It was hot as hell and we had the big fans going in the garage the day she stepped into my life. I was finishing up underneath a beat-up ‘37 pickup. It needed much more than the oil change I was giving it but what the hell, it wasn’t my problem. I slid out from under the truck, wiped my brow and hands with a dirty rag, and there she was. She and Manny, one of the other mechanics, were talking over her car. She was wearing a tight striped sleeveless blouse and shorts that barely touched her thighs. Her blond hair was pinned up and she had on these big gaudy sunglasses. Her lips were bright red and she had dark sweat stains under her arms but even so she was an absolute knockout. I took her to be a few years older than me, maybe 25 or 26. She looked like she’d probably done a stint at the university, or anyway she probably came from money or had plenty of it. The car alone was enough to tell me that. It was a year-old foreign model and it looked like the kind of thing a diplomat would drive. Like what you’d imagine Katharine Hepburn or Cary Grant riding around in. Whatever this girl’s problem was, I knew I could solve it, so I sauntered over and stuck my nose into her business. “Hey, Manny, what goes on here?” “This lady, she says there’s something wrong with the brakes. I was just going to--” “Brakes, eh? Go take a powder, Manny. I’ll handle it.” When he was gone I turned to the lady and said “Sorry to horn in like that but a woman of your class deserves the best, and I’m the best grease monkey in the joint.” “Really it’s no bother.” She smiled at me and removed her sunglasses, holding the stem between her teeth. The same red that was on her lips was also on her long tapered fingernails. “My husband said that the brakes were acting up, and based on the harrowing drive I had over here I’d have to say he was right!” “Husband, eh? That’s a shame.” She chuckled. “Well, let me take a look.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and pumped the brake pedal a few times. Sure enough there was something screwy. Too much give, no pressure at all on the pads. I got out and slid under the car to take a look at the brake line. Sure enough, it was busted. Clean cut straight through. Someone had been tampering with it. I slid out from under the car and gave the lady a long hard look. “Yeah, you’re leaking fluid there. Lucky your husband noticed or else there could have been a real bad accident .” I looked her right in the baby blues on that last word. She shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, that would have been dreadful. I’m so glad he’s safe.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well listen, it’s going to be a while before I have this thing ship-shape again. Why don’t you leave your information at the desk inside and I’ll give you a ring when she’s ready to be picked up? We can call you a cab to get you home in the meantime.” She agreed. “Say, I haven’t asked your name yet, have I?” “Oh, it’s Mabel. Mabel Llewelyn -- er, Smith. I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to this new name. And you are?” “Frank. I guess you haven’t been married long then.” “No, just a few months.” I nodded and showed her to the desk. Then I wheeled the car into the garage and got to work. *** Later that afternoon I called her up. “Hello?” “Mrs. Smith?” “This is she.” “It’s Frank, from the garage. Just calling to let you know that your car is all set.” “Oh, marvelous! I’ll be by in about an hour. Oh shoot, will you still be open then?” “Yeah, that’s fine. Say, are you alone?” “Yes, my husband is still at the office. Why, what is it?” “I know what you did.” There was a long pause on her end. I would have guessed she’d hung up but I could still hear her breathing. “I don’t know what you could mean,” she said, finally, cold as an eskimo’s nose. “Well ma’am, someone cut the brakes on that car. Your husband have any enemies?” “Well, no, but --” “Look Mabel. I can sympathize. A dame like you shouldn’t be tied down like you are, but offing your husband?” Another pause, then “How could you tell?” “Brake cables don’t just break like that. A little leak sure, a puncture maybe. But a clean cut through and through? Not in a million years.” It was a while before she said anything. I could hear her tsk ing on the other end while she thought. “Well then, Frank...How would you go about it?” That took me aback a bit, but I couldn’t say I didn’t see the question coming. “What would be in it for me if I was to tell you?” “My husband has a generous life insurance policy, and of course I’ll inherit much of his wealth. I would gladly give you a share.” “I want half.” She mulled that over for a bit. “Fine.” *** I kept the car overnight so I could put in a little more work. The lady wanted her husband to have an unfortunate accident, and that’s just what it would look like. She was smart to go for the brakes, she just went too far too fast. I sanded down the brake shoes just to the point where they would still work fine but if anything were to happen they’d be the number one suspect. For good measure I rigged the brake cable to leak ever so slightly. Nothing that would arouse suspicion. I gave her a ring when I was done. “Yes?” “Mabel.” “Is it finished? My husband was complaining this morning about having to take the bus again.” “Relax, it’s all taken care of. Now listen, here’s how it’s going to go down. In a few weeks you’re going to get an invitation to join a new country club up in the mountains, and you're going to persuade your hubbie to take you to the big enrollment party. Where do you usually park the car?” “What? Why does that matter?” “I’ll get to that. Driveway or garage?” “The driveway, usually, unless it’s going to rain.” “Okay, that’ll have to change. Is the garage attached to the house?” “Yes, but why should the car go into the garage?” “So we can move the body without being seen. And you’ve got to create a pattern now so there won’t be any suspicion on the big night.” “Yes, I see...” “All right? So the night of the party you’re going to leave your back door unlocked. I’ll be there around 7:30, so don’t you leave before then. I’ll sneak in and off him and then we’ll put him in the car. You with me?” “Yes.” “Fine,” I said. “Well Mrs. Smith, your car is all set. Sorry for the delay. Come by anytime and pick it up.” After I was off the phone I flagged down Manny and got him to sign the invoice for the repair. I told him I was sorry for stealing the job out from under him and that he could handle the pick-up and collect my pay from the job. I wouldn’t miss the money anyhow, and now the “botched” brake job wouldn’t have a paper trail back to me. *** I had the phony invitation printed up nice and dropped it in their mailbox myself. I trusted that Mabel could convince the husband to go, but even if she didn’t she knew enough to spread the story around the neighborhood that they were going away to the mountains. He wouldn’t put up much of a fight once he was dead. The night of the “party” as soon as I was off work I hoofed it over to their house and hopped the back fence. I had to crouch in the bushes a while because I could see them through the glass door having some kind of argument. It was my first time laying eyes on the husband. He was a fat balding man close to 50 if he was a day. I guess the big dope didn’t want to treat his wife to a night out after all. I waited until his back was to the door to creep over right next to it against the wall of the house. I reached out and tried to push it open without it making a sound. It was unlocked, just like we planned. I peeked around the corner to make sure he was still facing the other way. I could tell that Mabel saw me from the way her eyes got wide. I slid the door open and slipped inside and socked him hard on the head with the steel rod I’d brought. He went down like a sack of spuds. “Oh did you have to hit him so hard?” Mabel asked. “What does that matter? He won’t be feeling it for long.” “I know, but --” “Now don’t you go getting cold feet on me now. We’re in this thing too deep as it is.” She pulled herself together. I sent her to fetch a blanket and while she was out I finished the job with a sharp twist of his neck. I met her in the bedroom. She looked faint, like maybe she was about to scream. I pulled her to me and kissed her hard on the mouth to shut her up. She wilted in my embrace, then pulled back. “It’s done?” “Yeah. Now go put that blanket in the car while I get dressed.” “Get dressed?” “Yeah. I’ll put on one of his suits and drive us out of here. It’ll look to the neighbors like he’s behind the wheel. You got the bags packed like I said?” “Yes, they’re in the closet there.” “Fine. Real fine.” She went out to the car and I put on one of the fat man’s suits. I had to fill it out with a pillow to complete the illusion. I grabbed the bags from the closet and took them out to the car. Then I went back in and grabbed the husband. He was heavy, but I was able to drag him out to the garage. It took just about all my strength to heave him into the back seat. It’s amazing how much heavier a body can feel when it’s limp. We covered him with the blanket and set out for the mountains. One of the neighbors was out walking a little dog and I gave them a friendly wave. On the way out of town I stopped at the garage. Mabel got in the driver’s seat and I got in my own car. I led the way the rest of the way to the mountains. After we were a good distance out of town, high in the mountains on a good secluded stretch of road, I kept an eye out for a nice sharp curve. I found one a few miles past a filling station with a payphone out front. Even with good brakes this curve would put hair on your chest. I pulled over on the far side of the street and signaled Mabel to stop behind me. I got out of my car and went to talk with her. “Here’s good,” I said. “Help me get him in the driver’s seat.” I