why they did this, Sam would respond, "My opponent was struggling. I wanted them to enjoy the game, too." In just a few short years, the legend of Sam was known across all of the Chess community. It became a badge of honor to play a game that eschewed the Optimum Path, and to play a game with Sam, "By the seat of your pants". Same loved this for awhile. And, as Sam's legend grew, so did Sam's viewership (and advertisers who wanted in on Sam's slots). As Sam refused all advertisers, they could only spend money on Sam's competitors. And the best selling slots were on games Sam won. Soon, competitors bragged about losing to Sam and advertisers quickly hopped on this, and for a month, "Will-Lose-to-Sam" became the highest paying trait of any Chess player. In that month, Sam quickly shot up to the top of the brackets. The professionals competed for for advertising dollars which translated into 'fastest loss to Sam', and in a day, Sam shot up to the #2 slot as six competitors conceded the moment they sat down. In the middle of the final match, the #1 competitor, "Three Fish" Yang from Korea looked across from him. He knew losing to Sam would secure him advertising dollars. However, maintaining #1 spot was also valuable for other ad revenue. And so "Three Fish" began his opening move: the opening move for the Optimum Path. Recognizing what Yang was doing, Sam scooped up their chess pieces. Yang stared in horror; Sam had never conceded a match before. Yang looked at them in shock, "What... what are you doing?" Sam shrugged, "It's not fun anymore." Sam quietly conceded to the judge as the world looked on in silence as Sam walked out of view of the camera for the last time in his life.


Here, take it. It’s yours, I made it for you. Do you like it? It’s no big deal, really. Just a little something I threw together. I thought you’d like it, so I decided to make it for you. It wasn’t easy getting it just right, it actually took me a few tries, but I’m really proud of how it came out. There’s a part of me in it, so every time you look at it you’ll that I’m thinking of you. Maybe it’ll remind you of how much you mean to me, or how hard I worked to make you smile. You did smile, did you? To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give you this. Of course I want you to have it! But what if it doesn’t work for you? What if you don’t like it? I’d hate for all of my hard work to go to waste. What if it becomes a burden for you, something that you don’t want but you can’t get rid of because it’s a gift? What if you can’t help seeing me when you look at it, and you start to think that it’s me you don’t want? I worked so hard to make this. You hate it, don’t you? STOP. I’m so sorry. Of course you don’t hate it. I saw how you smiled when I gave it to you. You have such a beautiful smile. No one can smile like that and not mean it. I guess you did like it, then. Maybe you even loved it! Maybe it’s the best gift you have ever received, and you will cherish it forever. I doubt it, though. Like I said, it’s no big deal. It’s a big deal for me, though. I don’t usually make things like this for people. I don’t usually make anything for anyone, actually. I never saw myself as the kind of person that creates beautiful things out of nothing. I don’t even know what came over me when I decided to make this. I was thinking of you and it just.... happened. I guess a part of me thought that if I made you this you’d see me in a different way. Maybe now you can see me the way I see you. You did like it, didn’t you? Please say something. It’s been too long, and starting to panic. I’ll say it was a joke, that I didn’t really make you this, and that I just wanted to see the look on your face. At least that last part is true, isn’t it? Maybe I’m the joke for thinking this would change anything. There’s no way you liked it, you would have said something by now... Fuck, what do I do? I can’t take it back, it’s awkward enough as it is without me about-faceing my sorry ass out of this shitshow. What’s wrong with me? Why am I like this? Why do I get myself into these stupid situations? Why did I ever think this would work? Is there something so wrong with my head that I’ll obsess about a terrible idea for the longest time only to realize it’s a terrible idea just when it’s too late? I have to do something. ANYTHING. Why can’t I move? I have to get out of here! Oh wait, you’re saying something, what was it again? Oh... Well, I’m glad you liked it! No, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s no big deal. I just thought you’d like it.


Diamonds? I have plenty. Gold? I’m richer than the king. Weapons? I have my own armory. Hearts of beautiful women? I sleep with a new girl every night. There’s very little that I don’t have. But there is one thing I want. Something I can’t get in life. Something that requires death. My death. Because I have to steal it FROM Death himself. What I want: Death’s Soul. Said to give anyone immortality until they take their own life. And I want it. I can steal everything at anytime. The world will be man. So I slit my throat and await Death to arrive. Soon Death floats in, ragged cloak, scythe in hand, and surprisingly, Death is a woman. Long dark black hair, with black eye shadow, and other makeup stuff. Killer looks and a beautiful body. “Tired of stealing Conway?” “Now that I see you I would like to steal one more thing. I say with a wink. Death laughed with the most beautiful noise in the world. It was like a fingerpicked song on guitar: elegant and sweet. “Alright Conway, you may be the greatest thief but it’ll take a lot more than pick-up lines to steal my cold heart.” “Is that a challenge my dear? Because I’m always up for it.” I no longer wanted to steal Death’s Soul, I wanted her heart. I was going to steal Death’s Heart. “So what’s next sweetheart?” “Next is if you call me another pet name I’ll take you to Satan himself” “Alright no more pet names Death.” “Thank you. Now the way this works is I take you through what you’ve done in life and at the end I’ll send you to Hell, Heaven, or The Plain. Understand?” “What’s The Plain?” “The Plain is where you decide where you want your next life, and what year.” “Interesting. What if I want to just stay here with you?” Death’s laugh bounced of the non existent walls. “Tell you what, if you manage to get me to have even the smallest feelings for you, you can stay with me forever.” She outstretched her hand, looking for a hand shake. I reach out at kiss her hand as if she was royalty. She seemed impressed at my confidence and bravery. “You’re quite the confident one aren’t you? Anyway we’ll start with your birth. Follow me.” She led me down a corridor where a small picture frame popped up, but instead it played a moving picture. It showed my birth. My ma and pa in what I could only presume is their bedroom. Ma was screaming in pain, blood was everywhere, pa was holding her hand. Soon enough there I was screaming just as loud as ma. “Harold, we