grabbed the husband under the arms and she took his legs and we carried him around the car and sat him upright in the driver’s seat. We were both breathing heavy by the time we were done. When he was seated properly I clipped the belt across his waist. That bit would be useful for our story. I got the car in neutral and nudged it over the edge. It went over easy nose first and crumpled about 30 feet down. “All right,” I panted. “Now come on.” Mabel and I slid down the cliff on our rears. I checked on the husband. His head was resting on the steering wheel, and it looked like his nose was broken in the crash. Anyway he was still dead. We had to make Mabel look like she was in the crash, too, but the official story would be that she jumped clear before the car went over the edge. She just couldn’t come out of this unscathed. Luckily for us she got scraped up on the arms and legs pretty good on the way down. She was certainly dirty enough. For extra realism I tore her dress a little and gave her a tiny bruise on the cheek. She was a good sport and didn’t make a sound when I clocked her. We climbed back up to the road. Right when we crested the rise another car came around the curve the other way and caught us in the headlights. That had me worried for a second but I figured it wouldn’t matter much. The driver couldn’t have gotten a good look at us, he wouldn’t remember exactly where it was he saw us, and anyway we’d just look like a young couple that snuck off to have some fun in the woods. We got in my car and I drove her back the way we came. We rehearsed the story that she’d tell the police: Her husband was taking her away to the mountains for a few days; he’d complained of brake troubles but she’d had them fixed; the car had come to this curve and wouldn’t stop; she was able to jump clear but only because she wasn’t wearing her seat belt; she never trusted them. A little ways before the filling station she got out. She’d walk the rest of the way. It would be pretty suspicious if someone at the station saw her getting dropped off at the payphone. I waited a while to give her a head start, then started the car and headed for home. When I passed the filling station I could see her in the phone booth. It looked like we were in the clear. Everything went off without a hitch. *** Naturally there was an investigation. The insurance company especially wasn’t about to pay up before they ruled out foul play. Some stuffed shirts came by the garage one day and grilled Manny pretty hard about the repair job he’s supposed to have done. He tried to shift the blame back to me but I played dumb and the paperwork backed me up. The owner was scared that lawyers might get involved. Mabel I guess seemed like the type to sue over negligence of this sort. Sure, if she had been the greedy type she could have, but she was looking forward to a big payday already. But Manny was let go anyway, and I was sorry that I got him canned. It’s been a month since the crash now, and everything’s pretty much quieted down. Mabel assured me that the insurance policy ought to be paying out and the banks ought to unfreeze the husband’s bank accounts soon. Until then I’ll be waiting here in this motel room every Friday night for her to come and give me my share. Just like we planned.


( I found this gem in my google drives, must have written it when I was a teen, or at the very least 5 years ago. Totally forgot I had ever written it, but it made me laugh and cringe while rereading - now you all get to see it! ) Born with them, I’d say. “I was born with them. It’s nothing special. It’s nothing, really. Thanks.” I’m referring to, of course, the sticks of menace sticking out just above the fringe of my hair. The twigs of doom. The rods of revenge. The twin wands from hell. Antlers. They’re nothing but a body part to me, but people never understood this. They would always weave back and forth in front of me, eyes affixed on not my eyes but my stubs, mouths endlessly chewing words and spitting them out like soft bubblegum. Personally, I think it’s something to do with genetics. Grandma used to live in the deep woods by herself, a long time ago. Was a bit of a bohemian. Who knows what could have happened then? But nobody wants to hear about that. Instead I get questions, about as stock as cardboard - Are they real? How’d you put those on? They’re not that big, are they. Can I touch ‘em? Ew, what are those? Wow, that’s really weird. Does it hurt? Does the size reflect somethin’ else of yours? Answers to those: Yes, I didn’t, I know, no, thanks, I know, no, and goodbye. The truth is, the infernal sticks are capable of getting real big. When I was younger, my mother let me grow them out for a year or so. In the spring, they started to erupt just like the joints of my wrists and ankles. They bloomed above my head like trees do in spring and they stretched, they yawned, they were alive. But when they began to draw attention just a little too much, it was my father’s responsibility then. I can still remember it, the way he got up from his chair during dinner. The way he opened the small cabinet door, his face hidden by the intricate pattern on the wood. The sound the knife made when he sharpened it, reassuring me, *the sharper it is the less it will hurt.* And oh, it didn’t hurt. But it was terrifying as hell. They stopped growing for a while after. I mean, they did, but I tried to shave them down when I could. I didn’t really want anything like that to happen again. \- That changed when we decided to move to the edge of the city. Away from people. It wasn’t my fault, or so my parents told me, suspiciously often. Then again, it’s not like they had anybody else to tell. After having me, it’s reasonable to think that they’d hold back against having more. Our new house was located on the left side of a small lake and to the front of a big forest. It was so close to Mother Nature that you couldn’t really say it was part of the city anymore. It still was, of course, but our immediate surroundings made it a hard fact to remember. I think that’s what my parents were going for, anyway. They loved it. The forest behind our house was gigantic. I say ‘big’, but from an objective point of view it was bigger than big. From the first day we moved in, I could feel its power emanating like some sort of radiation. There was something about that forest that made it seem like a giant -- intimidating. I’d go back there a lot. At my tender teen age I already felt the wanderlust. The forest was my escape for whenever I felt misunderstood (which was a lot). It became my playground whenever I had nothing better to do. Even more than that, the forest gave me a deep sense of belonging. At the time I figured it had something to do with the abominable twins atop my head. Something like a nature sense, if that even makes sense. When I was in that forest, I would feel something twining deep into the corners of my soul, seeding itself there and spreading its roots, grounding me to the place as if I’d been born there. It got to my head, a bit. Sometimes I even fancied that I was Nature’s Gift to Mankind. But whatever - the point here is that I felt totally at home in the forest. Well, it was a rainy day when it happened. The sky had been overcast all day. I’d skipped school that day, mostly because of a test I hadn’t prepared for. My parents never minded when I didn’t go to school. They’d even offered to homeschool for me, but again, I digress. It was a hooky day. The sky was cloudy, my mood was just as turbulent, and I made my way to the forest to unwind. I’d already been wandering for a couple of hours when I realized rain was beginning to drizzle down. And by drizzle, I mean I was getting stupidly wet - no umbrella, to say the least. I had no real defense but to put my hood up. I began to backtrack, carefully going back towards the house through trees I’d marked. As I walked, a fog started to form around me. The forest does that sometimes, when there’s rain. It made things mighty difficult to see. Soon I was walking circles around trees I’d already seen. I was starting to get pretty confused. Well. Lucky for me, that’s when I met a god. In the form of a deer. For a deer, he was extraordinarily handsome. As one would expect, really. Russet brown fur, slicked down by the rain. His chest was painted white. Heavy shoulders. An elegant neck. And on top of his triangular face was a pair of two beautiful, decorated antlers. He strutted up to me like he owned the place. When we met eyes, it was apparent from his expression that the fog had confused him as well. But he made no mention of it when he began to speak. “Human,” he said, without opening his mouth. “You’re new here.” “Nah,” I replied, opening mine. “I’m actually not.” Not a regular phenomenon, talking deer. But I’ll confess, the whole antler thing had left me cynical towards more things than I care to admit. “Are you lost?” he asked. “Probably, but it’s fine.” “I see.” “Yeah.” Long pause. It was more likely that he was the lost one, not me, but I didn’t say that either. Instead we just stared at each other. He at my eyes, and I at his... antlers. Strange, to say the least. I was usually on the opposite end of that spectrum. But I couldn’t stop staring. What the deer lacked for in conversational skill, he more than made up for with his rack. There they were - stemming from the head, two hell sticks, spreading upward like they were flowers licked by the wind. Branches like fingers unfolding from their tops and entwining at their bottoms. They were much bigger than mine. And they were covered in a soft velvety fuzz. I couldn’t move at that moment, I was paralyzed, but I remember thinking that I wanted to touch it, feel it beneath my palms. Under my gaze he became self-conscious, or so I think. He began to fidget and blush. When I didn’t say anything further, he started to deflate. “Human,” he said to me, “You’ll go home now.” And that’s when I attacked him. Or to be precise, I tried to. I couldn’t help myself, really. I lunged forward, hands outstretched for a touch of those antlers. I can’t describe how I felt at that exact moment, but it was chaotic and full of need. He bolted, of course. Before I could even get close, he turned and fled, his hooves kicking up wet soil in my face. Not terribly surprising. He was a god, after all. But where did that leave me? In the rain, muddy, wet. Terrible-looking. My expression must have been weirdly perverted, a mixture of awe and desire, eyes scrunched and mouth open and curved into a smile. But again, not surprising. I felt like I’d just witnessed the crown of an angel. \- I started growing my antlers out from then on. Wearing less hats. They’re still growing, actually. I feel like, no matter how much I let them grow, they’ll never amount to the rack of the one I saw. Not that it matters, really. Human beings are amazed by my tiny ones anyway. But being less ashamed of them, you know? It’s nice. Born with them, I’d say. Not an evasive answer, per say, but a mark of pride. “They’re 100% natural. Give ‘em a touch, they won’t bite.” ‘Course, I still get the stock cardboard questions. And I get a lot of hands up there, rubbing and affirming that they are, in fact, real. But it bothers me less now. I’ve even had a few interviews, but once people start accepting the fact that you’ve accepted it, the thing becomes less of a phenomenon. Too bad, honestly. I was just starting to enjoy the attention. We still live near the forest, but I don’t go near into it anymore. The world’s too busy for that kind of thing once you decide to start living in it. But I still stare back sometimes. It’s kind of a forlorn thing, you know. If you’ve ever felt it, you’ll understand. Part of me isn’t ready to go back, anyway. Until then I’ll probably be answering inane questions in hopes of finding an answer. Like such: Hey, how’d you make these? Who made ‘em? Answer to those: I did. And they are completely, totally mine.


The Zombie Apocalypse bonded billions of sorrowful ghosts to their former bodies, leaving them trapped until their Zombie bodies that are tethering them to this mortal coil are destroyed. No sound issued forth from the ghost's spectral mouths, but in my mind, I could hear snippets of words & short phrases whispering, pleading for me to free them from their cursed existence. They would gesture with a translucent hand pointing in the direction where their zombified body was. Every day their desperate, anguished mental cries urged me on a seemingly endless quest to destroy every last one of those rotting shamblers, severing the link so their tormented souls can finally move on. I smash Zombie after Zombie until I feel I can no longer lift my arms. Even now my hands still tremble from exhaustion as I update this journal. Every night the ghosts haunt my dreams, but unlike the waking world the spirits speak as clearly & eloquently as they did in life & I am the one who is voiceless, my movements sluggish. So, I stay still & listen to their stories. One by one they tell me their names, where they're from, & the fates that befell them. Teens whose lives were cut short before they could have their first kiss at prom, mothers who never lived long enough to see the birth of their child, fathers rushing home from work who never reached their destinations, never got the chance to find out what happened to their families. In the morning, I find the Zombies in the direction I was told to go. After I put them to rest & the apparitions depart with a heart-felt "Thank You" echoing in my mind I look through the belongings on the former Zombies bodies. I find everything I was told I would find, the names in their wallets matches the names I was given in the dream, the items, the mementos; all of it is there. The dreams are real, the life stories I'm hearing are real. As the months wear on, between this grim task & despite the one-sided conversations from my nightly visitors; the lack of companionship, live human companionship just weighs heavily upon me. I haven't spotted a single person except the dead in all this time. I find myself craving for someone living to talk to. Even someone whose quirks used to annoy me in the past would only bring a smile to my face right now. I need that. Even the animals avoid me, they instinctively know they are just a walking meal for whoever finds them, human or Zombie. I'm glad that animals & insects are immune to turning, or it would have been over for me right quick. The only thing keeping me sane is this journal & the comforting thought that every Zombie I put an end to means another soul finally knows peace. Hello again, it's been...I don't know how long since my last entry. I've been avoid writing this, I just didn't want to think about what happened. I got careless. I came to rely on the mental warnings so much I stopped doing visual sweeps of the area as a backup. Assuming anyone reads this, Yeah, I know what you are thinking, that was very stupid. It was. And I haven’t stopped kicking myself over that. It never occurred to me that a specter from a newly created Zombie might not have figured out how to do the mental communication thing in time to save my life, but he figured it out right afterwards, the warning came too late to make a difference. The big guy chomped down on my arm hard. After I destroyed it, I kept hearing "I'm sorry" inside my mind before the spirit departed. The thought of spending eternity as a disembodied phantom silently lamenting my fate while watching my former body wander around endlessly, searching for its next meal, just terrifies me. I will try to free as many trapped souls as possible in the time I have remaining to me before this infected bite turns me. I just hope there is someone out there still alive who will do the same for me.


The family, large in numbers, sat in the living room that was illuminated by the TV. “Where’s Dale? Get Dale,” mom said to the family. “He’s in his room,” Linda said. Linda rushed up from the sofa with orders from her mother, and ran up the stairs to Dale's room. “Dale! Dale! Momma wants to talk to you,” Linda said as she banged on Dale’s scratched up bedroom door.” “About what!” Dale said. “I dunno, sumthin’ important, it’s about Auntie out in Arizona. They been talking to us all about it and you the only one not down there. C’mon.” Dale quickly snapped open his door and made his way down the stairs - his shoulders slumped - to the living room where the rest of his family was waiting in silence. Dale stepped over his toddler siblings and took a seat on the sofa with his sisters. “Dale...you know aunt Libby passed away last week.” “Ya ma’.” “And she was out in Arizona.” “Uh huh.” “And how we’re doing the funeral out here.” “Why not out in Arizona?” “We can’t afford to go out there.” “Ok,” Dale motioned to his younger brother to pass the Doritos. “Well we need someone to bring her back,” mom said as she looked clearly at him with a focused face. “Like...*her*. As in, her body?” “Her body.” “What?. I have an interview next week I can’t-” “If you had a job we’d find someone else but you don’t.” “What about Ella? She’s ain’t in school yet” “She starts next week, we don’t want her missing any time if anything happens.” “If anything happens? We can’t just have her cremated? I don’t mean to be crude...but...y’know it would make it a lot easier” “We can’t have her cremated after what happened with Gran Luna.” “And no one out in Arizona has a say? No one out there wants her buried out there?” “She ain’t got no one out there. Listen. We’ll explain how everything’s going to work and you won’t have any problems. But we need a decision by tomorrow. We can’t let this linger or we’ll have to have her cremated, which we don’t want. She didn’t want.” “Ok I’ll bring if Janey can come along. She can help,” Dale said while Janey made a wide smile and sat up tall. “Janey’s still 15, we can’t let her go.” “I ain’t even got my full license. I only started driving this *year*.” “If anyone gives you any problems we can work it out. I know it’s a big decision but just think it over tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow,” mom said as she grabbed her cup of bourbon and leaned back in her chair. Dale took on the confused look of someone who’d just been told they needed to drive their dead aunt from Arizona to Indiana. He left the sofa and Doritos, slowly making his way up to his room, scanning his mind for answers. He laid in his bed, looking at his phone and at the message from his friends inviting them to their baby shower this coming weekend. He decided he would go to get his aunt. The next morning he woke up early, and sat on the wraparound porch of their white clad home which sat in front of the dry and dusty cornfields of Indiana. His dad came out with coffee and joined him. His dad showed him down to the family car he would be taking, pointing out all the things he had planned for emergencies: license and registration and a first aid kit in the glove box, a tent and spare tire in the trunk. “You’re going to do fine. We’ve got almost everything planned out for you, we’ve thought of everything.” “And where should I stay? I won’t be able to afford much food, can you guys spot me some cash.” “We’ll give you enough money for food. And we’ve mapped out some places to stay along the way.” “You know, It’s a trip I’d love to do, but this situation changes everything and it’s really the last thing I want to do.” “We’ll do another proper trip after this one. I promise” Dale set out that afternoon after having lunch with his family, who had all been herded on to the front lawn to see him off as he backed the fully loaded family car down the dirt driveway, his youngest brothers chasing him all the way to the main road.