did it...” ma passed out, pa set me on a table, carelessly, and tended to ma. I felt a slow trickle of a tear draw a line down my face. “So, the thief has a soft side?” Death said, but not in a bitchy way, more caring and curious. “Yeah I guess so, doesn’t come out too often though.” I said and I followed Death to the next moving photo. “Ah here is...oh...oh I’m sorry.” Death had concern in her eyes. And the moving photo went on. It was the night my ma and pa died. “Harold that was a lovely dinner you made for us tonight. You didn’t happen to make dessert did you?” Ma was so beautiful that night, her brown hair naturally curled and her everyday clothes dirtied while she had cleaned the house. “Yeah poppy, dessert!” I was so young, 3 or 4 years old when they died. “Well my loves” pa had said, with his apron on and his gentleman’s mustache and his hair pushed over to one side. “I did happen to make an apple pie by *accident*” as he pulled out an apple pie from behind his back. “Yaaayyy” ma and I shouted in unison. And that’s when it happened. Soldiers came in. “Harold and Mary Bisnons, you’re under arrest for theft, do not resist it we will be forced to shoot you!” The soldier had shouted. Ma picked me up and ran towards the back door. And the soldier didn’t back on his word. He took a shot at her but hit pa instead. I heard my own baby-self crying and ma still running. 3 soldiers chased after her. I guess Death wanted to be nice because the moving photo stopped. “Why’d you stop it?!” I cried to Death. “I knew it would be too painful for you. It’s been 25 years since but...” her voice trailed off. I sank down and began to cry. I don’t know what ma and pa had stole. But I don’t know why am had to run and risk her life. I felt Death sink down next to me. I didn’t look at her. I just rested my head on her shoulder. Despite her being Death, she was warm and comforting, not cold and harsh as he had expected. I sniffled and wiped away tears. “What’s next?” I met Death’s eyes. The were warm and filled with a sadness no one could understand. “The first time you stole something.” She said. We walked down further and the moving pictures displayed exactly what she said it was. I remember it vividly. I was 7 years old. I just ran away from *another* orphanage. I was starving. And there was a piece of bread, unattended and still good. I ‘accidentally’ bumped the table over and the bread hit the floor. I grabbed it quickly and picked up the table, apologizing profusely. “I was starving. That bread probably saved my life.” I told Death. “Yes it did, but it also started you down the path of a thief.” “Maybe, but I stole to stay alive, then I stole to get revenge on the rich for leaving the poor to rot.” I was angry. Angry that because I stole I was assumed to be evil. “I understand, do what you can to live, punish those you made you suffer.” Death said. Was she falling for me? “We have a few more” and she led me further down. When I joined the Thieves Guid, the first time a stole from the rich, the first time I convinced a women to sleep with me, the first time I was forced to kill someone. “I admit, Death, I’ve done evil things, but I did it all to survive.” “And the women?” “Comfort. Didn’t have any comfort since my parent were killed.” “Damnit,” Death said. “I told myself you were crazy to try and make me fall for you, but seeing what you went through, and how you always acted the tough guy, but seeing you break down and cry, I knew there was more to you.” Death has actually fallen for me. I didn’t argue, I pulled her close and kissed her. She was surprised but she’s fell into it, wrapping her arms around my neck. I picked her up and laid her down. I hadn’t gotten what I came to steal, but I got something much better: love.


A child witnessing a major historical event. The winner for the under- 18 race competition for the South-western Nigeria competition is Dara Akin, the master of ceremony announced over the microphone again. She was sure she heard it the first time but her mind was fixed somewhere. In between the drifted moments, Dara tugged her mother, gazing at her with a puzzled look. Mum, I won the race showing off her set of beautiful teeth. She held in her hand the golden trophy. The trophy gleamed in the hot afternoon sun with red and blue ribbons adornment. It was indeed a sight to behold. First in what...? She wanted to say before her mind was welcomed back to the Inter- state racing competition. . Dara’s father was on a business trip and couldn’t make it time for the game. She had come to watch her daughter run. An opportunity presented itself and Dara was chosen to represent her state. When her consent was sought, she gave it between hope and despair. She didn’t know when she lost the consciousness of her environment. It all began when the whistle was blow. As usual, she had her eyes shut praying for her. Not necessarily to win but without any health complications. She just wants her girl to be fine. Different news reporters were there with their camera taking their shots as they posed with the trophy. They keep asking her how she managed to raise Dara to be strong. She told them her story, just as she told some people sometimes ago. She was always eager to share Dara’s story. She lied on the hospital bed. Her hands were cold out of fright. She hoped for a miracle for this child she was carrying. The stethoscope beeped indicating the presence of life as the doctor moved it over her bulging belly, however faintly. The doctor asked her to sit up while she broke the news to her. Your baby is not too fine. Her breathing pulse is weak and we have to perform an emergency... Before the doctor could finish her statement she was lost in despair. This pregnancy was her fourth’s, though the first to reach the third trimester. In the space of two years, she had lost three pregnancies before the onset of second trimester. The awfulness was second to none whenever she noticed the thick warm reddish liquid trickling down her thighs. More saddening is the evacuation of the remains. She watched gloomily as the remains were disposed as trash. She wished she could open her mouth and pass the breath of life to it. But was she God? Slowly she fell into depression blaming her- self for working so hard she hardly had time to rest. The self loathing spread like wild fire cutting deep to every part of her. When her husband noticed it, he took her on a vacation. On returning, life returned to her and then it happened! This time, she became conscious of all her activities. She never missed her checkups, maintaining a healthy diet for her baby. And now an emergency caesarean section without prior plans. She asked for a moment to call her husband. Without further delay, the doctor prepared her for surgery. She was cut open to save her baby. In less than a hour, her baby arrived- weak, tiny and fragile but she loved her. The baby was moved to the intensive unit of the hospital where she was attended to till she was