The image of Earth filled the floor-to-ceiling window. Alex stared into its swirling depths and couldn’t decide whether to think this is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, or good riddance. No, that was too harsh. Home would always be home, after all. She turned to study her captors and saviors, all strapped into their chairs with safety belts. They were humanoid, but had eyes that were too wide-set, and heads that were too narrow. Their skin was a deep tint of blue. Alex wondered if it was from a lack of oxygen. She was the only one wearing a helmet and suit with an oxygen tank, which the aliens had helped her put on as soon as she arrived onboard, gasping for air. It was surreal to think that she had been living an ordinary life only twenty minutes ago, when she was plunged into this new reality. She laughed to herself at the irony. The transport ship gave a shudder, and then stopped. Alex heard mechanical parts interlocking at the doorway as they docked at the main ship. Her companions unbuckled their safety belts and helped her off her feet. She followed them through the doorway and into the main ship, providing no trouble at all. They marched silently through several stark hallways and into a cavernous hall. Here, the surrounding walls were also made of floor-to-ceiling glass, so that Earth loomed in the background. They gestured for her to sit at a lone table in the middle of the hall, across from a seated alien. The nameplate on the table in front of him or her (they were all bald) bore indecipherable symbols. More uniformed aliens stood in a semicircle around the table. All of them wore the same black discs on their right temples, which translated both incoming and outgoing speech. The alien seated across from Alex smiled with an unnaturally wide mouth. “I am Lieutenant Umore. Welcome to Zalua 54. What is your name and planet of origin, for the record?” he or she asked. “Alexandra, from Earth,” she said. She attempted to smile back. “I trust that the transport committee debriefed you on your purpose here?” said the lieutenant. She nodded, although she couldn’t help but protest, “I wish you had warned me first. I was so shocked when they beamed me up. I was willing to cooperate once they explained, but...” Her words were echoing in the large chamber. “We attempted to contact you by means of Earth communication,” the lieutenant said. Alex suddenly remembered the growing pile of unread mail on her dining table. “We have a tightly scheduled program and do not have time to await responses or tolerate delays from any participant. To reiterate, we have thoroughly studied the technology and systems of each planet in the sector. What we need is first-hand testimony on what life is like for the sentient beings in this location. Our software randomly selects one representative from each planet to participate in this mandatory survey.” Alex nodded. “I understand. I was just...shocked. I didn’t even know there were...aliens...until now. And freedom is very important to humans. You're lucky I'm cooperating. Someone else might be giving you a hard time.” She looked around the room, emboldened by the sight of several aliens nodding in agreement. “That is a good place to start,” Lieutenant Umore said, sliding a long bony finger across the surface of a tablet-looking device. “Voluntary participation. You would say, then, that humans from Earth value freedom of the individual.” “Well,” Alex said, “some parts of it do. Freedom means something different in each country. And people don't really agree on how free we should be...” Lieutenant Umore nodded as the aliens standing around them frantically swiped at their own note-taking devices. “I will mark the answer to this survey question as ‘Somewhat agree,’” said the lieutenant. Alex suddenly felt the weight of the planet’s reputation resting on her shoulders. She glanced out the walls at the massive globe. “I don’t know if I can capture everyone’s experiences. There's over seven billion people and we're all so different. Maybe you should survey more people from Earth?” Lieutenant Umore gave her a stern glance. “We cannot deviate from our methodology. Seven billion people may be a substantial number from your perspective, but the financial limitations of our project do not give us the luxury of surveying every living creature." The lieutenant sighed. “Let us try an open-ended question. Why don’t you tell us what life is like on Earth?” Alex swallowed hard. “Well, we do have problems, like global warming. We keep ruining our environment to build things and get oil for our cars. We fight a bunch of wars, and we have people who are extremely rich and extremely poor.” She realized again that her cynicism was giving the aliens an unbalanced impression of Earth. “I mean, yes, humans can be cruel, but we can be kind too. We...” Suddenly, her brain went blank. Lieutenant Umore remained silent. Alex blushed. “I’m sorry. There’s...” She thought of her mother's warm bear hugs, her father’s big bellowing laughs, her sister’s celebrity singing impressions, all of which she hadn’t felt or heard in years. “We do love each other, to the point where it hurts to be away from each other. We help each other when life is hard.” Tears were sliding down her face now, and suddenly, the words came pouring out of her mouth. She shared memories and stories until she was laughing as much as she was crying. She had missed allowing herself to miss home. Despite the imposing darkness of the room and the unfamiliar blue faces, she felt almost uninhibited. When she had exhausted herself on words, Lieutenant Umore nodded. “Thank you for your information, Alexandra. We will enter your testimony into the records as a snapshot of life on Earth at this point in time.” He or she stood up, and gestured for Alex to do the same. “You will be pleased to know that we can return you to the exact time and location from which we retrieved you.” “No!” Alex shouted before she could help herself. She felt as if someone had punctured a hole in her helmet, sucking out the oxygen. “I mean, I prefer not to return to that exact moment.” Lieutenant Umore peered at her curiously. “Why not? Is there something else you did not tell us?” Struggling to articulate the dread that had risen in her like vomit, she recalled the scene: she was in the break room at work, when a coworker rushed in and whispered they’re here! In the next room, black uniformed officers were already forcing people to the ground. She dashed for the back door, but officers had already seen her. That was the moment the aliens had sent their beam to retrieve her, giving her a temporary refuge. She whispered, “I...life was brutal in my home country. I left to make a better life in a new country for my family, but I don't have the right papers to stay. When you picked me up, I was about to be discovered and sent back. Please, can you return me somewhere else?” The lieutenant looked at the aliens that had picked her up, and they nodded. “Please,” Alex said quietly. Lieutenant Umore shook her head. “The protocol is to send you back to the exact spot and time we found you. To do anything else would have drastic and unpredictable consequences. Please wait here as the transport committee prepares the ship for your return to Earth.” Alex nodded. Fate was fate. She closed her eyes and sat down again, dizzy with anxiety. After a while, the transport committee came to escort her back onto the smaller ship. As the aliens strapped her into her seat, the view of Earth through the window threatened to swallow her whole. They were nearing the outer atmosphere when the nearest alien leaned in close and slid something into her jacket pocket. “Do not mention this to anyone, or the Lieutenant’s job is on the line,” the alien whispered, then sat back upright. Alex reached into her pocket and took out a stack of folded-up papers. She skimmed through the documents, picking up words here and there that made her heart beat faster. Not everything was solved, but it was enough to restore her faith. She placed the stack back in her pocket. Maybe Earth was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen after all.


It was 3am that night. I woke up after I heard a loud noise almost like a nuclear explosion. I took a glance out of my window. The first thing I did after that was wash my face three times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Nope. It's still not possible. The sky was on fire. This isn't a simile or something. The sky was literally on fire. There were some people on the streets watching it and some just like me watching from the windows . I went outside and soon in approximately 5 minutes the whole city was on streets. There were some screaming and yelling that this was the end the apocalypse, our sins have reached their limit. Some guys saying that this must be something gone wrong and it was scientific maybe a gas leaked by airplane or something. We all knew though what we were seeing wasn't natural or scientific, it was just supernatural. The police asked people to go to the home again as it wasn't safe. Nobody gave a shit. The media houses confirmed it was happening all over the world and had no scientific explanation. It has been 2 hours now. The city or let's say the whole world has gone mad. The military tried to use jets to investigate . What happened? Oh , they exploded. A very well known scientist appeared on the TV and said that there is nothing which can explain all this and it might truly be the apocalypse or "The end of the world". The moment that line was said, the madness began. People called their loved ones to tell how much they loved them but more calls were about people telling others how much they hated them their whole life. The killings began. People started looting bars, if it was truly the end of the world, What else could you do except get drunk and wait ? Ironically no one looted any mall. Why would you loot a 60 inch Tv when you are going to die in few moments. There was mostly looting of bars and people going on rampage, suicides and of course killing of top government officials and celebrities. Why? I don't know. People were going live on mobile, Tv and telling how much they loved their fans or hated them and stuff. The police department was the most interesting place. Some policemen killed each other. The jail was set on fire. Local people were killing the police too and of course the police were now freehanded so they were killing random people who disrupted them in anyways too or ever did. What I was doing? I gave a call to my mother and told her how much I appreciated her and how grateful I was. Then I started smoking and was watching TV. What else could I do? I didn't called any of my friends or colleagues. Why do I need to pretend ,now? What would you do if you knew everything was going to end soon? (Thanks for reading. Part two below.


This story is based on mythology of Galinthias, some detailes are true, some are added . I was mortal once, they said I betrayed Gods but I was only trying to help my friend. They would let her suffer, ah, my dear Alkmene, continuous birth pangs put on her by Moirai and Eileithyia almost killed me watching it. I was her servant, but actually, we were best friends. When Heraklo was born, I felt like he was a nephew to me, I wanted to hold him, but I couldn't. Moirai was mad, he was furious that I stopped their spells and, together with Eilethyia, they turned me into a weasel. I thought my pain would stop, but soon I realized my curse. Three years ago I gave birth, 5 little weasels got out straight through my mouth, reminding me never to mess with Gods again. It's been a few years since I was in the weasel body so I decided to mess with Gods again. I have been contemplating for a long time what should I transform myself into. My mind was stuck between alligator or some huge lion so I can more easily rip their heads of. However, I decided to be a bit more unexpected, but we will come to that. Since they also made me immortal, my kids will outgrow me soon. I was determined to be the weasel for the rest of my life with the most painful and disgusting births you can imagine. However, they don't know my powers, even as a weasel, I still hold the knowledge of the underground, from the times before, times when I was Gallinthias. I was thinking for a long time how to make them suffer since, unfortunately, no one still figured out a way how to kill Gods. And let me tell you something, Greek Gods are the worst, Ra from my fury friend in pyramids doesn't waste a time on some mountain, like some hedonistic garbage. So I ask myself: What is worse than death? I have to be original tho, no rock to push, liver to be eaten, even Artemis already did my idea of turning someone into deer and let dogs on them. But me, I have to be more creative, I have to make them suffer. I have to do this, for Alkmene, for Heraklo who built me this beautiful temple where I live, and for her, Hekate, goddess who protected me all this years. My thought process about transformation was intense, once I transform, my form will last for at least few years, also, potion that made me able to transform took a year to prepare. I always considered myself more God-like than mortal-like, therefore, there was only one logical solution: I transformed into a cat. *** Cats are amazing, if I didn't have my revenge, I would spend all day sunbathing on those big hot stones. I have been living like this for a week now and Alkmene doesn't know who I am and Heraklo doesn't know that I can finally live in this temple built by him in my honor. I love every part of this place as it is a symbol of love given to me by my dearest. The frieze above the columns is decorated with symbols of bravery, and pediment, the most beautiful of all, representing my protector Hekate. This temple is not ordinary, it has more details than the usual Greek style boring ones, also, it comes with the underground rooms. What more can I say than: My dearest Heraklo, you knew my plan before it even began. Moirai and Eileithyia will come anytime. They think they were invited here by Zeus so I expect confusion in them when they arive especially with the strict instructions to go downstairs. However, Zeus always does crazy stuff, he is pretty weird so maybe they won't suspect. I had to make sure Alkmene and Heraklo are gone by now and I that I have the perfect timing for my potion and plan to work. I can make all kinds of potions, but this one, is my best one yet. With my little black and fury body, infinite lives instead of nine, I go to the underground rooms. They are completely dark and I am almost invisible in here. My potion is ready. I take my paws and put them in a large copper pot full of bubbles and green slime. I let my paws rest as long as I can and I listen for the slightest sound of someone going down the stairs, just a little longer Moirai and Eileithyia, just a little longer. I prepare my body, put the claws out and wait in the complete dark. Steps are approaching. I always thought it was weird you could hear Gods, can't they just fly? Although I do forget Greek Gods are not as nearly as cool as the ones in the desert, and a bit stupid too. After all, I could trick them even as a mere mortal. Moirai and Eileithyia come to the rooms, I can feel their presence and I wonder if they can feel mine. They can't see me that's for sure, but the potion is hot and smelly, maybe they will come to the pot. They stand in the middle of the room and I can feel their confusion, stupid Greek Gods. I won't wait longer, my paws are ready. From the darkest corner, my little fury black body with paws full of potion comes on them, they start to scream and cover their faces. You can't kill Gods, but you can for sure injure them, and if you are a cat which knows potions, you make them suffer for the rest of their immortal life. I scratch their faces and whole bodies, enjoying their screams, and when I finish I step back. They are laying on the ground in pain, but pain is yet to come. Green slime from my paws penetrates their bodies. Their long hands start to disapear as well as their legs and turn into tiny pink ones. Oh, how adorable, meow! I can see their faces become covered in fur, I observe the formation of elongated snouts and tiny ears and I feel my saliva glands start to work. After screaming, it came silence, almost. I could hear the squeaking of my dinner. Two little mice are running around the dark room, but guess what you "Gods", cats can see in the dark! I start running and catching them througout the room untill I catch both, I feel them going down my throat, decomposing in my belly. Don't worry you guys, you are immortal remember? You will come out of me when my bowels start to move, reincarnate again from my feces, and make my lovely dinner tomorrow, and day after that, oh how much time will we spend! With my belly full of delicious Moirai and Eileithyia, I lay on the stones in front of my temple, waiting for Alkmene and Heraklo to return. My body starts to purr as I turn to the stars above my kingdom. Who is the king now you Gods? Purrrr.