of age. Her joy knew no bounds. She clutched her baby in her arms while her husband held her bags as they made a visit to the doctor’s office for the final check-up. However the joy was short-lived- Your baby has a weak heart. She will take a while for her to reach her milestones. But she will eventually. As she grows do well to check her. Drugs and other supplements will be given to you... She didn’t let the doctor complete her statement before she dashed out in anger. Her husband apologised on her behalf. Immediately he followed her demanding for the reason for her irrational move. In between tears, she replied pointing her hands back to the doctor’s office I will not sit there while this doctor keeps giving me no hope. Was she bent on frustrating me? Her husband having understood her gave her an embrace. He whispered in her ears- she will be fine and we will too. Together they both cared for Dara. Gradually she hit her milestones without much complication. Soon she was able to attend pre-school. At the end of the pre-schooling session, the teacher’s report on extra-curricular activities reads- she loves running. Immediately, her mother put a call to the school with strict warnings never to allow her participate in any extra-curricular activities. She promised to sue the school if such came to her notice again. Thus Dara was always left in the class with the class assistant teacher as she advances in class. She will peep from the windows watching her classmates running down the green grasses. Often times, she sneaked out but was usually caught before she makes her way to the field. Soon this began to affect her academics performances. The only subject that arouses her is drawing. She will take her time to draw athletes either as they run or as they collect trophies. Then you will see her beam. Reports were taken to her parents. The head of school advised she should be allowed to follow her dreams. But the words of that doctor keep re-echoing. Whenever such matter were discussed she will owed it to Dara having a weak heart. Fortunately, a new teacher was posted- Young, beautiful, dutiful and smart. She noticed the seclusion of Dara from sporting activities. She made her inquiry. Then she decided to help her. First she visited Dara’s mother. She made sure she earned her trust even to the extent of signing a legal document. She was determined to make it work. Then she made available a first aid box for her. This act however brought taunts to Dara. Instead of calling it a first aid box, they referred to it as Dara’s box. But with such a great teacher with her, she found solace. The first race she ran among her mates got her into a faint. Quickly she was attended too and she regained her strength. Soon she represented her house in the Inter-house competition. Her parents made sure to pick the first row seat. Her mother had a bag containing a pack of glucose, energy boosters, an inhaler, pain-relief medications, a bottle of cold water and lots more. She clearly didn’t trust the school first aid box. Soon the commentator announced the commencement of the race. She shone brightly in a blue sport wears. She waved gleefully as she sighted her parents. Her parents waved back however with fear sinking them. The whistle was blow. Her mother had her eyes shot. Her father was already on his feet holding the bag in case of any unpleasant incident. Then the race was declared finished. She came Third! They couldn’t believe their eyes. Their Dara came Third! They ran to the field. She was held high by her father while her mother kept checking her legs for any injury. When her father dropped her, she held out her arms to her. In tears, she whispered to her ears how sorry she was for keeping her away from what she loved. She told her how proud she was for her. Her mother reached out to Miss Ade amidst the crowd (for that was the teacher’s name). She thanked her for helping her see the ability in her disability. Miss Ade beamed. She was happy it was all worth it. The recognition Dara got that day was more that the Winner and the Second runner-up. Some people wondered what the fuss was about and proudly they shared the doctor’s report of when Dara was born with them (the people). A testimony some say!


(WP) Dragon Sitting “You know, when I agreed to this, I was expecting a dog, cat, or even a guinea pig!” I said to my best friend, Tanner, phone cradled between my ear and shoulder. “I don’t know if I can do this, T.” “You’re worrying way too much. It’s not like he’s a baby; he’s more like a teenager.” “You also neglected to tell me that this animal had scales and could breathe fire!” I shot back. I had no clue how she could be so calm about this. I mean, I knew how to handle quite a few animals, but nothing quite so fantastical. “Oh, come on, Penny!” Tanner said, pleading with me for the first time. “Aren’t you bored with your regular petsitting job? Just think about it! You get to play with a real, live dragon!” Easy for her to say; she and her parents were going to the Bahamas for a whole week and a half. She’d invited me to come too, but I had obligations that kept me at home. When she’d asked me to watch over one of her pets for her, I figured, why not? But that was before I’d realized that said pet was a fire-breathing winged lizard. Hopefully I could prevent it from burning the house down. But I’d made a promise to my friend, and it was too late to back out now. Tanner and her parents would be leaving in the early hours of the morning. \*\* I slept over at Tanner’s house, and I waved as they pulled out of the driveway. My charge wasn’t yet awake, which was just fine by me. Tanner had labeled the dragon’s food in the fridge, something red and dripping that I didn’t want to look at it too closely. I fixed myself a quick breakfast and ate, then got to work. I should’ve left my headphones off, but I was so used to it I didn’t even stop to consider how it might affect Tanner’s baby. Which is exactly how I ended up with a long, scaly thing with sharp teeth sitting on my head, attacking my headphones. I screamed, but before I could actually do anything, the little monster munched through them, screeching. “Are you hungry?” I asked, and at that word, the dragon flapped up above me, flying in a circle. I walked to the fridge and grabbed the bag of food, dumping a small portion into a bowl. Setting it on the floor, I let it eat. *It’s not an it, Penny. He’s a male dragon named Sobek.* Tanner’s voice admonished me, and I blushed. Even though the dragon couldn’t understand my words, I still felt bad about calling him an it. It wasn’t Sobek’s fault that Tanner hadn’t told me everything. And watching him eat, he was kind of cute. I’d never been much of a reptile person, but here we were. My headphones weren’t the only thing that suffered a causality as a result of Sobek’s curiosity. He may have been half-grown, but it was like trying to contain a puppy that could freaking fly and had claws as long as my pinky fingers.


I got into my faded tan malibu and slammed the driver’s side door closed. I gently tossed my tawny canvas bag onto the passenger side seat before Ieaning back against the driver’s seat, closing my eyes. I took in an exhausted and exasperated sigh of a breath from completing another day I couldn’t get back. I opened my eyes and looked at the over-worked, tired, sagging eyes in the rearview mirror. My blue eyes were once bright and ready for adventure. I never used to keep my brown hair short, and my skin was never this pale. The only thing keeping me from looking dead was my genetic tan. When I was younger, I wore colorful makeup that said “I, Caline Johnson, am here!” I wasn’t old in my early thirties, but social media and my jobs made me feel washed up. I looked into my dull eyes and my lower lids were ready to cry. To escape them, I looked down at my lap. Black dress trousers and a button-up light blue blouse; the tag had read ‘office blue’. My current job is as an office secretary; the actual job title was something else, but I knew what it really was. My previous job was at a silicone sealing factory. The job before that was as a bartender. As a bartender, I could mostly wear whatever I wanted; hair color whatever, makeup whatever. As long as I could work, it was mostly allowed. But on my feet all day at someone’s beck and call, literally getting ordered around. And the service industry doesn’t pay well-even before the lockdowns, I wasn’t usually making in rain. And the nights that did meant giving up almost every weekend and they didn’t end until after 3am. Sure, the bar closes for patrons at 2am, but I had to do my accounts, paperwork, stock, and clean up. And managers of service industry people often forget we’re servers to the public, not servants to them. No benefits, no promotions, no future, and I was always cutting it close when it came to paying bills. So, I got -what the older generations call- a ‘real job’. (Personally, if I have to clock in and out, and get a paycheck, it’s ‘real job’ but whatever). I started working at a factory that made waterproofing seals for windows, cars, and roofs. Ironically, parts of our building roof leaked, which really filled me with product-confidence. It had paid more than bartending and had benefits but no promotions. But what it cost to work there was I had to wear jeans and steel-toed shoes -which no matter how hard you shop, are all ugly- and so were the light brown-grey shirts with the company logo that we were required to wear in certain areas of the building. I got second shift, and I didn’t get home until 10:45pm and couldn’t get to sleep until after 2am. So, I often woke up after 10am and thus mostly could only get stuff done on the weekends. Cleaning, shopping, and laundry meant I really didn’t live it up. And not to mention, doing the exact same thing over and over and OVER again for 8-10 hours drove me bonkers. Just a robot with a heartbeat but no real life. So, once again, I changed jobs to an office job. It paid about the same, but I could wear more variety (albeit with an office-dress code) and not steel-toed shoes on concrete floors. Benefits and options for promotions. But I had gotten passed up-yet again- for such a promotion. This was like a horrible combination of both previous jobs; getting ordered around to do the same thing every day with no increased pay and overly late nights that often left me drained and depressed. I never went out or made connections; I didn’t know how and didn’t have time. I still barely had time or money to do the basics. And I didn’t have the energy to engage with others. I always felt on the outside because I changed jobs a lot too. Everyone already had their cliques and groups and didn’t have the space or time or energy to include me beyond basic co-worker interactions. I often felt very lonely. I was lost in my bleak thoughts and barely noticed the wet spots on my pants that had formed from the drops going down my face. I had these same pants forever and wore them sometimes three times a week. I hated it. I hated it all; the long unappreciated hours of your life you can’t get back to trying to pay bills in a crappy area in a going-nowhere city and state where the only options for work were service, factory, or office-pooper-scooper. I always thought I’d get adventure, travel, and excitement. Not jaded, repetitive meaninglessness. I was going to waste away; I WAS wasting away. And then I did my usual Friday post-work-ritual of laying my forehead on the steering wheel and sobbing. After a few minutes, I looked back into the rear-view mirror and wiped my eyes. I had no makeup on and so other than red-puffy areas of my face, I didn’t look too bad post-cry. Then I stopped mid-sniffle. When was the last time I put on makeup? I couldn’t remember. I had given up on putting on makeup a while ago. I think that was why; because the last time I considered it, I realized a bunch of my makeup was expired. I threw a lot of it away and thought of what a waste it was and never replaced it. Maybe that was my problem. I didn’t take the time or put in the investments into MYSELF, and I allowed myself to fall into self-pity. Putting on a little bit of makeup isn’t that much time of the morning; to look and feel better? I could spare that. And....and I had control over that, right? I had the epiphany that by not taking the time in the here and now to do things, I never would. And no one else is going to or be able to do those things for me. Realistically, I wasn’t going to have a map of a hidden crystal, or something pushed onto me by my boss and then sent to the amazon jungle. Did I really need some Indiana Jones-level adventure to be satisfied in life? I could have my own little adventures. The quote of “Do what you can with what you have where you are” by Theodore Roosevelt came to mind and “If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way” by Napoleon followed. I looked out my windshield and gripped my steering wheel; I COULD make and have my own adventures! I quickly buckled and backed out of my parking spot with vigor. Instead of going down the main road and making the two rights to get to my apartment building, I was going to turn left at the first light and go the long way around. As I was waiting to turn out of the parking lot, I decided that I wouldn’t just take the longer way home, I’d take longer getting home by going out to eat. I deserved a treat or two after this week. This month. This life. I couldn’t go in my work clothes though; I could, but I wouldn’t. I looked at the time on my radio-screen-it was only 5:15pm. A little early for dinner for me anyway. I went down the main street and kept going towards the mall. I decided to buy a new outfit, a dress or a nice skirt and top. And some new shoes; I hadn’t bought myself new shoes in forever. I could probably afford a couple pairs. My bills were all paid this month. I went to TJ Maxx. The first thing I saw was the purse section and was lured by a light pink, square quilted purse with gold hardware and a gold and pink braided strap. As I admired it- and its price- I happened to find a beautiful luggage case; it was white, black, pink, and gold marbled leather. I didn’t even own a luggage case. If I had a beautiful luggage case, I’d take more actual vacations. It was affordable and so were the couple outfits I picked out. I bought some discount but non-expired makeup too. TJ Maxx was the place to have an affordable spending spree. I looked over my finds with glee. I was so pleased at having new things for the first time in a long time that I stopped at the nearest gas station to use the bathroom and doll up. I reached for my brush out of my canvas tote, and I looked at it in disgust. I quickly changed everything from the tote into the new pink quilted bag. In my new outfit, made up, fixed up, I didn’t even look like me. I wasn’t the same me who was sitting in a car crying about my pathetic, mundane life a little over an hour ago. I smiled brightly. I exited the bathroom, started to get back into my car and then I looked at the clothes and empty tote messily draped over my arm. I shoved the clothes into the tote. Then I casually set it on the side of the pump and filled my gas tank. I got into the driver’s seat again, abandoning the tote, and went through the station’s car wash. Then I drove off and tried to decide where to eat dinner. Originally, I was thinking Applebee’s, but I caught my redefined, shiny blue eyes in the rearview mirror and decided I looked too good to go Applebee's. Maybe I could get a reservation at The Ivy. The closest Ivy was 30 minutes away from this crummy little town I called home that I needed to get away from. I pulled over and called The Ivy; but not the one a half-hour away. I called the one almost two hours away. I also called The Hilton, just across the street from The Ivy, and made reservations for the weekend, including Sunday night. I checked into my office email and used vacation for Monday. ........ Two weeks later, I started a new job as a youtuber's assistant in another state. I had just blown up 3,000 helium balloons for doorway arches and getting paid way more than I had been double-checking report numbers or making up boxes. I put purple highlights over my hair and my ID badge for the set read 'Callie'. My new apartment had bay windows that overlooked the city. I still couldn't believe how long it had taken me to get home.