Last summer, we spent a month at my dad's cabin. Just the three of us, hiking and fishing and watching out for bears and moose. A week before we left, my dad took us on a canoe ride across the lake; sitting single-file on the woven seats with Dad in back, me in front, and you squeezed in the middle. Dad and I both had a paddle, but you, sitting between us, didn't, so you just sat with your knees almost up to your chin and complained. You didn't like the spiders that made their homes in the canoe while it was on land, nor the mosquitoes that settled on us and buzzed around our heads, nor the thick, muggy air with moisture hanging heavily. It was June, and hot, humid days were to be expected, but I never said that. I thought the trip was wonderful. So quiet, the silence broken only by the screeching blackbirds on the cattails and the paddles dipping into the water. So beautiful, with trees reflected on the mirror-still surface of the greenish lake, turtles basking on protruding logs, dragonflies skimming over the water and darting around our slow canoe. And so captivating, with Dad pointing out regal herons or overhead eagles and telling us stories about the summers he spent on this lake, growing up. I could've spent all day on that lake, drinking in the surroundings so different from my home in Indianapolis. But we only paddled for about an hour before you grew bored and we returned to the cabin. You're always like that, you know. Oh, I can hear you arguing about it, insisting that you're not that bad. And you aren't. Peace and quiet, all alone on the lake, just isn't meant for you, even if we had it in Indianapolis (we don't). But I let you drag me all over the city, exploring and having your kind of fun, meeting new people and trying new things, so haven't I earned a little time for my own style of fun? Sometimes we're so different, in a way I can't always place. * * * Take Halloween. We always go trick-or-treating together, although this year we were too old for that and handed out candy at your house- eating most of it ourselves, of course. I was glad to skip the tradition. Sure, it's fun to dress up, but visiting all those houses, talking to all those near-strangers, having the same conversation thirty times in one night? It always sapped my energy. But you insisted we attend the Halloween party hosted by one of your friends (weren't we too old for that stuff? Never mind), so there was no getting out of it, after all. I was an owl, you were a tarantula. You helped me apply the gold eye shadow and brown-and-white feathers, and I put on your extra four arms and six eyes, but we took most of it off when we arrived and found that almost no one was wearing a costume. Always the braver one, you strode into the midst of the party, laughing with friends you probably made on the spot; while I lurked by the snack table with the sugar cookies and orange punch, hoping I looked like an ordinary girl and not an owl or a weirdo with heavy eye shadow and a lightly feathered sweater. At first, it wasn't bad. A few of my other friends were there, and I sort of enjoyed talking to people I barely knew, but the chaos gave me a headache, and my energy petered out. I spent the last half of the party alternating between the bathroom and the far wall. You came back for me, of course. You spotted me hovering at the snack table, feigning interest in the Halloween treats so that no one would approach and try to speak with me. I was too drained for any form of social interaction. You came up behind me and whispered, "We might as well go. This party is boring," as if you were the one sick and tired of people, and not me. I nodded once, as if the idea of leaving had never occurred to me, and we slipped out the door, halfway back to my house before I thanked you. You rolled your eyes and said, "It was my fault for making you come. I guess you don't really like that stuff." "Not really, but it wasn't so bad," I lied, and we chattered our way down the sidewalk, putting it behind us. And I never, ever- still haven't- held it against you, just like how you never held it against me for being so antisocial. * * * Remember last February? While pink roses wilted in vases and discarded valentines papered the school's hallways, the last winter holiday over and forgotten, we all felt a little droopy. Like the old, slushy snow piled on rooftops and beginning to melt off again, I could feel you start to sag. I felt the same way. And so, when your mom offered to drive us to the butterfly gardens that had opened at the zoo last summer, during our time at Dad's cabin, even you agreed. Maybe butterflies were for babies, but we were sick and tired of winter. You and I looked up and up as we found our way through the snow-capped iron gates of the zoo and all the way to the butterfly gardens. They were inside a big, plain-looking building with only the sign over the doors hinting at the presence of butterflies. We shivered inside and found ourselves in between doors- the one we'd just gone through, and a second glass one right in front of us, a paper taped to it. Blind as a mole- always have been- you stepped up, squinting, to read it. "Don't let out the butterflies," you read. We shrugged at each other, and I think Mom shrugged too, behind us, and then we entered. Instantly, we were smacked with warm, sticky air. The gardens were just that- gardens- with shaggy plants and trees arching over the path. At first, I didn't see anything special, but then you pointed, and I craned my neck to see a big yellow butterfly. Then I saw another, which we hurried to look at before it fluttered away, and another, and they kept on coming. We watched them flit around for ages. There was a butterfly in every color, and a case filled with examples of the different life stages of butterflies, and a big poster on the wall charting the different species and what they looked like, and one or two butterflies smushed into the path that I didn't look at. You got tired after a while, and resorted to looking up butterfly facts on your phone, though you must have been enjoying the warm air as much as I was; I, however, kept on wandering and watching the butterflies come and go. When we left, we noticed that one had attached itself to your shirt, but after removing it we kept going. I was buzzing with energy from the great time I'd had, but you seemed unaffected by the experience. I noted this, aloud, and you just shrugged, saying, "I like butterflies, but it wasn't that exciting or anything." I couldn't see why something had to be exciting to be fun, but there's no arguing with your shrug. At least you didn't hate it. We're very different people, you know. Maybe that sounds too philosophical, but it's true- you take energy from classes and parties and conversations with random strangers, while that would kill me. It makes us a good pair, a good team. You handle the real world, I take care of the details. We both enjoy the other's company. And I wouldn't want to make a single change.


I was sick. Weak. Dragging my past along with me, my old name, my old identity. No one had bothered to watch as I changed, no one had heard my quiet comments, hidden beneath layers and layers of the unchangeable past. They. The simplest of corrections. The shortest of sentences. But it spoke of stories, of pain that I could never quite articulate. A second. That was all it had taken to change everything. One second to say it. Five to realise my mistake. Ten to hear the screams of resentment. Thirty to get up and run. One hundred and twenty to find the keys to my car, climb in to leave. But none to look back. I had overreacted, that was true, but I had been suffocating. I was always going to leave, to find another place to live, to breathe in air that had not been tainted by the harsh glares of others. I had simply been given an opportunity. My car window was open, the trees dashing past me, filling in the gaps I had left behind, whispering to each other, to me. You can’t go back. Not now, not ever. I knew that. I did. I did. But if I did, why would I act so brash, I was never one to make spur of the minute decisions. I had a plan, I had sorted it all out. But caution was thrown to the wind in that one second. Those five. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to. The wind howled beside me, silencing that tear soaked laughter that spilled uncontrollably out of me. I was ridiculous. I could not erase my past. But I could try. I could make a new name. I could get a new job, buy a new house. I could stop running. The laughter silenced. When I thought about it, it did seem quite appealing, to find a home in a town hidden within these trees. The trees that held my secrets. My pain. I started to yell. Not screams, but words. Everything I had felt in those years hidden away, all of my insecurities out there, dancing with the leaves. One I started, I could not stop. The words kept coming, speaking of thoughts and feeling I had tried my hardest to ignore, the ones that I had buried so deep down that I had forgotten they were there. Suddenly, I was so glad I had left. The world was waiting for me. A nameless person on their own. A nameless person who paused on the side of the road. Who got out of their car and stood in the middle of the road. A nameless person. Hannah. Vex. The name was a whisper, I was not sure if I had even said it, but it was there, and I liked it. Vex. Louder this time. Vex. A yell disappeared into the sound of the forest. Echoing over and over in my mind. Mingling with the world, a proposition, a question to whoever was watching over me. Anticipation prickled under my skin. The universe let out a breath. A sound of acceptance, a moment of freedom. I was making my way though life, forging a new path for myself. There was an empty ache settling over my heart, but it was almost silenced by the relief. I was still sick. But I was getting better.