Very first story, give me any feedback and be brutally honest if necessary. Enjoy! It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine in just a little while, just wait. I sit here in bed, in my room. My dark, quiet, still room. Nothing can be heard in this tiny room. I sit up on my bed and realize that I can’t see a single thing in front of me. It’s like I’m not here. I reach my hand out and drift it from side to side, hoping maybe it would bump into something, feel anything. Nothing. I’m starting to feel dizzy. As far as I know there are two things left in this room, my phone and this bottle. Both lying in my lap. I pick up my phone and turn it on. The screen light bursts into the room, ricocheting off of every wall revealing a shadowy silhouette of everything in my room. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the light. I squint and see that the number is still dialed. I know who waits on the other side. The only person left that would hear me, the only person I know that would drop the world for me is just waiting on the other side of one button. I could call, I could talk and talk, and maybe they would come visit me. They would come in, sweep me off my feet and drive me away to a better place. A place with smiling faces in every room. Everybody there will be dressed in white and everyone will want to know how my day was, how I’m feeling. I’ll be do distracted by my new friends that I’ll never be here again. I sit and stare into the darkness, smiling at my fantasies. But that’s all they are, fantasies. Maybe, on another night they could become my reality, but it’s far too late tonight. I put down my phone, the light goes off, and I’m swallowed up by the darkness of my room. I pick up my bottle. Contents half gone, the dizziness is really kicking in now. I knew it would be okay. Just a little while longer now, and it’ll be even better. I look at my bottle, and consider finishing it off. I twist the cap off just as a slight tingling zips through my entire body, even dizzier now. I decide against it and put the bottle back on the bed in front of me, next to my phone. My eyes have readjusted to the darkness, I stare into the darkness and see nothing. It’s as if I’m already asleep, but I can still hear myself think. I lay down and wait for my eyes to close, but my thoughts have me wired, wide-eyed, wide awake. My mind starts to race and my head starts spinning. Is this what I wanted? I want to fall asleep, but it’s not coming fast enough and the pain becomes too much bare, excruciating. I start to kick and twist in my bed. I hear myself whimpering into the empty room. I roll off the bed and am followed by my phone and still open bottle. I hit the ground with a thump, and I hear the pills from the bottle scattering all over the floor. “GOD!” I shriek aloud. My voice echoes around the room and falls flat after a moment. The pain subsides, and euphoria sets in. It’s quiet again. God, a fantasy I haven’t believed in for a while now. Heaven too. Where are God and Heaven at a time like this? I don’t need to find Jesus. That’s what everyone thought I needed, Jesus. I don’t have time for someone who isn’t here. I needed someone real, I need someone now. The euphoric feeling overwhelms my entire body. I can’t feel a thing anymore. I can’t feel my head spinning, my heart pounding or my limbs aching. I can only see and hear, and I see and hear nothing, still. It’s quiet and dark. Serenity like I’ve never experienced. I can't tell if its fantasy or reality. Finally, I’m going to fall asleep. My eyelids start to drop, but a light bursts into the room, ricocheting off the ceiling and dimly exposing the floor where I lay. I see my phone lying face up on the floor by my feet. I muster up any strength left in my deadened arms and drag my body around to see who is calling. I swirl my head around to where my feet were and gaze through hazy eyes at the screen. I can barely make it out on my phone screen: “CALLING". Below that: “911”. I can barely hear the ringing on the other side of the line, where that one person left in the world will be waiting for my response when they pick up, my plea for help. My vision and hearing start to fade to black and nothingness, and I fall asleep. I open my eyes and I see a bright light. A shadowy silhouette stands in a background of white, but I can’t hear what he or she is saying. Everything is hazy, almost misty, and I squint to make out what is before me, but to no avail. I can’t tell who this person is, but at least there’s someone here with me.


Everyone has their perception on beauty. Some think of it as physical attractions, some think of it as mental attractions and then there is me. The one who thinks of it as the nature of the heart. You never find that special someone by just letting your eyes fall on the first human that walk by. Particularly if she is flawless. Yes, her outer beauty deserves a ten out of ten but what exactly is she like? Miles prefers to know someone first. The connection that is built between two people is what makes something special but the society that he lives in does not believe in that. Not anymore. They say that you are living in a fairy tale if you think about happy endings but what if a fairy tale was meant for him? Is he not built with certain standards? Respect? Dignity? Loyalty? Why should society choose for him? Why should society make him turn a blind eye from something that he believes in? His brother, Nick Pearson, was one of those society people. He made everything look so easy. Nick's girlfriend, Jessica, would spend the weekends in our home and they would both be locked up all day and night in Nick's bedroom. When they finally emerged and Jessica left for home, Nick would sit on the porch or on a chair by the shore with a cigarette and a bottle of alcohol. Their parents are busy business people whose work requires travelling to different countries and attending seminars. Nick was practically the guy who would strike up a conversation with random strangers over a card game and suddenly they are all over the place. The fridge is stocked with so many alcoholic drinks even his yogurt felt like an outcast. Their parents are unaware of his drinking problem and Miles was pretty sure by the time they were back before the summer is over, Nick will look like the golden scholar boy that he is meant to be. Except, Miles is the scholar one. He has the brains and Nick gets the girls. Society at its finest. "You're always writing in that stupid little book of yours," Nick said as he walked in front of Miles, kicking sand into the air. He took a comfortable seat in the chair next to his younger brother. Dark shades covering his eyes was typically a sign that he was still sobering up from the night before, "What do you write, anyway?" He turned to face his little brother. The shades were also another phrase for 'I don't care.' "You know what, don't even bother. It's probably childish writing anyways. No good to my eyes." Miles remained silent. He always carried his black and silver notebook and a pen in hand or a novel which he bought at the bookstore a few days ago. Miles was not the typical eighteen-year-old boy who goes to all the weekend parties and hook up with random girls - or boys - for the weekend. Instead, he spends his time writing or walking along the shoreline since he practically lives on the beach. The Pearson's summer home is richly built near the shore with its magnificent structure, white paint that matches the purity of the ocean and blue for the stability and faith. "Are you okay?" Miles asked, "You're outside on the beach without a bottle of stupid in your hand." His sarcastic attitude always left his older brother furious because they are not usually on the same level of understanding and relationship. Nick winced with disgust, "Why aren't you out somewhere along the far end of the beach with a friend?" He paused, "Oh wait, I forgot. You don't have any." This was not the truth. Miles had a lot of friends but spending the summer in the family beach house takes him far away from them. "I'm stuck in this hell alone with you for the summer, a million miles away from our city home. What else do you expect me to do?" "We're not a million miles away from home. Stop exaggerating, idiot," Nick finally removed his shades and he stared at the ocean spread out before him. His blue eyes always reminded Miles of what perfection is. Having a brother with attractive blue eyes and blonde hair always bothered Miles a bit. "Why couldn't I have stunning eyes and blonde colour hair like Nick?" he thought, "He's always outstanding because of it and I'm just here with my black hair and brown eyes that goes unnoticed. Nick always gets the girls" Nick once took a sneak peek at his brother's journal when they were younger and Nick would torture Miles because of it. "What's up with your eye?" Miles was actually concerned now that he saw his brother's eye was a collage of blue, black and purple. "Got into a fight last night," he answered emotionless. Miles searched his face for a long time, unclear of what to say next, "It looks good on you," he turned his attention back to his notebook. Nick glared at him, his face twisting into disgust, "You're unbelievable. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend." Miles remained silent. He kept his eyes on his notebook. Nick was studying him for a little while. "I know I can be an ass to you but I am your big brother. You can talk to me." Miles still remained silent. Unmoving. Nick sighed in frustration and placed the sunglasses over his eyes, his arms outstretched behind his head. Miles still said nothing, "I know about you and Kyle" Miles shot a quick, terrified glance at Nick who was not looking at him. Instead, his eyes were probably closed. Nick knew. How? Miles managed to say after stumbling for words, "What are you talking about?" Nick just exhaled, "You and Kyle," he said in an obvious manner, "Other than the fact that I read your journal a few weeks ago, I always saw the way you looked at him when he came over. Or the way he spoke to you as if you were some delicate flower that needed protecting." He paused, still looking at the sky, "Also, why would any of my friends - who are older than you - show any interest in you? It must mean something. Especially if it's just one friend." Miles was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, heat rising inside of him, turning his face red. Nick sat up from his seat and looked at his horrified brother, "Please don't get any panic attacks now. Mom and dad will kill me." Miles ignored him. The boy was terrified. His world came crashing down. The blue skies breaking into tiny pieces and falling to the floor, leaving open darkness above. The ground caving beneath his feet and everything in between was like a hurricane. "Miles?" Nick said his name in concern, pulling the glasses off, "Miles!" Miles was having a full-blown panic attack. Nick rushed to his brother's side. Panic rising inside of him, "Miles! Come on, breathe," he was terrified as he held his baby brother. Miles clutched at his own throat, trying his best to breathe but it was all too much. Nick tried to hold him but instead, he slid to the ground. Nick went down with him, trying his best to calm his brother but nothing seemed to be helping. "I'm sorry, okay," Nick pleaded, "I should not have sprung that on you. Please don't do this to me. Not here. Not now. Come on Miles." The last time Miles had a panic attack was about eight months ago when his brother had a party at their home after their exams were over before they were headed off to college. Miles was, indirectly, invited. He thought he would have been okay with a party since he never hosted one and what better way to experience one where you didn't have to pay a fee? The house was overly crowded and while forcing his way through the crowd around the house, ensuring that everything was in order, nothing broken, the crowd was so tight that the frustration and lack of oxygen took a toll on him. He panicked and uncontrollably grabbed on to someone who shrugged him off in disgust, causing him to fall to the floor, gasping for air. The people around became concerned and in an instant, the news travelled throughout the room, a large empty circle formed around Miles, with him being at the centre. Nick appeared in the emptiness, horrified at what had happened to his brother. He tried his best to help him to get his breathing under control and luckily, someone called an ambulance under Nick's order, which arrived in a very short time. Nick notified their parents and they met Nick at the hospital where the doctor declared that Miles would be okay. Miles looked up at the blue sky now, his hand still clutching at his throat, trying his best to get his breathing under control. He knew from experience that staying calm and breathing is easier said than done. It was much more difficult than that. The feeling that your throat is closing in as you struggle to breathe, is painful and nerve-wrecking. In those moments, the thought that this might be your end flashes across your mind and you wonder if it really is. The hands of hope, regret and pain all grabbing at your throat and sometimes, just sometimes, you slip into unconsciousness. "Is he okay?" a girl asked. Nick did not look away from his brother, panic rising inside of him, "He's having a panic attack." The girl slid to her knees opposite the blonde brother, taking Miles' hand in hers, "Hey there -" "Miles," Nick said. The girl continued, "Miles." He opened his eyes at the strange voice. The girl was looking down at him. Her black hair was open, hanging from her head. Her eyes, though dark, looked at him with colour, "You're okay, Miles. Look at me and follow my breathing, okay?" Her voice was so soft and kind, "Deep inhale," and she motioned for him to follow, "Exhale." After a few seconds, he willed himself to follow her. Inhale. Exhale. He followed her pattern for about thirty seconds and by then, his heart slowed and his breathing levelled off. Miles was okay. The fresh sea breeze filled his lungs, sending a feeling of euphoria through his body. Nick exhaled a sigh of relief and he thanked the girl one too many times. The girl smiled at Miles and helped him into a sitting position, dusting off the sand from his tee. Miles glanced at her for a few seconds, avoiding her eyes, and managed a smile, "Thank you." The girl smiled back, "Are you feeling better?" Miles nodded, "Good. You scared your brother to death here." Miles forced a glance at Nick who looked awfully pale under the burning sun. The night of the party came rushing back to him. The way his brother looked, it was as if all the blood drained from his face and he could not stop thinking that it was all his fault. That he was the reason for crashing his brother's party. That he was the reason Nick got into so much trouble with their parents and was grounded for two months. That he was the reason for his brother to hate him so much, for Nick to be so bitter towards him. Miles thought he was the reason why everything felt like it was falling apart in his life. "I'm okay," he finally managed, "Thank you," he cleared his throat. Within the confines of the beach, swallowing sand is expected. Miles got to his feet, dusting the sand off arms. He bashfully looked at the girl in front of him, smiled and then turned to the house and walked away, leaving Nick and the girl watching after him.