As always, Claire stopped by her favourite café to get her morning coffee. When she gets into the café, she thinks she saw a familiar figure. She was sure it was him, even though his back was turned to her. She wished she was wrong, that her mind was playing games to her, but then he turned around and their eyes met. She would recognize those eyes anywhere she saw them. That was really Marcus. After all these years she never thought they would meet again, but here he was right in front of her. She stood there for a while not daring to move a finger. They looked at each other then Marcus slowly walked towards her. She thought maybe he would talk to her, but he passed her by and get out of the café. She brushed it off and ordered her coffee. Claire was disappointed when Marcus didn’t talk to her at the café, but now she was angry with him and also with herself. She was angry with him because years ago he pushed her away without any reason. He distanced himself until they were two strangers. She tried so hard to save their friendship, but the more she tried the more he distanced himself. After a long time, Claire got tired of being the only person who tries to save their friendship and she gave up on him. She was angry with herself because even after years she still wanted him to be her friend again. Even after everything he had done, she still cared for him. She felt so stupid for thinking he would talk to her. She wondered what had gone wrong between them. They were close friends once. They met at school. Both of them had different friend groups, but somehow, they got close. What brought them closer was that both of them hid behind their masks when they were with their friends. They drove each other mad, teased each other, and told each other things that they told anyone. She can spot him anywhere even in the crowd. They were two peas in a pod. It was impossible to see them apart from each other. She believed they will always be friends, but now she knew it wasn’t true. Claire wondered every day after the end of their friendship, if he thought about the times, they were friends. Did he miss her like she missed him? Did their friendship mean anything to him? He was the one who ended their friendship without any explanation. Maybe, he didn’t care about her at all or their friendship. Whenever this thought come to her mind, she brushed it off. That can’t be true. They have shared their deepest darkest secrets. Why would he tell her the things he hid from everyone if he didn’t care about her. Since the day he started to ignore her, she was driving herself insane. She was lost in her mind, and that didn’t change even now. Sometimes she wished they never met because if they never met, she wouldn’t be hurt and confused. She hated him for ignoring her and distancing himself from her. She hated even after all this time she still loved him. She hated being able to spot him anywhere she saw him. She hated everything about him. But that was a lie, and she knew that. No matter how many times she said she hates him, she still loved him and missed their friendship more than anything. It was unfair when she was so broken, he continued his life like nothing happened. Every time after that day, she saw him, he looked so unaffected by the end of their friendship. It was still like that. He broke something in her and it didn’t heal. Even now she was still broken. He moved on but she didn’t. How could she? It was easy for him. He was the one who ended their friendship. He made up his mind and that was it. But it was different for her. One day the person she can tell anything, started to ignore her and treated her like a stranger. It was hard for her to accept he didn’t want to be her friend anymore. Why did he stop talking with her? Did she do something wrong? Was he just using her? There were a million questions on her mind, and she couldn’t answer any of them. There was one person who can answer them, and he didn’t say a word to her. The question she wanted to know the answer was why? That was the question that drove her mad. The only question she never had been able to answer. She hated that question, but also, she wanted the answer to that question. Claire left all of this in the past. Now she had a good life. She was doing her dream job. She had a nice place and good friends. After years she was really happy, and everything was great in her life. She never thought about Marcus until this morning. Out of the blue, her past decided to haunt her. Seeing Marcus brought old memories back. The memories started to fade away. Isn’t it strange sometimes the person you loved most and who you thought will always be there for you becomes the person who hurts you most and leaves you all alone when you need them, she thought. When Marcus came into her life, he made her happy and helped her to be proud of every part of her. When he walked out of her life it broke her. Claire thought she will never be happy, but she put herself together. She took every part of her life and put it together. She still loved Marcus and missed him, which she will probably always do, but she realized she didn’t need him, and she will never need him in her life. She was thankful for the good times they had. She knew they will never be friends again, and that was okay. They weren’t meant to be friends. She would never forget him like he would never forget her. Sometimes the beginning and the end are the same. You start as two strangers and end up as two strangers.


‘This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives...’ Benny said this in a low tone as she was cleaning the blood stained card. You can only hope for a better tomorrow. You never can tell what it brings. Your only consolation is that your future is in the hand of the Almighty who controls tomorrow. Benny was still holding the wedding card when Melford stepped out of the toilet attached to their three bedroom flat, on the 4th floor of one of the high rising buildings in Ajayi Estate, Ogba Lagos. ‘This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, God.’ She muted the same words again. “What did you say?” Asked the husband. She threw the blood stained card at him and made moves to leave the bed room. On the card were lying flat two giant mosquitoes which met their waterloo after an adventure on Friday night. With well fitted mosquito nets in their room those mosquitoes still found their ways through. “Whose blood is this?” Melford the man of the house asked Benny after blocking her at the door and throwing the card at her feet. ‘It is not about whose blood but rather, how the blood got there?’ By now the husband knew that trouble was brewing. She picked the card from the floor and headed towards the balcony crossing their sitting room, their kitchen. Bishop Melford followed. As Benny was sitting down, her husband cited another chair close by, drew it nearer and sat, still gazing at the wedding card. “Oh that! I’m happy I was involved in that wedding. It was a talk of the town.” ‘Really...?’ The wife countered. The previous Saturday was the first wedding ceremony in Christ Holy Church after the Corona Virus Pandemic in Nigeria. The counseling session took three weeks, sometime in October, as the practice of the church was. Three major tests were required, Pregnancy, HIV and Genotype tests. ‘Free at last from the ordeals!” Angelina said. Having a societal wedding is the dream of every lady. A wedding where cream De La cream would be present to grace the occasion. Everything was pre-arranged and contracted out. That was exactly what she got. It took two trucks to evacuate their gifts from the venue of the Reception. Angelina, full of expectation and apprehension was caught gazing into the thin air. ‘It’s your wedding day.’ Agatha her chief bride’s maid reminded her. “Thank you, my dear, I’m just thinking, how the whole thing was going to end.” ‘End or begin?’ Agatha queried. She changed the topic and ordered for a snap shot with two of her siblings. First night in the palace as a wife! The expectation was very high, the level of acceptability was huge. The first son of a Crown Prince, the second marriage ceremony into the palace, after the Crown Prince’s. All the gifts were moved into a newly constructed duplex of about five rooms. It was a special gift from the King to a Grandson. Benny, now charged, took a long gaze at her husband and said; “This is a real mess.....” The words were still coming out from Benny’s mouth when they heard an explosion behind the door. With that heavy sound and vibrations everywhere, without thinking of his wife Benny standing beside him, the Bishop jumped for ‘safety’ from the balcony of a five storey building to the ground. ‘Help!’ the wife shouted. It was a Saturday morning in Lagos, Nigeria, every one supposed to be resting after a very hectic week. Mrs. Melford had heard the story of the Stinky Wedding already but needed her husband to collaborate or deny. This was a good opportunity for her to get the details, if not for the explosion, the heavy smoke and her husband’s adventure to ‘safety.’ The fire fighters were being awaited. Fire was everywhere in the apartment. Benny could not enter their room neither could she jump like her husband did. She could hear the wailing from the people who saw the husband spreading large in midair. The smoke was filling the entire building when the elevator machine was set. Gasping for air, Benny, grasping the belts and carefully, she was rescued. When she woke up in the hospital she requested to know if the husband was safe, nobody answered her a word. It was on her second time of asking that Bishop Melford gently held her hand from behind and whispered, “Thank God we are safe. It was the mattress they were taking delivery of that saved the day and my life. I landed on the foams and I later learnt the people brought me to the clinic. Doctors have confirmed I am safe and sound.” Later that evening they were both discharged and back to their home. The previous Saturday Cletus had a major achievement of his life. He walked down the aisle, the girl he loved and desired most the whole of his life. It was a societal wedding and the Crown Prince, his father, had made every arrangement for the consummation of their marriage in Dubai (United Arab Emirate). They went through a very successful counseling session with Bishop Melford the presiding Bishop of the church and his team of pastors where both Cletus and his betrothed wife, Angelina, worship. The entire congregation was happy for their union. It was 10:00pm on the dot that Saturday. The guests were dispersed and shortly Angelina’s phone rang. It was the voice of Bishop, sounding with an air of authority from the other end; “Keep calm, my daughter, be yourself for everything will be fine.” ‘Yes, my lord!’ She responded nervously and looking at Cletus’ direction. As soon as the call ended, the officiating pastor’s sermon earlier in the day re-vibrated in her ears: “...And the two were both naked and they were not ashamed” (Gen. 2:25). Cletus was naked in every way in this journey but Angelina was not. She moved a step backward from Cletus and said: “Clet; I have something important I want us to discuss.” What can be more important than a couple being together in their matrimonial home for the first night after wedding? This was the day, the night they all hoped and worked for all these days. Free at last from unnecessary parental controls. Now they have their lives to live, a future to build together, they had everything figured out. The Dubai trip was slated for Monday. ‘Angel; today is my wedding day!’ Cletus softly uttered those words as he was heading for her lips. “Wait, very seriously, we have known ourselves for some time now, have I ever been this serious?” She re-emphasized. Well a husband should listen to his spouse and give a rapt attention if that was what she desired first. As Cletus just finished saying; ‘I’m all ears...,’ then the big one happened: “Clet; I’m pregnant!” A newlywed should be pregnant with hope, expectation, ideas and love. Cletus, by his nature, had never been a humorous individual although he enjoyed jokes thrown around by those he cherished. ‘What! Are you joking or something?’ By the palace discipline and his faith they are supposed to keep their matrimonial bed undefiled until they tie the knots. ‘Wait a minute, are you pregnant of hope, ideas, love or what?’ “It was the Bishop’s advice.” She continued. “I confided in him that ‘my conscience will forever judge me if I kept this secret from Cletus.’ That was immediately I missed by period. I’m now five weeks pregnant! I never wanted to lie to him. I told him it was Appolos his son who was responsible.” Cletus could not believe his ears. ‘I’m listening.’ “It was one of the days Amanda was rushed to the hospital. Five weeks after the birth of their second child. The time you requested I should assist in staying with their first son at their home. I was there for three days. The first two days I was alone with Paul, their seventeen months old boy. The third day Appolos came home in the night from the hospital. He reminded me of how I turned down his marriage proposal without any cogent reason. He pleaded and pleaded that the only gift he wanted from me was to allow him make love to me. I resisted vehemently. I stood my ground until it was late into the night when everybody had slept. He pleaded on his knees and I vowed that first thing in the morning I was going to leave his house. I promised reporting him to Bishop his father, upon this he held I tightly, shook me to my marrow and........... You remember I told you of his overtures?” ‘You mean Appolos my senior sister’s husband?’ Before he could secure an answer from Angelina, he left the bedroom. He was heard banging everything that could make any sound around. His head was hot and his body was wet. His legs were wobbling. Right in his inner self, a voice was very strong; “thou shall not kill.” He rushed back to the bedroom; ‘Angelina, can you answer this one question, just one? Up until the night of this ignoble incident, were you still a virgin?’ As the word “No” was coming out of her mouth, another question followed; ‘How many times did you sleep with Appolos?’ There was no more patience to wait for the answer; he left the room, straight to his father’s door. The Crown Prince woke up not knowing the direction of his door except that he could hear unmistakably the voice of his adorable son. “Is all well, my son?” ‘All cannot be well, Dad? In fact I don’t know what to think right now Dad.....’ “Calm down son.” He said after holding his right hand and heading back to one of the cushions in his sitting room. “This is an abomination.” The Prince said, looking for what object to hold tight: “This has never been heard of, what happens to the palace? What happens to the church? Why did Bishop conceal everything? Why did he not cancel the wedding?” Cletus busted into tears and; filled at the same time with anger, he cut off the necklace that has become his trademark. He threw it at no object in view. He never bothered what Angelina might have been going through all alone, upstairs right now. ‘Dad,’ he finally opened his mouth. ‘I need a place to think.’ Not knowing exactly where he was going, except that his wallet and all his travelling documents were intact with him. Going to a friend’s house was out of question. He checked into a hotel, a few kilometres from the palace, switched off his phones and forced a sleep that never showed up. The whole of that Sunday he was his own companion. Right in the church, on Sunday morning, everything went on smoothly although they expected Cletus and his wife to be present. Everywhere was quite like a battalion of rats that swallowed poison. As a young man, your desire in life is to have a wife who can help you built a home. Whether marriage is an achievement or not, Cletus was thankful to God that at last he had a successful wedding, or so he thought. Having come from a well to do family, a son of a Crown Prince with a business empire spread across Africa, he was happy that his first visit to Dubai was going to be with his spouse on a honey moon. All these are now in abeyance. ‘Suite UFC 6!’ He kept reminding himself of the hotel room in the United Arab Emirate (UAE), booked for one week. ‘What next, Cletus?’ He muted to himself. Few hours into Monday as the plane was touching down he switched on his phones and as the phones were booting, he whispered to himself again, ‘Cletus, Dubai here you come.’ Everything on his phone was different. No network, the time zone was at variance. He noticed too that everything about his life was different. This was the first time ever he was traveling out without a bag, spare cloth, everything. He choose to make necessary and a surprise contact but first, with his father back here in Nigeria. The line was not going through. The whole of Sunday neither Cletus nor his wife Angelina was cited anywhere in the palace. The father headed for their apartment at least to say a word as a father. No sound! His phone rang showing a foreign number, “hello, who is it?” As he heard; ‘Dad, it’s Cletus,’ the phone dropped from his hand. When he picked it up, it had gone mute. He went close to the door and knocked, expecting a response from within but none. The phone rang the second time, ‘Dad, I’m in Dubai!’ He knew immediate that Angelina was not with him. The news filtered in the following Friday night and Bishop’s wife having made the necessary contacts throughout that Friday night and very early on Saturday morning, charged at her husband demanding for an urgent explanation. Saturday evening, back from the hospital, Bishop knew a family crisis was looming: ‘How dare you mislead this boy and this girl? Why did you not tell them the truth and shame the devil? Why deceiving the church?’ “My dear, I was afraid for our home, our Ministry and our son.” ‘Hey!’ She charged again, ‘leave Appolos out of this!’ “No, my dear, Appolos is all of this.” Douglas the Crown Prince kept knocking; hoping Angelina would show up. “Quick! Bring this door down now!” He ordered. On getting to the sitting room, Angelina’s legs were dangling in the air, with her neck stocked in Cletus’ belts. “They are dead!” the Prince exclaimed. Only he understood that. The next challenge was who to talk to. Could it be the Bishop, the police or Mr. Cletus? “I did this to ensure the coast is clear, signed: Angelina”. Monday night Cletus attempted calling his father again, still everywhere was mute. Feeling very much uncomfortable he decided to end his stay in Dubai. At that point his phone rang, it was his father. “My son.....” On getting to the lobby of the terminal, back in Nigeria Tuesday evening, his friend, Mella, certainly sure that Cletus had heard everything met him and said, “I’m so sorry that all these are happening to you right now...” He dashed to the hospital Ward from where he was referred to the mortuary. He stood there holding one of the pillars in confusion. Bishop Melford, not knowing who to avoid in all these, left the house early Sunday morning, eight days after the wedding for his church. The rampaging youth wing of the church had locked the church against everybody. Tension was high. The members had scattered. The fear of facing the council members at the Headquarters kept tormenting him. He chose the best alternative for himself. He decided to send a letter to explain his position and to ask for forgiveness. By then it was too late.


###Deadline Changes! **Serial Sunday Campfire has moved to 1pm EST (Saturdays). That means that the deadline to submit your story is now Saturday at 12pm EST - this is for all submitters, not just Campfire attendees. The feedback and nomination deadline is now Saturday at 11:59pm EST.** #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Offering! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘offering’. Offerings are often used to appease otherworldly forces, such as Gods, Goddesses, witches, demons, etc. Offerings can also be made as a way of thanks or in a time of loss to family, friends, and neighbors or other members of a community. How does this fit into your world? What type of offering would your characters make to satisfy forces greater than themselves? What would happen if they failed to do so? Maybe it’s a tradition that’s been practiced over several generations. What happens when one person questions or challenges this tradition or set of beliefs? An offering could also be a way to bring those at odds together, even if just for a short time. These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - May 8 - Offering (this week) - May 15 - Perspective - May 22 - Quandry   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. *Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title.* If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** Our bot will not be able to log these. - **On Saturdays, I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. **We now start at 1pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server!** Be sure to grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including new posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings - - by u/katherine_c   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/MeganBessel   - - by u/WorldOrphan   Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our Discord server. - **Crit Star** (thread & campfire) - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star** (campfire) - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star** (campfire) - u/Gailquoter - **Crit Star** (campfire) - u/FyeNite   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.