How appropriate that it was the one song I needed to hear to brighten my day. After a morning from hell, and to make things better in my head, I had to get away from it all and go somewhere, anywhere. With determination and purpose, I strode down the sidewalk on my way to the café only to be stopped in my tracks when this song caught me by surprise coming from a kiosk in the marketplace. "You are my sunshine, My only sunshine, You make me happy, When skies are gray." Stepping into the marketplace, I gathered a fresh, floral bundle of assorted spring beauties and it made me feel alive. Their captivating perfume fragrance gave me pause to enjoy life, right now, at this time. Then tears slid down my cheek. Okay, I am a human being and this was a moment not in the plan book. I'll take it. I am so glad my choice was flowers and not a cheap bottle of whiskey. Going down the rabbit hole was not where I wanted to find myself at this moment. They would not get the best of me and I was determined to be the better person. It will take a minute or two but I knew there was more to who I was than to be someone's door mat. Time to stand up, embrace the moment, and put on my real hat. It began with a prickly vibe felt at the office and then morphed into more thorns deeply embedded than anyone could handle without proper tools. The work I was doing, apparently, wasn't good enough for some people. Yesterday, they showed me just how much I could not do right by insulting my upbringing, family, school choices, and the list went on. Who were these evil mongers? There was something brewing that I should have seen a while ago, but being the nice person, I let it go. Our staff meeting started with a bright and sunny casual morning, enjoying coffee and random chatter. The gavel came down at a moments notice as it was the tone of the manager who called the meeting to order with his stentorian voice. Were we in a courtroom? We each found a seat of choice. I opted to be as far away from the Gatling gun as I could. The mood changed in short order and we were all stuck in place like glue. The look came to each of us in an icy stare. "I am sure many of you are well aware," it began with a loud ringing sound piercing my ears. The coercive, and oppressive cruel manner in which the manager now spoke to everyone, pushed some over and into his world. And before long, as we all listened to how we were not meeting company goals, more than half of the staff members in the room became his minions. They began pointing fingers, treating others with unkind words reflecting on bad decisions made by those individuals, which more than likely, in their opinion, caused sales to plummet. Hello! Are we not all part of the same team? I wanted to shout this out loud but refrained as that was not my nature. I needed to see how this all would play out. Apparently, when push came to shove, the manager knew all the right buttons to push. And soon enough, my time was here, as I suspected it would be, given the theme of the day. The words of the manager to me began with, "Didn't I tell you to strictly follow my protocol?" The sneer was so distinct as he continued to add another round of crap, "But you decided to go above your pay grade. Wrong move." And then one by one, the pecking order circled around my head and belittled me into next week. Before it was over, and it was someone else's turn to burn at the stake, I quietly smiled and nodded to not let them get the best of me. With a casual glance around the table, I purposely took note of anyone that did not seem to be part of the game. Someone who sense of purposeful attention, yet one whom I had a feeling, was not going to be dragged into these shenanigans, caught my eye. He was attentive but held his own in the way he sat, subtly moved his hands, with added slight facial expressions. Many years ago, in my youthful days, working the casino card table, my sense of knowing the flip side of someone has never left. He was fairly new to the company and came highly recommended from outside the box, so we were told from a higher echelon group. He caught my eye and discretely gave me a sideways 'no'. I totally got it. Don't fall. Stand your ground quietly until the storm blew over. "Any questions will be reviewed. Make them worthy of my time or do not send. Do I make myself clear?" The meeting came to an end and each left without looking at one another. We knew now who the manager held on his leash. For me, there was a lot to think about after this session. "What was I doing here?" was number one. Number two was, "Why am I putting up with all of this bull--?" Thank goodness it was lunchtime. I had to walk it off, all of it, the angry vibes that drenched my spirit, and my direction in life. Out the front door I charged and let it slam back on purpose, strode down the sidewalk straight-a-way to my favorite café. As the rumbling noises of doom and gloom kept playing in my head, a wave of a fresh scent suddenly made me look up and pause. Yes! Without hesitation I went into the marketplace. I was like a child in a candy store when the beautiful fragrance and aura of flowers beckoned me to come over. And now here I was with a beautiful bundle of bliss in hand, tears now dried. Determination was my new focus and with renewed energy I stepped back onto the sidewalk towards the café, only to trip and fall into someone next to me, going in the same direction. The flowers flew out of my arms as I fell headfirst towards the concrete. Quickly, they were caught by the person I fell into, and his extended arm stopped my plummet onto the ground. Both of us were surprised as we knew each other just a few moments ago from the meeting. "I am so sorry!" How could I be so dumb? This was the guy who gave me a gracious look when it was all going south at the 'burn fest'. "I am sorry as well. We should stop meeting like this!" The moment caused both of us to laugh. Dusting myself off, he helped me gather myself together. I thanked him for saving my bundle, aka myself first and my flowers second. We introduced ourselves, since we never formally met at the office. "Hey!" Since this was nearly a planned fiasco, I surprised myself by inviting him to join me for lunch at the café. He agreed and we walked without further trouble on my part since he now acted as my escort, holding my hand, in the event of another drama scene to happen on the playlist. The two of us chatted as if we had known each other for years. We enjoyed the warm atmosphere and perfect lunch before time was up. I looked at my watch, "We need to get back to the place where only fools rush in." I pondered a moment, paused, and said, "I am not one of those, are you?" His look said it all and we both agreed that there was more to life than to be humiliated beyond reasoning and that game was now over. "I see a new road which may be somewhere that both of us can travel." I was curious as he seemed to sense I was not happy in the corporate world. We got to the door of the building and I hesitated. My calling told me to follow the sun. These lyrics spoke a thousand messages to me so I will follow my dreams and leave the nightmare in the building. The smile I gave to my friend radiated the new and determined person he saw. He added his own vision by telling me, "GO - Don't look back and take this with you." It was a business card of a Sunflower Farm just outside the city. My jaw dropped when I saw the name, You Are My Sunshine. I was shocked, surprised and so happy! "My family's farm needs people like you." My eyes teared up with this revelation and he only added, "I work the weekends and you're welcome to join me. You won't get lost!"


I feel so tired, I woke up too early today so I closed my eyes to fall asleep again, It didn't help so I opened my eyes and just looked around and Started thinking of how my day would go. "Huh", I looked towards my door, "did I put my clothes there?" I don't have my glasses on so maybe it's just my imagination. I checked the time 5:34, I could stay in bed a little longer, I closed my eyes again. Still can't sleep but I could relax and maybe play another fantasy, what do I make it about? I haven't done many fantasy's lately but what should it be about? Ah, maybe that. "Hm, why does the fantasy keep cutting out?"Maybe I'm too tired, sigh, let's try sleeping again. How much time has passed? "I think I slept a little, let me check my phone. "It's still 5:34? Even if I didn't fall asleep the time should have changed, "let's just go downstairs and make something. I really don't want to move my arms, let's just think about how I'll make breakfast, I stared at my door and then my closet "those clothes I'll need to fold them" but why do i have so many? It probably just looks that way because it's bunched together. "Do I still have chicken in the fridge, what do I make?" Let's get started. I wanted to get up, but my limbs weren't budging, I'm probably still tired, "..wait then how did I check the time?" I probably just imagined checking. I opened my eyes again... but something feels weird, my eyes don't feel open. Ah, is it a fantasy?, more likely a dream since i can't feel the outside, what was it called again? I forgot. What do I do now? Since I can't move I can't properly enjoy this. Let me try making things move till I feel myself waking up, I 'look' towards the clothes in my closet and focus on it. I tried that for most of the things around me and nothing moved, 'don't tell me I'm just stuck here?' I tried forcing myself awake but it's still not working, there's nobody around to wake me up either. I heard some clattering, what is it?, it's getting louder, it sounds like a person. I try to move, what if I'm being robbed?, what will they do if they find me here? I force my eyes open to see..Mom!! That's right, I don't live alone! I live with my mom, she must have just gotten back from work, tired I gently close my eyes again. I wake up again to find my room warped, my closet is no longer next to the door, there is another bed in the room with me apart from the one I'm laying on. 'Another fantasy/dream thing?' I still can't move but I can feel my limbs, so maybe not, I open my eyes 'they feel open and my eyesight is not any less terrible' is this not a fantasy? I'm probably still out of it. I blink my eyes a bit and try to roll my body. It worked so I put my feet to the ground and stood up. 'Everything seems to be alright, but my room still isn't back to normal', I walk out of my door, I survey my surroundings 'it's an apartment, the kitchen isn't downstairs, another apartment is what's happening?' I look for mom, maybe I'll wake up from this if i find something my mind can't properly mimic. I find her but... she's asleep in the bed next to mine, "that's right she worked night yesterday", yeah and we live in an apartment we have been for the past 4 and a half years, I checked the time again 9:04. "Did my mind just trick me into thinking reality was my imagination and vice versa, scary". (Had to write it out because things took a while to feel real.


The Irony of Dying (again) on Your Birthday March 23rd, a Saturday Carl Johnson died two days ago. He knew this to be true, but he stood up off the cold slab today anyway. His heart was not beating; in fact is heart was on a refrigerated truck, thanks to his organ donor card, but he was moving, and he was thinking. He tried to remember what happened the two days he was gone, but it was like a drunken sleep, where you don’t dream, or move; you just wake up flat on your back, with your arms crossed over your chest, briefly happy that you still exist, even if your condition has worsened a bit. Carl Johnson walked out the front door of the mortuary, naked, and remembered that the sun felt nice, instead of annoying, for the first time in 22 years. His wife stabbed him when he got home, because she thought he was a ghost, or a zombie, and Carl told her he guessed he was, but he’s still the same old Carl. After she calmed down they made love on the floor for the first time in 22 years. It was cold because Carl was cold. March 25th, a Monday Carl had hoped to use his new lease on life to travel around the world with his wife with the life insurance check, but of course once We Care About You A lot - Mutual (TM) found out that Carl was animated again, they took that away, and sued him for insurance fraud, so Carl went back to work as a CPA. His company welcomed him back, after they stabbed him in fear, and set him up with a private cubicle so no one would have to see him (or smell him, now that he was slowly decomposing) except for at lunch and leaving time. They did leave a small window so he could look out at his co-workers and ask them about last night’s game. The flies somehow still found him back there, but other than a small buzzing noise when his co-workers walked by, it was inconsequential. Carl worked harder than ever, sure that his company would recognize his efforts this time. March 29th, a Friday Carl left work at 5 pm, ready to enjoy the weekend with his wife. He walked in, flies trailing behind him, their children squirming inside of him. He went to give his wife a kiss, but she was repulsed by his smell, his coldness, and how round he was getting from the bloat. She smiled at him with love, and said that maybe she could get her nose removed. Carl laughed, and he and his wife went to the beach, on bicycles, and had a pleasant picnic, as long as she stayed up-wind. April 3, a Wednesday Carl’s gut exploded at work today, all over the computers and phones. The company took it out of his paycheck, and got him some new equipment. They put a roof on his cubicle and vacuum sealed all the cracks so that his smell didn’t escape, except for the brief walk to and from the car. They closed up the window on the day his nose fell off, and made him come in early and leave late, so he had no human contact. But he was crunching numbers still, so the company kept him on. July 4th, a holiday Carl continued to decompose, and continued to work. He was still the same old Carl on the inside, and his wife continued to love him, even though she couldn’t be in the same room with him anymore. They set up love-making sessions with him standing in the backyard, and looking into the back window while she pretended he was whole and warm again. They decided to have their annual cook-out, and let Carl man the grill, while the rest of the party stayed inside. Carl’s mother-in-law was pleading with her daughter to move on, to find someone new. Carl’s best friends chimed in more of the same. “It’s just not right, watching him decompose like that, he belongs in a box, out of sight.” No one ate Carl’s burgers, but they did order a pizza. August 1st, a Tuesday Carl didn’t understand why his wife was crying on his birthday until the crowd showed up in the yard. He saw his friends, his co-workers, his boss, his parents, and half the town on the lawn with various weapons. He walked outside and took a shotgun shell to the arm, it blew off the exposed bone, and Carl explained that he couldn’t die again. The crowd grabbed him and pulled him into the street. He expected his wife to try to stop them, but she just shut the shades and closed the door. The crowd took Carl to his cemetery plot. Carl pleaded that he could just go away; he wasn’t hurting anyone. The crowd threw Carl into the hole, and the concrete truck began to pour in around Carl. September 29th, a Thursday Carl’s wife sat beside his grave and touched the gravestone. She turned the volume on her headphones up to muffle the screams, and smiled lightly at the memory of her husband. August 1, 1974-March 21st 2017-August 1, 2017 read his gravestone. She placed a flower in the prearranged vase, and then turned to leave. She walked out of the soundproof barrier placed around his grave, and took her headphones out. “Don’t Fear The Reaper” was playing lightly through earbuds dangling at her chest. *** Feel free to follow my for more.